

Said the Spider

By Sasha McCallum

Copyright © 2018 Sasha McCallum

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this ebook, please encourage your friends to download a copy from their favorite authorized dealer. Thank you for your support.

This story is fiction; characters, towns and incidents are the product of the writer's imagination.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Sample of sequel

Other titles

Chapter One

Savage Falls

The roads were steeper, more winding and far lonelier than I remembered, lined asphalt the sole sign of human life for lengthy stretches between towns. A decade living in the hustle and bustle of Mexico City had altered my perception. These ranges were cold and green; foreboding shadows lay in wait amongst meadows of pine and fir. I used to be afraid of straying too far beyond the tree lines when I was little, but now the wilderness on all sides of me inspired a sense of elation. This was the beginning of why I had come back and it was a comfort the first of my nostalgic sentiments was a positive one; I took it as evidence I had made the right choice.

One last lungful of fresh alpine air and I wound the window closed and turned the heating up a notch. The temperature decreased steadily as I climbed further into the hills but it was still the wrong month for snow. I would reach Savage Falls in about an hour according to the GPS; I tried to relax and slow the car down. These roads were dangerous, many a horror crash had occurred during my childhood. I imagined the car accidents formed the backbone of the local news because there was nothing else to report. From the information I'd updated myself with, my destination was still a quiet, sleepy town most of the time; beautiful but boring. Perfect. Confronting the past would provide more than enough to occupy my wary psyche on arrival.

It was time to go home. Weird that I still thought of it as home after all these years. Home is one of those things you can't change, the word and the feelings associated with it lingered forever. In Mexico, my life as Belen Abreu had begun to show cracks; I could pretend all I wanted but I couldn't cover up the attacks of anxiety which had begun to occur when I was supposed to be wearing my public persona. They refused to be silenced, as though something inside me was screaming to get out, something that hated who Belen was. So I responded, I left her life hanging in the shadows, flew back to Big Sky Country and prepared for re-entry to the house I left twelve years ago as Saffron Crowe - notwithstanding a few serious alterations. Maybe Belen could be resurrected if Saffron managed to retrieve her poise, but for the next month, she was history.

It felt good to adjust my appearance, change my hair and make-up style, switch back to English and return to the States. Shedding Belen was easy, but I was profoundly uncomfortable being Saffron again. My inclination was to reinvent myself, start afresh - a powerful urge that needed to be quashed - only Saffron could resolve the issues my subconscious had now. I needed to unravel the pieces of memory I still held and attempt to stitch them together into something coherent. I always knew the day would come but it wasn't clear whether I looked forward to its eventuality or dreaded it. I was a real person when I was last in Savage Falls; more a child than an adult and definitely damaged, but genuine. Back then my identity was uncontrolled, un-compartmentalized. Now each natural quality had been edited and sieved out for use in another mask, another recreation of myself. Over the years, as I met more people, I absorbed their characteristics, mastered and recombined them. Belen may have been paid to act but the pretense had spilled over to every other part of myself. Too often lately I was convinced there might be nothing left underneath the façade, nothing real to salvage. Thus the cracks. And now, here I was.

My plan upon arrival did not involve meeting anyone except the doctor; he was necessary and when I reached deep, I was looking forward to seeing him again. Taking on the identity of someone I barely knew would be difficult but I had a feeling he would be a good guide. Aside from him I would probably blank myself out, keep my head down and my mouth shut; see if anything stubborn began to show through.

My mother would laugh at me thinking like this. She would accuse me of being melodramatic; that no normal person needed to make an effort to be real. In doing so she would imply she was normal and I was not. I didn't need to travel home to face my mother's ghost; she'd always been there, in my head, pointing and sneering, as if I were a prank gone wrong. Ironic I should turn into a narcissist after a childhood spent being put down and criticized. A defensive strategy, I supposed, to cover up deep insecurities. I tried to wipe the frown from my face as I drove, then remembered I was free to create as many lines on my face as I wanted for a while and narrowed my eyes indulgently again. Screw Cait, screw the whole shitty world.

A grievous yowl from the backseat reminded me I had another passenger to consider as I swung around the bends. Guido was protesting in earnest and I eased my heavy foot on the accelerator. It was an illegible mystery for me to be in a rush to meet my ghosts; they could wait.

"Sorry, boy. Not far to go now and you're going to love Linwood. Lots of nature to explore."

In the five years I'd had Guido, he came with me almost everywhere. There was no point in having a pet unless they travelled with you and Guido and I were inseparable. A diminutive, plain, tabby kitten, it had been the obvious scorn in his eyes which attracted me, as he peered at the pet store clientele disdainfully from his cage. Within six months of taking him home he'd grown into a heavy-set, brooding tom with a penchant for salmon, who got pissy if I left him for too long. When I spent a week away last month he'd flatly refused to come near me on my return, sulking for two days before he relented with a lap nap. Generally an easy companion, he spent most of his time snoozing; his occasional screams brought me back to reality, never allowing me to turn in on myself for too long. I needed that.

It was late afternoon by the time I coasted past the Savage Falls welcome sign. The sun long since dipped below the altitudinous horizon; the mist, which would have burned off during the day, was beginning to resettle around the surrounding peaks. That was a familiar sight for me but the town itself had changed, the buildings were more numerous, larger and flashier, turning the photos I'd scanned online into boldfaced reality.

A Safeway supermarket with a giant car park stood at the southern end and many of the non-historic buildings had been torn down and rebuilt over the years, including the police and FWP offices. Driving around some of the roads I remembered, my old elementary school was one of the few places which remained unaltered. Empty and lonely at this late hour, rust colored leaves swirled about the courtyard in the chilly breeze and collected in piles at the edges of buildings and gutters. As it came into view, my return to Saffron Crowe buffeted me and I started to shake and become nauseous. I did not want to hang around in this area but was forced to pull over, lean against the steering wheel and wait for it to pass.

The first of the ghosts was greeting me and it was as unfriendly as expected.

The attack eased quickly and within minutes, I was able to continue my journey. I headed back to Bowden Street, the main road running through the middle of town, and pulled into the Health Centre at the northern end, also newly built. Only two other vehicles stood in the spacious parking area; the culture shock at having so much space occupied by so few people was extreme but not unpleasant. I sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes indulging in the feeling of empty expanse. Sometimes it scared me how an anxiety attack could switch so swiftly into a sensation of pleasure but I would not sacrifice it.

At last, leaving the window open a crack, I got out and stretched lazily; I wasn't accustomed to driving much, let alone for long periods. The front door to the Centre opened and a large, broad-shouldered man in a wrinkled suit emerged.

"There she is!" he yelled as he hastened toward me.

A local GP and probably my mother's only friend had gained weight, grey speckled his thinning hair at the temples and creases lined his face. The deep rumble of his voice and ready smile were still easily recognizable and I was flattered he was kind enough to greet me. My memories of Dr. Hamish Roche were far more cheerful than my memories of my mother but I was still taken aback when he didn't hesitate to envelope me in an embrace. I patted his shoulder, unsure how to react - it had been twelve years after all.

"Hello Dr. Roche. Long time no see."

We'd had little contact other than a couple of superficial emails and the fateful phone call three months ago to tell me my mother had been released from her mortal chains. He stood back and looked me over with a smile.

"Little Saffy Crowe," he said affectionately. "You were never shy about calling me Hamish, no need to start with formalities now you're all grown up. I delivered you, you know."

"I remember."

"You've turned into a stunning creature." He studied my face suspiciously. "Have you had work done?"

"I... No." He watched me splutter and his face broke into a wicked grin, reminding me of all the banter we'd exchanged in my adolescence. "I'd forgotten your dry sense of humor. You're very forgettable." I slipped quickly into the niche.

"A useful trait to discourage long-term enemies," he returned and searched the car over my shoulder. "Are you alone?"

"Did you expect an entourage?"

"You know, Cait told me you married." I raised my eyebrows in amusement and Hamish laughed. "She did have her ways."

"She sure did." She might have been just as big a liar as I was myself. Perhaps the only thing we had in common; I hoped anyway.

"Haven't lost your American accent then." He took the opportunity to change the subject. "Welcome home." He squeezed my shoulder again and I felt a bit like crying at the kindness in his voice. "Come inside and we'll get you sorted out with keys and info."

The inside of the Centre was rustic, dark stained wood walls punctuated with large windows overlooking the outside greenery and paintings of equally green forest scenes.

"It's a big improvement on that ugly little clinic you used to work from," I commented.

"Got two other doctors employed under me now too. Things have changed since you've been gone. I'm done with patients for the day. You have time for coffee and a chat?"

"All the time in the world." Guido was probably asleep.

"Coffee please, Tania," he sang out to a woman behind a reception desk before he led me through to an ample, non-medical looking office. Perhaps he had an adjoining room where he did his examinations - the sheer size of everything from the barren stretch of carpeted floors to the ceilings high enough for a second floor, was impressive. He sat down behind a huge desk and I took a seat opposite him. Leaning back, he rested his chin on his index fingers, narrowed his eyes, putting me under the microscope.

"You've been gone a long time," he said solemnly. "How was your trip?"

That was an easy enough question.

"The flights were awful, the drive beautiful. The temperature suits me."

"That's not what I meant!" he barked and I jumped and stared at him. I wasn't sure how seriously to treat him. "Saffron Crowe, don't you dare pull wool over my eyes," he cautioned.

"I'm not..." I stopped - perhaps I was pulling wool. God, did he really know me so well? Surely not, not after so long. What was he even asking?

Before I could come to any conclusion he reached both arms across his desk and demanded, "Give me your hands."

"Er..." I tentatively pulled my chair close, leaned forward and put my hands inside his. Gripping them loosely, he shut his eyes and breathed in an extravagant manner; I don't know if it was meant that way, but the performance was whimsical.

"You've changed, Saf." He made the announcement with an air of disappointment.

"It's been twelve years, of course I've changed." I wiped the smile from my face and he shook his head impatiently.

"You must be honest with me," he said, eyes still shut. "Why are you back?"

It was spooky that I wanted to answer this impertinent demand, but before I could respond the receptionist entered with a tray and placed it on the broad desk between us. The doctor finally opened his eyes and allowed me my hands back.

"Close the door, please, Tania," he said as she scurried out with a secretive simper. When the door was firmly shut, he relaxed his face and leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. I waited; guarded. "How long are you here for?"

"A month, maybe more. I'm not on a schedule, I'm here to slow down for a while and figure out what to do about the house."

"Belen Abreu," he whispered reverently and my eyes widened in surprise. "What are you running away from?"

"What am I meant to say to that?" No wool. "I thought I was coming back to confront things," I said tensely and he cackled at my discomfort.

"Belen Abreu has made a name for herself in Mexico but you keep your private life out of the public eye surprisingly well."

"It's not so difficult, I'm not big. I'm a bit shocked you know the name."

"Help yourself to sugar," he said with a sweeping gesture.

"I'm not supposed to... What the hell." I added a heaped spoon to my steaming cup.

"That a girl. Would it surprise you to learn that Cait was proud of her actress daughter?"

"I would never believe it. She hated me from the day I was born."

"She didn't hate you, she was simply ill-equipped for motherhood. You were sent to your father for good reasons."

"And I'll always be grateful to you for orchestrating that."

"You knew it was because of me?"

"Of course I did. No one else understood what she was like. No one else cared." I took a sip and felt my eyes roll backward. "Oh my God, that is so good."

"You're kept on a strict diet?"

"Strict everything."

"Cait was a difficult woman right up until the end," he continued sadly, "but in her own miserable way she took pride in you. She let comments slip every now and then. On the surface they were derogatory but, well, you knew her, she wasn't the type to talk about anything unless it interested her and she always had a little glint in her eye with you."

"Before your phone call I'd heard nothing for over six months. And even then it was just one of her letters full of crazy talk, so crazy I never replied to it."

Guilt began to manifest at the image of my mother, lonely and bitter, talking about me with pride. How awful; I tried to wipe it from my mind and attempted to harden my tone.

"Belen was left behind in Mexico, I'd rather you didn't use the name. It's unlikely anyone here would recognize it but still."

"Understandable." He folded his hands on the desk in front of him and smiled gently again. "You were always my favorite, I thought of you as family. Seeing you again, looking so wonderful, has made my year."

"You counseled me through some tough times, went above and beyond." The depth of this truth came back to me as I sat looking at his kind face; it was hard to believe I'd lost a sense of the support he provided me with in my turbulent youth.

"I hope you can still see me that way. I worried about you no end when you left, being in a foreign country at such a young age with a man you barely knew. But look at you, you've done amazing, made something of yourself. Your father treated you well then?"

"He was a dream compared to Cait. He became my manager."

"He didn't push you too hard, did he?"

"I didn't mind, it gave me something to concentrate on, a goal. The world I got pulled into in Mexico was very different. Having a father involved in the business made the transition easier but I think he was as surprised as me that I turned out to be okay at playing roles."

"And how does he feel about his cash cow coming back here?"

"He's pissed I'm unavailable but I never told him where I was going," I brushed the question aside with a sniff. "Tell me about Savage Falls, a lot seems to have changed in only a decade. Is there anything I should know?"

"Well," he huffed, "depends on what regard you ask in, there are many more anonymous faces who rent houses and cabins short and long term to get away from the rat race so people aren't all in each other's business the way they used to be. I wouldn't worry about being incognito, people are unlikely to recognize you as Saffron let alone Belen Abreu - you've changed too."

"You knew who I was," I pointed out.

"Older and wiser than most and I was expecting you, waiting for you. You still have that unmistakable, haunted look in your eyes, I suppose it works to your advantage on screen."

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Maybe it's just being back that's put it there."

"Must be strange. The town has grown, the residents have got wealthier; tourism has blossomed in winter due to the new ski facilities and resort. If you're wondering who is still here..." He scratched his chin. "I think many of the kids you grew up with have moved away but a good majority of them also come back for winter vacations. If you're going to be here a while you might run into them."

The suggestion would have been amusing if it wasn't so tragic.

"I drove past the elementary school, it brought back some unfortunate feelings. I was picked on mercilessly at that place."

"You seemed so impervious to it at the time," he said thoughtfully. "Do you know why they picked on you?"

"The usual, I was different."

"You didn't need them, you were comfortable being alone and they didn't understand that. As unfair as it sounds, I think you bothered them more than they bothered you, no matter how hard they tried they couldn't get a rise out of you."

"Yeah well, I had bigger problems to worry about."

"Cait," he said grimly and shook his head. "And now look at what you've achieved. I doubt any of those other kids could hold a candle to you."

"Are you still married to Vivian?"

"Still," he chuckled. "You will have to come by for dinner while you're here, she'd love to see you again."

"I'd like that, but as for kids from school? I'm here for some space."

"Space we have plenty of... Saffron," he began haltingly with a frown, "hearing you were coming back was lovely, but I must admit, it was a surprise. You could have hired someone to take care of the house and contents. I did not expect you to have any desire to return after your experiences here and now you've made something of yourself down south. If it's not too brazen - why?"

"Mom is dead." Saying it out loud was a figurative smack in the face. There was still a glimmer of fear she would materialize and start shouting at me for calling her Mom.

"Yes," he nodded. "I'm sorry. She left specific instructions in her Will; no funeral, no memorial, simple cremation and her ashes to be thrown into the falls. I did it myself off the lookout point at the top of Gull Road. If I had known then you would be coming home I would have waited, I really didn't expect..."

"No need to regret anything," I said with a dismissive hand flick. "She got what she wanted, it wouldn't have helped me any to be there when her ashes were thrown."

"Good to hear you haven't lost your pragmatism."

"Thank you for being there for her, I know she never appreciated you the way she should have."

"She was a character, entertaining if nothing else." He gave me a lingering stare over his coffee cup, his eyes glittering and sharp through the cloud of steam. "You are disappointed you never got the chance to see her again?"

"Of course I am, this is my mother we're talking about. It was always in my head I would come back one day. It wasn't as if we left off in a comfortable place." It surprised me how easily I could express the regret.

"Cait wasn't the type of person you'd ever get closure with. Even in her lucid states she was all over the place."

"I need to ask something and I hope you'll be honest with me. I know the official cause of death was heart failure but..."

"You want to know how it could happen."

"Yes. From what I remember she was strong as an ox physically and she was only forty nine. Is there something else to it?" I asked and he sighed heavily.

"She was on a lot of different medications and she wasn't sticking to the prescribed dosages. It's not something any doctor could control without having her committed and she always kept herself just north of that possibility. She was putting her heart under too much strain, the failure was drug related."

"Would it have been accidental or could she have done it on purpose?"

"If you're asking if it was a one off suicide attempt then the answer is no. Her ups and downs could be extreme and the strain would have developed over an extended period. At the same time, she wasn't stupid, she knew she was misusing the drugs and that there would be consequences; it's likely she just didn't care anymore but she left no indication of intent and her Will was drawn up more than three years ago. Maybe you'll find an answer when you peruse the contents of the house. I was the closest person to her but it was far from my place to sift through her personal belongings - that was always going to be your job and although it'll be a hard one I'm glad you've accepted it. It shows guts, but it doesn't answer my question."

"Still sharp, old man," I smirked and he chuckled and leaned back, offering me the floor.

"I've been having panic attacks. Sudden and extreme," I admitted. "They started before her death, around six months ago."

"How often?"

"Maybe one every couple of days. They're unpredictable and render me useless for at least a few minutes."

"Panic attacks are fairly common, you mustn't think of them as a prelude to a psychotic break or anything akin to your mothers symptoms. You used to be so paranoid about Cait's illness affecting you," he said and I remembered all too well. I still was.

"I know, it's a scary thing though."

"They don't call them panic attacks for nothing. Have you been given anything for them?"

"You're the first person I've told outright and I'm telling you as a friend not a doctor. I don't want any drugs, I came here to get away from that shit not give in to it. I just need some timeout."

"The pills can be quite debilitating," he agreed with a slow nod, "and highly addictive. Keep them in mind as a last resort though."

Many doctors are effective catalysts in turning prescription drugs to black market accessories. If Hamish was an active participant in this culture, I didn't want to know. It wasn't what I was here for and would sooner bury my head in the sand.

"Do you remember how I always wanted to go to medical school?"

"Of course," he grinned. "I must admit I was a little disappointed to hear you'd gone in a different direction."

"I did end up completing a degree in psychology."

"Ah, far from needing my opinion on panic attacks then. My gosh, you've been busy. Was it because of Cait you took an interest in the field?"

"Not really, I thought understanding the mind would help with my roles. It didn't, it tapered any appreciation I originally had for my acting career. But it's more than that." I paused with a frown. "I'm tempted to call it restlessness but that doesn't cut it, I'm more pissed off than anything. Nothing real or beautiful can survive on that scene which isn't sitting right with me. I've lost any sense who I am."

"You may not appreciate my line of thinking here, always referring to the past, but a lot of children raised in households with a parent as emotional unstable as yours, have issues with self-image. Especially having to adjust to such a different environment during puberty. You could be more right than you know in coming back here."

"Yes," I nodded. "In Mexico, for the first time in my life I found a place not just to fit in but to thrive. Back then I didn't realize the environment I was thriving in was a complete fabrication; plastic and superficial. My identity became built on what was asked of me at the time and nothing else. Everyone keeps telling me to be more grateful for what I have and not to throw it away but, am I supposed to just continue pretending constantly?"

"Certainly not, perhaps your future lies elsewhere. You're in an interesting dilemma, you're not sure if you're here to confront your issues or to escape from them. In your case, perhaps both. Are you certain you want to stay at Linwood?"

"Maybe answers lie in that house."

"That house contains a lot of things, not all of them real or good. Be careful what you wish for."

"At this point it's the only way I see to move forward."

"By going back?"

"Possibly a little sideways too," I said and he laughed. "You said the house was habitable?"

"It's very habitable, Viv and I were there just yesterday to make sure everything was in order. If you hadn't decided to come back I would have suggested you rent it out at least, seemed a shame to let it go to waste. Cait may have been terrible with people but she liked her creature comforts, it's the ghosts I'm warning you about. Let's not mince words, Cait was a sick woman and a terrible mother. And you were so young, you shouldn't have had to...." He trailed off with a troubled expression and stared at his meaty hands. "Memories can lead down difficult paths," he finished quietly.

"The ghosts are why I'm here. They may have things to tell me."

"They always do. Nevertheless, if you find it too much at any point, there's a new hotel up at the top of Featherston Road, it's quite lavish and always has vacancies this time of year." He forced a smile.

"I've done my research on the new places in the area. I'll keep it in mind."

"You realize I'll be calling to check up on you frequently. Under no circumstances am I going to allow you to turn into a hermit like your mother."

"Your concern and complete lack of faith are appreciated."

"You're looking to build a bridge between your troubled past and your uncertain future. They're murky waters to paddle in, one can get lost and slip beneath the surface."

"Exorcising demons was never supposed to be easy." Maybe it was the weight of his warning or the exorbitant reminiscing and honesty of our conversation but abruptly a sense of exhaustion fell over me and I inhaled deeply to repress a yawn.

"You've had a long day." Hamish took the cue. He pulled a large brown envelope from a drawer and pushed it across the desk. "Keys and a bunch of numbers which will be useful while you're here. The electricity's on and there's a load of firewood in the shed if you feel like lighting a fire. I assume you have not forgotten how to light a fire?"

"I doubt it." I flicked through the keys on the chain. Each had a tiny label, I smiled at Hamish's thoroughness.

"You will need to go to the grocery store, aside from coffee, tea and a few tinned goods, there's nothing edible in the house."

"I think I'm going to enjoy that, it might be the first time I've shopped properly without thinking about calories." An indulgent smile spread across my face. "I saw the new supermarket."

"Safeway, yes, been there about six years now. There's a smaller Wholefoods on Pike Street as well."

I shoved the envelope in my bag and stood up. "I better be off if I want to be safely inside before nightfall."

Hamish led the way through the reception area and out the front door.

"Remember what I said?" he asked when I got to my car. "No one would blame you if you needed to stay somewhere else. Call me if you have any problems?"

"I'll be fine. I've got my cat to look after me."

"Oh, big fellow." He grinned as he peered through the back windscreen. He wrapped his arms around me a final time and, this one, I returned properly. "It's good to have you back."

"Thanks for everything." I climbed into the driver's seat with a smile.

Heading back the way I'd come, I drove toward Safeway. I'd underestimated how a reunion with Hamish Roche would affect me, how strong his connection to Saffron had been. One thing at least had fallen into place; I hadn't had to make any effort to be genuine, it had come easily with his direction. I'd been honest, but not too honest. There were things about my life as Belen, Hamish didn't need to know. Even now, returning to my roots and a mentor who had so much influence in shaping my childhood, I still saw myself as alone. Things had always been that way and if someone told me it was about to change I would have considered them a fool.

Inside Safeway was bright and comforting, nineties music played quietly through the speakers. There were few customers and, like me, none seemed in any rush, engrossed in reading nutritional information from packets or groping vegetables. I took my time, lazily wandering down every aisle and tossing far too many things I shouldn't be eating into the cart. Unable to pass by the alcohol section without stressing about my first night back in the old house, I added a selection of wine and bottle of tequila to my purchases. There were too many question marks about necessities which Cait may be missing but I could come back tomorrow if needs be. As a treat, I bought Guido fresh salmon along with his cat food, which I'd cook ....probably not tonight. Damn, I was tired.

By the time I'd finished, the cart was overloaded and the emo girl at the counter gave me a strange, lingering look as she scanned my items. Perhaps because of the amount of alcohol. I was probably just being paranoid so I stared her down restlessly.

Guido let out a noisy complaint at being left for too long when I loaded the cargo bay and finally got back behind the wheel.

"Stop your moaning. You'll thank me when you see what I've got for you."

Linwood, my mother's property and house, lay sprawled behind thick greenery at the end of a cul-de-sac called Freeman's Grove. It was on the eastern outskirt of the town and was reasonably isolated from other residences. As I approached the sensation of déjà vu became intense. The scents, sounds and even the color of the air changed, the world shrunk and I was a child again.

"It'll be okay, things are totally different now," I mumbled and Guido gave a low growl of agreement.

Let's get this over with, I need to take a piss, he was probably saying.

Pulling into the driveway, the house emerged through the trees; a two-story red-brick construction with a dangerously sloping roof, under which stretched ominous attic space. I stopped and stared, hardly breathing. It hadn't changed much from what I remembered, the brick color fading slightly, downstairs curtains closed in brown framed windows. It looked peaceful, tidy, nothing amiss; the wind lightly rustling the trees in the soft evening light. I watched, expecting my mother's silhouette to appear in one of the upper windows. Another growl came from the back and I remembered to breathe, unwrapped my white knuckles from the steering wheel and got out.

Poor Guido's wide eyes were furious as I pulled his cage from the back and let him out.

"Don't go far."

He made an immediate dash for the undergrowth beside the drive and I turned back to the building and swallowed at the small lump in my throat.

My first tentative steps through the house were fraught with tension. Checking every room to be sure it was empty, I felt certain Cait was going to jump out at every corner. But the house was deserted, dusty and neglected.

By the time I brought my bags up the stairs into my old room and unloaded the groceries from the car, I was exhausted and more than a little uneasy. I ushered Guido inside, fed him, opened the tequila and padded around the house again, glass in hand. My mother always had a habit of reorganizing the position of furniture to suit her moods, so although there were still pieces I recognized from my childhood, their places had changed - probably many times over the years. The ancient grandfather clock, still ticking, sat near the front door now, instead of in the sitting room. The china cabinet full of Wedgwood now sat in the back room with the book shelves and the old velvet settee which had belonged to my great grandmother.

A huge ponderosa pine, which had dominated my bedroom window when I was a child, had been felled, probably because its branches were threatening the structure. The rug on the floor was leaking too much dust which I didn't want to have to inhale while sleeping; I hung it over the bannister on the back porch.

Venturing courageously into my mother's bedroom, I peered around, opened the closet door. This had been a sanctified area I was never allowed into when I was a child. She'd caught me once and had treated me like devil spawn for weeks afterward. Stacked on a top shelf were photo albums. Feeling vengeful and slightly sordid, I lifted them down and settled on the floor against the wall, tequila beside me, to flip through them. They contained pictures of her and my father I'd never seen before. She looked so happy and normal in them; why had she kept them in her room? All through my childhood, she had never had a nice word to say about my father, but seeing the photos kept in such a position of esteem made me wonder if, after everything, she hadn't still loved him all these years. Thinking about it saddened me. Fate is cruel.
Chapter Two

Lark

I woke up with my face and ribs squished against the carpet in my mother's bedroom. Disoriented, my immediate thought was that I'd blacked out at another party but the idea departed when I felt the chill beneath me, opened my eyes and recognized the dusty, wooden decor. A wave of nausea flooded my stomach and I lurched up and rushed to the bathroom where I vomited at least two glasses of undigested tequila into the toilet bowl then sat against the wall breathing deeply. The feeling I'd made a mistake coming back subsided with the queasiness; my mistake had been drinking last night, but I was alive and in one piece. I stared at myself in the mirror; a red welt marked where my cheekbone had pressed onto the floor, making it look like I'd just been backhanded, but my appearance wasn't too awful. I'd seen worse.

The house felt empty and strange, as if I was an intruder ready to run for cover if I heard Cait's key in the front door. That it was my house now would take some getting used to. The hallway which connected the bedrooms of the second floor was long and narrow, it had scared me as a child. For reasons unknown there was no light along its length and when I'd needed to pee during the night I imagined there was some loathsome creature lying in wait on the shadowy carpet, ready to snap at my little legs in the darkness. Unlike me, a sober Guido had made himself a nest in my bed and barely gave me a snooty glance when I came to collect some fresh clothes. After a cautious sniff around the house yesterday, his interests lay primarily indoors and it would probably stay that way until he acclimatized properly.

I skulked into a long, hot shower and dressed. It felt outrageously good that no one was going to see me today, not having to worry about looking perfect. Padding back to my mother's bedroom in my socks, I placed the albums I'd been looking through back on the shelf in her closet and picked the tequila bottle from the floor. I must have knocked myself out fairly early because only a small portion of the golden fluid was gone from top of the bottle. My exhaustion had been complete and, despite my excess with other substances, I'd never been much of a drinker - the only reason I found it acceptable to use while here.

I screwed the cap on and headed down to the kitchen holding it away from me in case the scent reignited my nausea.

A wander down to Fountain Creek sounded like an okay plan; fresh air and a proper reintroduction to the area. Investigating the contents of the house could wait. It was obvious Cait had cleared out my old bedroom entirely aside from the bulky furniture and, though dusty, the house generally appeared clean and uncluttered. I hadn't ventured into the attic yet though, which held particular mystique.

It seemed acceptable to spend a few days lounging; the 75" curved QLED TV in the sitting room had not escaped my notice - Hamish had been spot on, Cait did like her comforts. I could spend a few days holidaying in Netflix and Amazon Prime, it had been too long.

Standing in front of the open fridge, I stared for at least a minute before pulling the milk from it to make coffee. Maybe I was still numbed by the night before but being back in the old kitchen didn't feel too bad. Evening grosbeaks with bright yellow plumage were visible through the windows, flitting in the trees on the eastern side of the house, their songs one of the more sanguine aspects of my recollection.

Behind the twittering and sound of the espresso machine, a far more unattractive and unexpected noise broke through and I froze. Perhaps it was an animal or the wind blowing something - the gusts here could be strong and unpredictable. But there it was again; coming from the back porch, it sounded like a cough. A human cough. Linwood wasn't the kind of place random people just happened upon, it could be someone dangerous. The unfortunate truth was, although it might have felt like the most boring place in the world twelve years ago, I wasn't certain what dangerous things prowled this forest now. Standing close to the wall, I pressed my head against it and listened. I ran my fingers through my hair; a small, hysterical part of me wondered if I had time to change my outfit and put on some make-up before I faced my attacker. I shook myself, pulled a steak-knife from its holder and crept to the backdoor that led to the porch.

The cough sounded again as I unlocked it and grabbed the knob; a hacking, pitiful noise. Whoever was making it was seriously sick, bronchitis probably - I could vividly picture the phlegm tossing around at the back of their throat. Pushing the ugly image away, I pulled the door open and tiptoed out, holding the knife in front of me.

A lump lay on the hard wood of the porch bench, huddled underneath the dusty rug I'd hung over the bannister to air last night. My fear dissipated quickly as I edged around to the front and lifted a corner of the rug to reveal a face.

"Hey." I placed the knife on the porch rail and crouched down to her level. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed and she shook; no doubt from the cold - she didn't appear to have anything warm on except this ridiculous rug and it was probably only forty degrees out here. Her lips were dry and cracked. "Hey," I repeated. "Can you hear me?"

She didn't respond, didn't even open her eyes. Maybe she was deaf but surely she had felt me lift the rug. One thing was obvious as I hovered over her, wondering if I was still asleep and dreaming; this girl was not a threat, she needed help. While I'd normally be hesitant to get within ten feet of a person looking and sounded as she did, in those moments I didn't care if she was infectious, my need to help overrode anything else. Just watching her shake was making me cold. I backed away, went upstairs to fetch my mother's heavy, faux wolf fur blanket from her bed. It would be a hell of an improvement on a dusty carpet rug. As I stood assessing my options on how to approach her, she broke into another coughing fit and I was motivated to act.

I tore the rug off her; her eyes fluttered open so briefly before she reached to tug it back. Tossing it against the wall, I draped the heavy fur around her quivering shoulders. She accepted it, pulling it snugly around her before she settled stiffly back on the hard wood. Her state was even more pathetic than I imagined under the rug, her clothing thin and dirty; she wore no coat and clutched a tattered bag to her chest. How long had she been here? Haunted by the possibility she might have knocked on the door last night while I was either drunk or unconscious, guilt dwarfed my confusion. I wondered if I should call an ambulance but dismissed the thought. I wasn't incapable, I could handle this. When I sat next to her on the edge of the wide seat and touched the back of my fingers to her forehead, her lashes fluttered again but didn't open. Her skin was too hot, she clearly had a fever; she couldn't stay out here.

"If you come inside, you can lie down on the sofa," I told her. "It will be comfortable and you can get warm."

She didn't answer but I had a sense she understood me. She was sick and probably scared but she was conscious, as was I of her chattering teeth. I knew that feeling - when the cold seeps right through to your bones.

Unsure how she would react, I put my arms around the faux wolf at her shoulders and tried to guide her up into sitting position and from there, to standing. She let me, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes as we walked slowly inside, allowing me a glimpse of indigo blue. She kept the furry blanket tightly clasped around her as I brought her to the sofa whereupon she quickly resumed the position she'd had on the porch, though a lot more comfortable this time, I deduced.

I stood reconsidering the ambulance, but it was only a fever, no need to be overzealous. I'd spotted a couple of old hot water bottles in the linen cupboard last night; one of those and a hot chocolate might help. I had Tylenol in one of my unpacked bags too, though I guessed that and a whole lot more would be in Cait's medicine stockpile. I'd been too scared to check her supplies last night in case there was something I couldn't resist.

The girl hadn't moved when I returned to the sitting room but was awake because she shifted slightly when I sat down beside her. I lifted the blanket up by her feet, pulled her dirt-caked shoes off and slid the hot water bottle between them, half-expecting her to kick me or protest in some other way but she didn't. Her feet were as I suspected, like icicles, and a small whimper escaped her mouth when she felt the heat of the bottle sink into her. She was too dirty and from what I felt, she was also damp; the temptation was to force her into a bath but that would be pushing it. At least the heat could be drawn down from her head now.

"Can you sit up a bit? I have a drink for you," I said, waving the sugary beverage close to her face. She pulled herself up against the wide armrest and stared at the steaming mug through blood-shot eyes. She reached a thin arm tentatively out of the confines of the fur, grasped the mug and lifted it shakily toward her. "It's hot, be careful," I warned unnecessarily. Though she refused to speak or even look at me, there was intelligence beneath that surface, I could sense it. She held the mug close and concentrated on it, not me.

Escaping to the kitchen, I leaned against the counter and took deep breaths, counting to thirty. I'd hid it successfully but the sight of her arm reaching for the mug had shattered my insides. The thin sleeve of her grubby shirt rode up and reddish-purple bruises marked the bones of her delicate wrist. The police might be a more viable option for emergency services, but she wasn't talking and police would try to bully her. It was something she shouldn't be exposed to unless absolutely essential, I thought protectively.

I brought a bottle of water, tray of tablets and box of tissues to her side and sat down on the coffee table watching her. Her eyes drooped and she was having difficulty breathing through her nose but sipped the hot chocolate slowly and steadily. She was layered with dust and grime; her hair, a mass of dark curls, unwashed, unkempt. Her lashes were long, thick and black, lazily dipping down when she blinked and accentuating the sea blue of her eyes. She had dark blood in her, enough to make her blue eyes unexpected against her caramel skin. Her state was genuine, no make-up, no props. Something about this screamed movie scene though. She may be a time-traveler, I pondered fancifully.

"Can you swallow these?" I popped two pills out of their holders and held them out. "They'll help with your fever." She hesitated at first but eventually picked them daintily from my palm and washed them down with a final gulp from her cup. It seemed that was it for now because she placed the quarter-full cup carefully on the coffee table using both hands, settled back into lying position and buried herself, head and all under the heavy blanket. Her feet fiddled with the position of the bottle before she went still and, after a few minutes, the rise and fall of her breathing slowed. I didn't want her to sleep like that, dirty and damp on the sofa, but she might be more willing to communicate after a rest.

I sat for a long time just watching the heap of faux fur, wondering. This wasn't something I'd seen coming but I didn't resent the intrusion. Worried and confused as I was, being diverted from concentrating on myself was favorable. At least she had taken the pills and a drink. Placing the tissues on the carpet near her buried head, I pulled the throw from the back of the sofa, piled it on top of the fur, picked up her shoes and left her to it.

Her footwear, underneath the mud and grit, were wet and worn; a lace-up canvas and plastic job, they looked like they'd been bought from Walmart or the like. There were no holes in the soft material but there soon would be, they should be thrown away but I couldn't bring myself to. They were hers and she had so little on her. The threadbare bag I'd spotted when I tore the rug from her was far from bulky and likely contained nothing.

I busied myself cleaning the cheap little shoes off as best I could. I would have put them out in the sunshine to dry but the sun was refusing to show its face today, instead, rain threatened to fall from the pregnant sky. I'd test if I still had the skills to make a decent fire; I had wanted to do it last night but was too tired and had got drunk too early. The lump on the sofa didn't stir as I built and put a match to it in the sitting room. A meek pride swelled inside me at the sight of it flaring into action \- I still had the skills. Putting the strangers wet shoes out of reach of sparks on the hearth, I settled down with the lap top to check my email accounts.

Reading and ignoring emails was customary but one had come through from my father, unwelcome and demanding attention.

Emilio's been trying to get in contact with you, Matias Cano is casting for a movie, Su Piel, and they asked for you specifically. This is big, a role like this could catapult your reputation and you've been trying to break into movies for years.

If you keep turning down offers, you'll regret it. Don't underestimate how fast this industry moves, keep this up and you'll be throwing your career away, and for what? There isn't a person in this business who hasn't had to detox at least once. I'm asking you to please get your shit together and get back here or I'll come to Montana myself.

It was the last bit which pissed me off the most, the rest he plied me with routinely but mentioning Montana was the icing on the cake. He didn't know where I was but he suspected and I had few reservations he would probably come looking for me if I stayed away long enough. Resentment mounted at him for employing the same coercive tactics he used so many times over the years and the email sunk my spirits. I'd only just arrived and he had already managed to ruin any sense of safety and peace. A part of me was curious about the movie but it was small and distant. Weak. This time things would be different, I needed to buy myself more breathing space.

I told you I'd be gone for at least a month. The more you stress me out with emails like that, the longer I'm going to need, you probably just added another month. Quit hounding me.

I decreed to give it at least three days before checking the account again. As tempting as it was to become angry and add expletives, it wouldn't serve any purpose and would further encourage replies. Keeping words to a minimum, I sent only what I needed to get him off my back for a while.

I found myself staring across at the motionless lump on the sofa again, deep in thought.

"You're a runaway too," I whispered. Though this girl had undoubtedly come from a very different environment.

Abandoning the lap top, I gathered some cleaning products from the laundry room and began wiping and polishing surfaces in the gradually warming lounge. Doing something methodical felt good; the house was large and, after three months standing empty, a dust bucket but I could put a dent in the worst of it. Lucky I didn't suffer allergies.

Just after three my phone rang, loud and meddlesome in the quiet of the afternoon. Hyperaware of the sickly stranger sleeping across the room, I answered immediately and slipped out to the kitchen. The number was new, it could only be one person and I took no issue speaking to him.

"Hi, Hamish."

"Afternoon." His voice affable and unassuming, once again I felt like spilling all to him. "Just checking in. How was your first night?"

"I drank too much tequila. No permanent damage I think."

"No problems with the house?"

"I haven't started looking through anything yet. Just a lot of dust and must."

"You'll stay then?"

"Yes, of course. Hamish, listen..." I hesitated, iffy to whether I should mention the stranger.

"What's wrong?"

"Something a bit weird has happened."

"Did you meet those ghosts you were looking for? I told you..."

"It's not that," I cut him off. "She's not a ghost. At least I don't think she is." Suddenly I didn't know, wanted to go look at her again, make sure she was real.

"Who?"

"I found someone lying on the porch seat this morning. A girl, she's sick, I brought her inside and now she's asleep on the sofa."

"Oh?" He sounded skeptical. "Who is she?"

"I don't know. She won't talk to me."

There was a bloated pause before he asked, "What does she look like?"

"Dark curls, blue eyes, she has a shocking cough. It looks like she's been walking in the woods a while."

"Huh. This is a surprise." Hamish was obviously unsure how seriously to take me. "I've a final patient at five, I'll stop by on my way home. I can check her over."

"No," I disagreed quickly, regretting opening by big mouth. "It's okay, I can deal with it."

"Some stranger shows up on your porch and you don't want to know who she is? Maybe I'll recognize her."

"Alright." I was reluctant but he was right.

"Be there about six."

He was coming to check up on me, make sure I hadn't lost my mind. It was unlikely he believed in my sickly visitor and I imagined my embarrassment if she vanished by the time he arrived.

'Madness runs in the family,' he would tut with a disappointed shake of his head. 'It was bound to happen eventually.'

But when I got back to the sitting room she was still there and coughing into a tissue, no doubt woken by the phone.

"Hi," I said and sat down on the edge of the sofa. She was solid enough but, as before, wouldn't react to my presence. Her shirt was filthy and far too big, hanging loosely on her bony shoulders. While I watched, she allowed the bag she had to fall to the floor beside her and pulled a small, frayed teddy bear from it. She clasped it to her chest before burying herself back under the blankets and going still. The sight almost brought tears to my eyes.

I had a teddy bear like that when I was a child. I loved it more than anything and when I was ten it had disappeared. I'd cried ceaselessly and my mother finally told me she'd thrown it out, that I was too old for it and needed to move on. Odd that this unexpected visitor should remind me of that, I hadn't thought about it in years.

Finally deciding to put in an appearance, Guido came downstairs and sauntered into the sitting room. He peered at the crackling fire then headed over to the couch where he leaned his front paws on the cushions and sniffed suspiciously at the stranger beneath the fur. I wondered what she smelled like to him; she was filthy but I myself had not detected anything particularly repellent. Perhaps her scent told a story to Guido I could never understand. After sufficiently satisfying his nasal curiosity and deciding she was not a risk to be concerned with, he leaned against the hearth and began to lick himself lazily.

Needing to stay busy, I retreated to the kitchen and gathered some of the ingredients I'd bought yesterday to prepare dinner. Cooking relaxed me, sometimes I did it without even eating what I was preparing.

The doorbell rang out just before six while my chicken was grilling. The lump under the blankets, which I'd thought was asleep, moved at the sound; huddled in the corner of the wide sofa, clenching the blankets tightly around her.

"It's okay," I tried to placate her, getting up. "He's a friend, he's a doctor."

She stayed where she was, her eyes half-open and directed at the carpet. The certainty she could understand me was getting stronger despite her refusal to respond. An expectant looking Hamish pulled his coat off as I led him into the sitting room without comment.

"Jeepers," he said on spotting the girl. "Not a ghost then."

The curious tilt of his head and mystified expression told me he had no idea who she was. Approaching, he put his bag on the floor and sat down at her side.

"Hey there. You look a little worse for wear. Mind if I check you over?"

"He won't hurt you, he's just going to make sure you're okay." She stayed put; I got the feeling she realized Hamish wasn't a threat. She may have expected someone specific to come through the door, someone she knew well. "She can understand you but be careful with her, she's scared and uncommunicative."

"I can see that," he said gently. "Have you given her anything?" He pulled an ear thermometer from his bag.

"Hot chocolate, water and Tylenol."

"Good."

"I'll be in the kitchen for a minute," I said and went to check on the oven.

On my return I leaned in the doorway and watched. Hamish tucked the blankets back around her; he handed her the glass of water and urged her to take a capsule from his hand. Hesitating at first, she took the pill.

"It's important you drink as much water as possible." Pleased she was compliant, he put a few items from the table back into his bag and gestured for me to follow him out to the kitchen.

"Tequila does strange things to people," he said. "I thought you might still be drunk."

"I figured as much."

"It's a weird situation. Why didn't you ring me?"

"I didn't want to overreact and I thought she needed time."

"You felt protective of her," he said judiciously.

"A bit, I mean look at her. What do you think?"

"Her lungs are ragged and she has a temperature of 102. It might be pneumonia, probably caused by basic neglect. She's borderline malnourished."

"Does she need a hospital?"

"Her symptoms aren't severe enough for admission but she's not going to be capable of doing much for a while."

"She doesn't look at me, it's like I'm not even there. Did she look at you?"

"No. Her mental state is a concern."

"Did you see the bruises?"

"Yes." His expression was troubled. "I can't tell what they were caused by."

"But you understand me feeling protective of her?"

"I do, she has other marks too. Can I assume you don't want to call the Sheriff?"

"It's too soon," I said and he nodded.

"Sheriff Paulson is conceivably the biggest ass in law enforcement, I'd leave it for as long as possible."

"But what is going on around here if someone like that can just stumble out of the woods in her condition?"

"I'm as surprised as you. She's clearly spent some time exposed to the elements so who knows how far she's come. I'm pretty sure I've never seen her before and I'm acquainted with a lot of the locals."

"How old do you think she is?"

"Early 20's? Hard to say."

"All she really had on her was that teddy bear which she won't let go of," I said distractedly. "I thought she might be younger."

"You don't mind keeping her here tonight?"

"Not at all, I feel terrible for her."

"She has impeccable timing. That girl is probably a victim of some kind of abuse, not unlike you when you were last in this house. That's what you're feeling."

"Please don't psychoanalyze me."

"Alright," he raised his palms with a shifty smile. "Good to see you're making yourself at home. Something smells nice."

"I'm making chicken Florentine pasta. Do you want to stay for a bite?"

"Tempting, but Viv would kill me if I went home with a full stomach. Try to get your visitor to eat something and keep her warm." He placed a bottle of pills on the counter. "Levofloxacin. One morning and night. If you can, get her out of those dirty clothes and into bed, being damp isn't helping."

"I'll look after her. She just needs time."

"Watch out for yourself. Watch her." He pulled his coat on.

"She's terrified." I looked at him in surprise. "She's not dangerous!"

"Knowing nothing about her makes her dangerous," he warned. "I'll keep an ear open in town if anyone is missing."

"Thanks for coming." I walked him to the front door.

"Not a problem, I was here twice a week while Cait was alive."

When I returned indoors the stranger had settled, lying on her back with her eyes shut. It shouldn't be surprising she was still flushed but it made me uncomfortable. Was she asleep again? I couldn't tell. I sat by her side trying to think of a way to get her into dry clothes. As I looked down I noticed a scar cutting across the left side of her throat; that must have been what Hamish was talking about when he said other marks; I hadn't seen it before.

"Who are you?" I wondered under my breath. "Where did you come from?"

Judging by its color, the scar was old and, based on its age, it had been a deep wound. The idea someone might have done this intentionally when she was just a child horrified me. She was such a frail wisp of an affair even now, clinging to a teddy bear like it was her salvation. Pangs of grief poked at my conscience. My finger itched and I drew it close, transfixed by the brutal mark and what it might mean; to think she had survived such a wound. I didn't intend to actually touch it but a foot from her face, she surged into action. Her eyes flickered open and she grabbed my wrist. Her pupils dilated to twice their size right in front of me as her skin met mine. She ceased to breathe and went completely still, gripping my arm so tightly it hurt. Part of me wanted to shake free but it was the first time she'd properly acknowledged my presence; so I held still, her reaction mesmerizing. Even under the influence of powerful psychotropic substances, I'd never seen pupils change so quickly. Watching it, I felt I was witnessing something highly irregular, like an apparition forming out of thin air. If it was anyone else I would have been afraid.

Only a few seconds passed before a slight sob escaped her throat and her pupils returned to normal, her gaze to the room. For the first time she focused her eyes on mine with an aura of recognition. She began breathing again, inhaling slow, deep breaths to fill her wheezy lungs.

"Which one are you?" she asked hoarsely, shocking me further. She finally pulled her hand from my wrist and twisted it around the fur at her chest, leaving white finger marks on my bare skin. What had just happened I didn't know, more important was that she had spoken.

"Hi," I said, rubbing my wrist, then considered her words and the look in her eye. "Which one of what?"

Her eyes left me and she broke into a coughing fit. I handed her the glass of water and she took a sip before refocusing on my eyes. She had no difficulty looking at me now but I had didn't understand what had changed. Raising her head gently, she looked around the room, as if noticing for the first time the circumstances she found herself in. Her eyes were bloodshot and watery, but narrowed and patient as she ran them over her surroundings then resettled them on me.

"Where am I?" Her voice surprised me; not just that it was speaking at all, but it was richer, more mature than I would have expected. Far from high or childlike, it wasn't the voice of someone who clung to a teddy bear. I guessed her huskiness was being exacerbated by her airway congestion.

"You're on my sofa. I'm Saffron, I found you lying outside on the porch this morning. How are you feeling?"

"My chest hurts."

"Can you tell me where you're from?" She stared intently at the glass in her hands, her eyes sad and fearful at once. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Lark," she said after a long, doleful pause. It reminded me of myself in those moments when the lines between characters I was playing became blurry.

"Lark? Is that your name?"

"Yes. Whose house is this?"

"It's..." I stumbled at the words but telling her it was my mother's house might confuse her. "It's my house."

"Who else is here?"

"Just me, the doctor who checked you over left. Do you remember him?" It felt foolish asking about something which only happened a few minutes ago but I had no idea if she was sane. I wanted to get as much information as possible in case I lost her again.

"Why was he here?"

"You were very sick when I found you, you still are. How long were you out there?" She shook her head, it must have been painful because she stopped it quickly with a grimace. "Why didn't you knock on the door?"

She only frowned without answering, as if the question was extraneous.

"What am I going to do with you?" I sighed.

She stared at the blankets for a few moments in silence, then pushed them down and swung her legs over the side of the sofa. Her capacity to appear so lucid was commendable; she must be feeling like death with such a high fever.

"Where are my shoes?"

"You have a temperature of 102, where are you planning on going?" My voice came out sharper than intended and she looked me over with a mix of fear and confusion. "Your shoes are there," I pointed to the fireplace, "but they're not dry yet. Please, just relax."

Though she seemed relieved to have her shoes in sight she made no further move toward them.

"Thank you for helping me."

"You're welcome." I paused wondering how to phrase my questions. "You are safe here but I'm going to ask you a few things; you only need to nod or shake your head. Based on the state I found you in I'm guessing you're running away from somewhere. Somewhere you don't want to go back to. Is that right?"

She dipped her chin slightly.

"Do you have somewhere else you want to go? Somewhere safe? If you do, I can drive you, you shouldn't be traipsing outdoors while you're so sick." Nothing. She stared at her hands. A sudden gust of wind made a low whistle in the chimney. "Do you want to talk to the police?"

"No," she said rapidly, cringing. "Please, no."

"That's okay, I just want you to know it's an option," I assured her. "I'm happy for you to stay here tonight. Do you want to do that?"

"I don't have anything to give you." She broke out in another hacking cough. I pushed the tissues at her and waited for her to get it under control.

"I don't want anything, just to help."

"Are you really the only person in this house?"

"I am. No one knows you're here except the man you saw before." I wanted to soothe her, there was more fear in her expression than I felt comfortable with. Perhaps because of her level of desperation, it was working. She leaned back, shut her eyes.

"Can I sleep?"

Seizing the chance, I suggested, "I'd rather you washed up and ate something first. I have clean clothes you can sleep in."

She opened her eyes a sliver and looked at me.

"Do you think you're strong enough to do that? Even if it's only a few bites."

"Yes." Any pretense of vitality had gone, she looked ready to drop off. At least it was a sign of relaxation.

"Okay. You stay there and rest and I'll run you a bath, it might be easier than a shower."

I ran the tub in my mother's bathroom only half-full and went easy on the bubbles - this was functional not luxury and the thought of her passing out in the water was terrible.

Her weakness evident, again she allowed me to guide her up the stairs and into the en suite bathroom where she sat down on the side of the tub. Steam wafted lazily through the room. I pointed out a pile of cotton bed wear, the toiletries and towels. She followed my words with drooping eyes and I hesitated to leave her.

"Do you need me to help you?" She didn't answer so I launched into navigating her through the undressing process and helping her into the shallow water. Turning a blind eye to the deep bruises staining her skin and bones protruding from her thin frame was impossible. "It's not too hot, is it?"

"No." Her voice was quiet as she sank into the bubbles. The water seemed to wake her up a bit.

"Don't fall asleep in there, okay?"

"Mm," she grunted, pulling the washcloth from the bath rack.

"I'll be back soon." I closed the door behind me.

Making my mother's bed up fresh, I piled extra blankets on top and flopped head-first into it to test its odor. I thought it might still carry Cait's scent but the linen smelled mostly of laundry detergent now; a vast relief. I collected some things from downstairs to put by the bed; tissues, water, vaporub and a small dustbin. Her bear too. The toy was dry, from being kept in the bag, I supposed. Surrendering to the urge to sniff it, I was surprised to find the well-loved material smelled not rank as assumed, but strangely like chocolate.

When I knocked on the bathroom door again, I half expected her to be unconscious but she was already dressed and doing a weak job of rubbing at her hair, her lungs protesting with intermittent grating sounds. She hadn't washed it but it was wet where its length had dipped into the water.

"Let me," I said and took the towel. Much of the filth had been removed, her skin pink and clean, though her nails still had dirt trapped in them. It was an improvement, the rest could wait. She swayed as I rubbed at her hair and something caught my eye, a fresh wound at the back of her neck. I pushed her hair aside and gaped at it.

"What is this?"

"A graze." Her weary words took effort.

It was more than a graze, it was fucking gash, not large but deep, nestled just between the ligaments below her hairline. I disinfected and dressed the wound, keeping my fingers crossed it would be enough, and she tailed me out to the bed.

"I've put the electric blanket on low, you should be warm."

"I can sleep here?"

"Yes." I nodded encouragingly and watched her creep under the duvet and tuck her bear against her side. Sitting up against the bedhead, she looked at me guardedly but with surprising focus. I pushed a chap stick into her hand. "For your lips, they look sore. I'll be right back."

In the kitchen I put a few things together on a tray and to my surprise, she was still awake when I got back upstairs.

"Are you comfortable now?"

"I'm tired."

"Can you manage a few mouthfuls?" Her eyes widened, staring at the tray I placed on her legs. "The smoothie is mostly almond milk, banana, and pear. I don't expect you to eat the pasta," I assured her, "just whatever you can. I found these too, they'll kick ass with your chest pain but you need to put something in your stomach with them, even if it's just the drink." They were fast-release codeine I'd found in my mother's supplies and she took them with a tentative sip of smoothie. She narrowed her eyes at me as I sat by her side and watched.

"Are you going to tell them where I am?"

"Who?" She shook her head weakly and made no reply. "I don't know anyone around here and I wouldn't put you in danger."

I counted the sips she took - eleven in all, swallowed with a grimace - before she put the glass down and dropped her arm to the duvet.

"Not a bad effort." I plucked the tray from the bed so she could lie down properly. "The bathroom is right there and I'll be around if you need anything."

She was already drifting away and didn't answer.

Chapter Three

Questions

The wind picked up that evening, switched from a rising and falling whistle to a high pitched howl, constantly assaulting the eaves of the house. The sound was tranquilizing; the wilder the external world, the calmer my internal one - I would sleep well tonight.

Lark's clothing was barely in a condition to justify keeping it. It was at least four sizes too big for her and once clean would still be incredibly unflattering, resembling more hospital or prison get-up than anything. But I supposed this girl's priorities lay elsewhere and, as with the shoes, did not want to throw anything of hers away. I put them through two wash cycles and left them folded on the machine, hoping she would take my advice and bin them. Her presence made me feel less like an intruder in the house. Seeing her deep slumber when I checked made me tired and I went to bed early, probably not fully recovered from last night's hangover.

Looking back, that was when the dreams began. I woke the next morning with a heavy, foreboding feeling, as if I had been in a dark place all night. So dark, it was both a struggle and a relief to make it back to the real world. I never remembered details and, that first morning in particular, the darkness melted away quickly with a sense of the day ahead. But the vague fragment of discomfort managed to acquire a special place in my subconscious, a new neural connection had been made and would continue to fire over the next couple of weeks, through its significance was in no way yet obvious.

Yesterday had been a strange one to say the least. Looking too far ahead wasn't my style, I'd always lived in the moment, and for now the moment was an interesting one. Although I knew she wouldn't be up to much, I hoped to get a few answers out of my mysterious guest today.

In the kitchen, I drank coffee and once again stared into the fridge in a daze. I hadn't bought enough food, had neglected to stock up on fattening breakfast foods. It was okay for me, I was healthy and often waited until lunch to eat anything at all. But the sickly stranger needed sustenance, whether she was hungry or not. Another smoothie would be a safe option since she appeared to find it painful swallowing and hadn't touched any of the pasta last night. I put a bit of scrambled egg on a plate as well, just in case. Was my mothering instinct kicking in? The thought made me shudder with distaste.

She was coughing when I knocked and went in to her. Guido, apparently not put off by her illness, had pushed his way through the door sometime during the night and lay sprawled at her side. The room smelled of menthol and eucalyptus; she'd used the vaporub. Smiling felt wrong given how sick she looked.

"Good morning. Can you sit up?"

She looked at me warily as I placed the tray on her legs and pulled the chair beside the bed closer. I studied her; her eyes still watery and red, the dustbin beside the bed almost full of used tissues. That she had been courteous enough to use it was nice. She clenched the bedclothes tightly at her waist, waiting for me to speak.

"You don't have to be afraid. Food and meds," I said and nodded at the tray, but she kept her eyes on me. "How are you feeling? Can you eat?"

She looked down, distrust in her eyes.

"What are all these?" she asked, observing the cocktail of pills in a saucer.

"I did some research on your symptoms. This one," I said, pointing to the Tylenol, "is a mild painkiller which also helps reduce your fever, you need to take it every six hours. This is a decongestant, it'll help with the mucus in your trachea. That's an antibiotic which you need to take morning and night, it targets the bacteria responsible for your infection. None of them will hurt you, they're to help your symptoms. If your pain is still bad later, I can give you some more codeine, the stuff I gave you last night, which is a stronger painkiller."

"Later? Don't you want me to leave?"

"No. Unless you want to go home?"

If I was hoping for some indication of where home was, it was not to be. She looked at me without answering.

"Listen... Why don't you stay here until you're feeling better? You're welcome to." Or at least until she has somewhere to go, I thought. It was obvious the poor girl was directionless, with far too many variables working against her.

"This bed is..." Her voice broke into a rasp, she tried to clear it and went into a brief coughing fit. "Huge, it could fit four people."

"As long as you're comfortable. It looks like you've made a friend." I nodded at the cat.

"What's her name?"

"His name. Guido." The electric blanket was off. "Are you warm enough?"

"Why are you being so nice?"

"I don't have much else to do. I like playing nursemaid."

"I don't need looking after," she said stubbornly. That she could display such a strong mindset under the circumstances was reassuring, she may not be as vulnerable as she appeared.

"Sure you do," I argued. "You're kind of pathetic." The unchecked comment just slipped out and for a moment I worried it might upset her. But she only narrowed her eyes with a petulant sniff.

"I am, aren't I," she agreed quietly. "Tell me the truth - am I dead?" The question was genuine.

"If you're dead then I must be too," I mused but her eyes held misgiving without humor. "You are not dead. Why would you think that?"

"I must be dreaming. It's too nice."

"It is so strange for someone to help you?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Are you often so sick in your dreams?"

"I don't have dreams," she shut her eyes, "only nightmares, but if I'm dead then that might have changed."

I stared at the teddy bear just visible under the sheets beside her and fought the urge to cry.

"Who are you running from? Boyfriend? Husband?" Her eyes showed no reaction to either of these words and she did not answer, only began swallowing the tablets off the tray with her smoothie. It wasn't much comfort and merely brought forward the possibility she was some kind of abductee. Which I did not care to envision.

"I want you to feel safe here. I don't know how you got so banged up but if someone did that to you it isn't even remotely right. Maybe you should reconsider talking to the police." Unsure the suggestion would get through to her, I had to follow my instincts. She looked a little overwhelmed by the words but didn't verbally respond.

"You have medical books?" she asked instead, after a prolonged silence and spooned a tiny portion of scrambled egg into her mouth.

"I checked your symptoms out online."

"You mean, on a computer?"

"Yes." How strange; she reacted as if the concept was foreign to her.

"Do you have any books?"

"There are quite a lot downstairs. What do you like to read?"

"Everything."

"I'll get you some now," I said and stood up

Studying the shelves in the back room I was at a loss what to give Lark. In the end I chose a loose selection of fiction and non-fiction; she probably wouldn't be able to concentrate well yet anyway.

Bringing the small pile in to her, I was granted the most beautiful thing. She smiled. It was small, weak, and crept onto her face as if it wasn't entirely intentional, but it lit up her face unlike any smile I'd ever seen.

"There are factual and fiction here." I placed the stack on the nightstand.

"Thank you, Belen."

"You don't need to keep..." I froze and turned to her in bewilderment. "How do you know that name? I told you my name was Saffron."

"Sorry. Saffron."

I studied her, eyes narrowed. It was unlikely anyone around here would have seen me on screen and I doubted Lark was one of the few in the state who had. Was it possible Hamish had mentioned it yesterday while I was in the kitchen? Not very. I sat down and pulled the chair closer.

"What happened when you touched me yesterday?" I asked and she looked at me placidly. "Something happened when you grabbed my wrist, it was like you left the room. Before that you weren't talking, or even looking at me."

She nodded slowly, returned her eyes to the tray and continued eating in tiny portions. I watched her. It was sometimes a useful trick to get people to talk, just staring at them. But I should have known the usual tricks wouldn't work on her; she was far from ordinary.

I did rather enjoy looking at her though. The tiredness in her face and redness around her eyes and nose didn't do much to camouflage the natural beauty of this woman's features. With health and make-up she'd have the looks of someone the vultures in my industry would eat alive.

A part of me didn't want her to reveal her secrets, wanted to enjoy the strangeness of this creature for as long as possible. But how I hated myself when thoughts like this occurred to me, it made me want to leave her alone, not infect her with my diseased mind any longer than necessary. Poor girl, finding me instead of someone with a pure heart. Then again, did people with pure hearts really exist, I pondered.

"You seem alright," she said suddenly and I glanced up sharply from my twiddling thumbs to find her looking at me. "You have many different faces but none of them want to hurt me the way they did."

The sentence bombarded me with exclamation and question marks, but it was the vision of someone hurting her which was most disturbing.

"What kind of screwed up hellhole did you crawl out of?"

"It's true." Her voice was quiet. "I don't understand things the way you do. But I can learn."

"Can you..."

"It might be easy. Come here," she said and beckoned me to the side of the bed. At my hesitation she said, "Don't you want to help?" Warily, I nodded and sat next to her. "Give me your hand."

She was the second person in only two days in Savage Falls who had demanded my hands. I held one out and she took it, held it stretched between her own.

"Nothing now." Her lips turned down in disappointment. "You've raised your shields."

"Do you have ESP?"

"I don't know what that is." She examined my fingers then lowered her nose and sniffed them. "You smell nice," she said, apparently her nasal passages weren't totally blocked.

"Cocoa butter. I'll bring it in for you, your skin feels dry."

It didn't, it felt soft and a dash moist, but I needed something to throw at her after her unnerving words. She pushed the tray down on the bed and dropped her head back to the pillow. Her eyelids fluttered shut in her still flushed face. She had eaten a few mouthfuls of egg, an improvement on last night's meal.

Once again, plucking the tray from her legs, I said, "I'll come check on you later."

What did she see when she touched me? She knew I had many different faces, she knew the name Belen. She was special, I was certain of it. Either that or I really was cracking up being back in this house. Something about her frightened me, but not in a way I wanted to let go of. My satisfaction she hadn't insisted on leaving yet was not selfless. For now at least, she was mine - my scary thing.

Later Hamish called while I was in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner. Again Lark hadn't eaten more than a few bites and exchanged only a few words.

"Is the girl still there?"

"She is. I don't think she's in a rush to leave. I've put her in Cait's room. Why? Is there news?" Through my mind ran the image of her face on a missing persons poster and, accompanying it, the kooky idea I could run a photo of her through a facial recognition image search site. I shook the thoughts off as Hamish went on.

"Not exactly news. I mentioned it to Viv last night and she had a theory I hadn't thought of. The more I think about it, the more likely it seems."

"Yeah?"

"There's a tiny community southeast of here, a settlement. It's only made up of a few families, but they are large and extended families. They're religious extremists, fanatics, it must be where she's from."

"A cult?" It was a startling thought.

"It's more like a sect. They don't mix and don't follow our rules so no one knows much about them but you get rumors - polygamy, physical abuse, that kind of thing. I don't know how true they are but it fits with the state she was in."

"Okay. Shit. And the religion part?"

"I just don't know. They're believed to be along the lines of the FLDS, which, in itself, has a terrible rep. From my understanding God is only used as an excuse for complete subjugation to these types. They keep their members as uneducated as possible."

I grabbed a pen and wrote the initials down; they meant nothing to me.

"Lark isn't stupid." My tone was defensive and I immediately regretted it; I couldn't explain how I was so convinced of this, why I sensed there was a reservoir of intelligence behind those eyes. Thankfully it wasn't that part of the statement Hamish found baffling.

"Lark?" he asked.

"Right, sorry. She started talking yesterday after you left. Her name is Lark."

"No surname?"

"No. She wouldn't tell me where she's from and she seemed scared by the idea when I asked if she wanted to talk to the police."

"It's shocking she even had the guts to leave. They aren't the kind of people who take well to losing one of their own. I doubt she'll stay away for long, once she's well enough, she'll probably want to go back."

"No. Uh-uh. She's not going back to a place like that."

"They're her family, they'll have a hold over her no matter how bad she was treated. Not to mention her life-skills will be limited."

"She seems pretty switched-on to me." My thinking was that Hamish was underestimating her but I had no rational basis for it. "She just needs time. Are the settlement people likely to come looking for her, trying to lure her back?"

"They won't be looking for her there, that's for sure."

"Don't they care that she could be half-dead in the woods?"

"That's the strangest thing," he mused in perplexed tone. "The community is closer to Fendin Ridge than Savage Falls. Even if she made it directly to Linwood, a journey through that terrain would still have taken at least a day. Twenty four hours out there alone with nothing to eat or keep warm? With the added risk of a bear encounter. It's quite a feat, it shows how desperate she was to get away."

"Surely they have a road."

"Maybe she stayed off it to avoid being seen; if she was already delirious, she could easily have strayed too far. It's weird she made it somewhere she could get help at all. Wandering through the wilderness with no sense of which direction to go, it's not unrealistic for her to have died out there."

"Pure luck, I suppose."

"I don't know," he said curiously. "I'm not normally a superstitious man but the girl may have forces on her side."

A shiver went down my spine and her reaction when she grabbed my wrist played through my memory again, but I kept those morsels to myself.

"Thanks for the update anyway."

"I find the circumstances quite exciting." I envisioned him rubbing his hands together. "I feel bad for the girl, of course, but I've always had a particular dislike for these sect types. If one of their own is rebelling, it's interesting."

"I won't mention what you've told me to her, not yet."

"Maybe you should just bring her around here, we're happy to take her off your hands. You shouldn't have to deal with this."

"What? No, I'm fine. She's comfortable here now and... I don't know, I kind of like her."

"The offer's there if it gets too much. Watch her temperature and well, I'm sure I don't need to say this but, be gentle. We probably couldn't imagine what she's been through."

Ending the call, I stood in the sitting room staring at the burnt cinders in the cold fireplace for a moment. A sect? How terrible. There was no real proof it was where she'd come from but it made more sense than anything else and my desire to protect Lark, shelter her from those parasites grew stronger with the revelation. I'd not known of any places like that in the area when I was young, but I don't suppose it's the kind of thing told to children and it might be something which had sprung up only since I'd been gone.

For the next two days she slept. She woke long enough to eat, take pills and exchange a few words but she tired quickly and the rest was necessary. Guido took a shine; when he wasn't lounging by the fire or waiting next to his bowl, he stayed with her. A few times when I checked, she slept with the books I'd brought up, scattered on the bed or clenched in her hand. As if their mere presence comforted her. Had she not been allowed books at this settlement? They would have drummed the bible into her, if nothing else, I concluded. Her temperature peaked at 102.3 and, at one point, when I brought her a meal and meds she seemed particularly agitated.

"You must not tell anyone I'm here," she said, panicked.

"I won't."

"Really." She grasped my arm and looked hard into my eyes. "I'm trusting you. No one. That man who was here the other day, who was he?"

"Hamish, he's a local GP."

"Local to where?"

"You don't know where you are?" I didn't try to hide my alarm. Figuring she must be delirious, I wasn't sure why she hadn't mentioned this before. "The town five minutes west is Savage Falls. Further down into the valley, about a twenty minute drive, is another town called Fendin Ridge."

"Savage Falls? That's an ominous name for a town, isn't it?"

"It's the name of the man who founded it, Oliver Savage. And there's a spectacular set of falls made by the water running off Garnet Peak." I peered at her gingerly. She seemed more flushed that day and had a wildness in her eyes. "You do know you're in Montana, right? Do you know what year it is?"

She waved the question away with a frown. "You're sure no one knows where I am?"

"What are you so afraid of?" I was sorry for the question as soon as I asked it. It should have been clear she was afraid of the sect people finding her. I didn't want to push her to talk about unpleasant things until she was stronger, but the inquiry didn't seem to bother her.

"I had a bad dream," she said quietly, as if that explained everything.

Leaving her to sleep again, our limited exchange that day left me with a new set of complicated questions and emotions. It was one thing to shelter and brainwash their followers but for her to not even be aware of the basic geography of the area was on another level. It certainly reiterated Hamish's bafflement about her finding her way to safety. I started doing some research on polygamous sects in the US and what I read truly disgusted me.

I brought a couple of old maps of the area to her, curious if they would pique her interest. Her initial apathy when I handed them over changed and later I found her sleeping upright with them spread across the bed.

By her fourth morning at Linwood, she showed signs of improvement. She had a book open in front of her when I knocked, her face so close I wondered how she could distinguish the words before she turned her head at my entry. Her mouth curled upwards to match her smiling eyes as she shifted to sitting position.

"You look better today," I commented.

"This book teaches you how to manipulate people," she said quickly, sounding excited about it. I lifted the cover, an English translation of Les Liaisons dangereuses.

"A weird but accurate way to describe it," I responded. "It's a classic, a nasty one but still a classic. Maybe I should give you more modern stuff to read."

"The message is timeless. People are still like this, don't you think?"

"In some ways, I guess. In some places. But that book doesn't give a very balanced account of human nature. It's depressing as fuck."

"How strange. Yes, I feel much better today. I slept well last night." She paused and a shadow crossed her face. "I've been here a long time."

"Four days. It probably seems like longer because of the fever."

"You've been so kind."

"I'm not kicking you out yet." The shadow was an indicator of worry and I wanted it gone. "You must be feeling pretty grubby again by now. Up to a shower after breakfast?" She stared at me intently for a few moments, her eyes narrowed but clear, the grey circles around them starting to fade.

"Okay," she finally answered, looking down at her plate with a vague smile. "I'm sick of you looking at my hair like you're not sure what's going to crawl out of it."

"Sorry," I chuckled. "I'll bring some things from the downstairs bathroom. I have an excellent conditioner you can use. It's not the best for your hair type but it will do."

She ate decently that morning, finishing a smoothie and almost a whole bacon sandwich, before she spent a very long time in the bathroom. So long, I ended up knocking to check on her. I could hear the shower was off.

"Lark, are you alright?" When there was no answer, I opened the door and peeked in. She sat on the side of the tub in fresh pajamas, a towel draped lazily over her wet hair, staring at the floor in a kind of trance. "What's wrong?"

"Look," she pointed. "The shape of my foot on the bathmat. I don't know why but..." She was at a loss for words.

"It's perfect." I observed the wet indent in the toweling. "You've made your imprint."

"It makes me feel real."

"You are real," I said and she finally broke her trance and looked at me.

"You're real too."

It was an odd little scene and spoke of her sensitivity. Early in her recovery, her quirks in the absence of delirium were beginning to show; I thought they were endearing.

It would have been easy to get sucked in by her abstractions; resisting it, I attempted to be the practical one, not a role I'd had much experience in. I blow-dried her hair and redressed the gash at the back of her neck. It wasn't infected and was knitting together nicely, but it struck me again how deep it looked.

"How did you get this anyway?" I asked, applying disinfectant powder. "It's a strange place for a wound like this."

"I must have fallen down. I don't remember much about my walk in the woods."

She was lying, without knowing how, I was sure of this. It wasn't a thing I could hold against her, but my interest over what she had been through was deepening with every minute she spent in the house.

"Do you remember how long you were out there?" Hamish had calculated twenty four hours minimum and even that made me shiver with unease.

"No," she replied flatly and refused to elaborate.

I folded my arms and inspected her. Her hair was magnificent, auburn highlights I hadn't noticed before tinted the ends of some of her curls. Her cracked lips had softened and were beginning to heal, plump and pink. She settled back under the sheets and, thinking she would want to read or rest, I headed out of the room.

"Stay for a while," she stopped me with a tone that suggested loneliness. It surprised me. Maybe she wasn't ready to talk about her life yet, but I could get her talking about other things. Hesitating at the door, I turned and looked at her.

"Okay." I felt strangely nervous. "Can I do your nails? They've been bothering me."

"Do them?" Her expression was confused as she glanced down at her hands then looked at me quizzically.

"Clean, cut, file and polish them. Clear, just to make them strong. You don't have to do anything, just hold out your hands."

"Will it hurt?"

"No! You'll feel better once they're done. I don't know how you put up with them being in that state." Stubborn remnants of dirt still clung under her cuticles which were uneven and torn in places.

"I am at your mercy while I'm stuck in this bed anyway. You can do what you want. If it hurts I'll get angry though."

I smiled and went to get my kit. She was a model client, quiet and still and her nails, once I had them under control were quite lovely. She didn't talk at first, possibly waiting for me as I was for her, but I enjoyed the silence between us, it was so different from any of the people I associated with. In Mexico I'd never had a friend who wasn't in show-business, superficial and obnoxious, and before Mexico, I'd never had a friend at all. Lark didn't expect anything of me, she wasn't an audience to be entertained, a job to be done, a director to impress, a fan to act like I gave a shit to. I felt free to be quiet and for once just enjoy the company of another human being.

At the same time, whatever shields she thought I had raised that first time she held my hand in hers were also up now - however enjoyable her touch was, it was countered by the weighty sensation it might also be treacherous.

"You're beautiful," she said and I lifted my head to find her scrutinizing me. "Your eyes have black flecks in them, I've never seen such a color."

Everything she said came from an unedited place, she was open, a gust of fresh air.

Staying silent and continuing with her left hand, I was nevertheless flattered by the comment. I hadn't given in to the compulsion to put make-up on just because there was someone else in the house and personally thought I resembled a piece of stale bread.

"Did it hurt putting all those holes through your ears?" she asked.

"The one's at the top hurt, yes."

"They're pretty but it seems strange to hurt yourself to look like that."

Opening my mouth, I flashed my tongue stud at her and had to chuckle at her wide-eyed reaction. She continued to stare at me as I returned my attention to her hand.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"You're very unusual, I like listening to you."

"I'm unusual? Look at your tongue!" she said and I laughed.

"A lot of people have piercings like this."

"Piercings." She tested the word.

"Did that slash on your throat hurt?" I asked and her free hand automatically went to her scar.

"What do you think?" she fired. She was feisty. Wonderful.

"How did you get it?"

"It was so long ago I can't even remember," she sighed.

"Then how do you know it hurt?" Her eyes flashed at me in irritation so I changed the subject with a guilty smile. "How old are you?"

"Twenty four."

Like with her name, the answer came after a lengthy pause, as if she had to calculate it in her head. If she was twenty four, she didn't seem very convinced of it; she was a terrible liar. It was almost comforting. But why lie about her age? The only reason I could think of was that for some reason she didn't know her real age. Was she or had she at some point suffered amnesia? It wouldn't be all that surprising given the possible traumas which lay in her past. If she was willing to lie to cover up amnesia, asking her about it directly wouldn't be much use so I held my tongue.

"I have to go out this afternoon. Will you be okay on your own for a bit?"

"I can stay here?"

"Of course." The relief in her expression was tainted by a smudge of suspicion. She still did not trust me. "Unless you want to come with me?"

"I'll stay here," she said hastily, adding, "Where are you going?"

"Mainly the grocery store. I need to get more food and supplies, I didn't think I'd have a guest who needed building up so badly. Do you have anything in particular you like to eat?"

"Everything you've given me is nice."

"The smoothies are good for you but you need more solid stuff now you're feeling better. What do you usually eat?"

"You don't need to do special things for me," she said softly and I took a few moments to answer.

"Your bones stick out too much." I knew plenty of women who went to extreme lengths to keep themselves that way but Lark's immune system was weak, I wanted to see her healthier before we parted ways. "Didn't they feed you where you came from?"

"I have a fast metabolism, that's all." She once again surprised me with her level of knowledge. Admittedly, I was unfamiliar with the bible, but felt I could safely assume there was nothing about metabolism in it. She must have had access to other resources.

"I like to cook. And you need fattening up."

"Are you planning to eat me?"

"Yes," I said casually. "Human meat is tasty and highly profitable on the black market."

Her aghast look fell away when she saw the smile in my eyes.

"You're despicable." She turned thoughtful for a minute.

"You seem pretty educated for..." I caught myself.

"For what?"

"Considering where you're from," I said carefully and she narrowed her eyes.

"You know where I'm from?" Her hand jerked free from my ministrations.

"The settlement. Hamish told me about it." My mild tone was effective because she slid her hand back into its position.

"Settlement..." Her eyes were still on me but I continued working, hoping she wouldn't respond badly.

"He said it took a lot of strength to leave like you did."

"What do you know about the settlement?" She used the word awkwardly, as if it was new to her, or something she found particularly objectionable.

"Not much. They're your family, religious fanatics." I glanced at her raised her brows. "And that you're afraid of them. You can have a life without them, they can't legally force you to go back."

"You wouldn't understand."

"You're right, I don't mean to assume things. But these marks on your wrists... I know you don't have to take shit like that from people. Family or not." Her eyes continued to study me, perhaps she had never heard ideas like this before. "I hope you choose not to go back," I added conscientiously.

If I'd been expecting to get more information out of her I was mistaken, she seemed to have lost interest in the subject. Her eyes finally left me and she leaned back with a sigh.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be eaten. It might be worth it if I get to stay here for a while."

I smiled with relief. She was not contemplating a return to her former home just yet.

"It will take at least a month for you to be fat enough," I told her and blew at her left pinkie finger.

"A month?" Her eyes narrowed again. "You will allow me to stay here for a month?"

"Do you have somewhere else to be?" I shifted Guido, moved to her other side and began her right hand, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

"You could teach me things..." she said thoughtfully.

"What do you want to learn?"

"Everything."

"That's a lot."

She looked at me sharply. "No one can know where I am."

"Hamish and I want to protect you. It's a no-brainer."

"No brainer," she mouthed then asked curiously, "So, that's how things are?"

"That's how things are."

I wasn't sure of the certainty of this invite until I made it. My desire to offer words of comfort was strong. I was falling prey to the urge to give whatever I could to a given situation without thinking about the consequences, but I was in the dark how severe those consequences would be; that I was offering my independence up as a sacrificial lamb. It didn't matter, I was already in the gravity field of a black hole, there was no way back.

"I like it you live this way. All alone, no one to answer to. Do many people live like this?"

"Not many. Some do it for short periods."

As I made assumptions about her, she made certain assumptions about me. Neither of us were willing to clarify things to the other. For my part, the reasons lay somewhere between fear and fascination. Recklessly, I told myself it would iron itself out with time.

Chapter Four

Rabbit Hole

That night I sat in the living room with the TV on, half-way through a thriller series which kept my brain occupied until my eyelids started drooping. It was around ten thirty and I had thought Lark asleep when her shadowy shape appeared in the doorway, hair wildly poking in all directions. I reached to turn on the lamp beside me and smiled as she stared at the concave screen.

"Hi. Are you okay?" I paused the episode and her face fell as the images stopped. "Come and watch, if you want."

She scuttled over to the other sofa and stared at the screen in anticipation.

"What language is this?" was the single sentence she uttered before lapsing into silence.

"German."

While her rapt concentration remained fully on the TV that night, I found my own attention diverted, frequently turning to observe her facial expressions and reactions as she watched events unfold which she couldn't possibly be following very easily. She stayed silent; no complaints about the language, the subtitles, no questions about the plot. She simply sat, knees bent to her chest, lips slightly parted, tissue clutched between her fingers; blowing her nose periodically. She stared at the screen like it was something supernatural from which her mind couldn't be distracted for a moment. She lasted until one am before, with another stolen glance, I noticed she had fallen asleep, head lolling on the armrest.

Switching the TV off, I went over and roused her.

"Come on, time for bed."

"I want to stay and watch," she protested sleepily.

"Tomorrow," I promised and urged her up the stairs.

Exhausted myself, her spontaneous slumber offered a well-timed excuse and she was asleep again as soon as her head touched the pillow. She looked so peaceful; breathing through her nose, mouth closed, flush gone - an image of rested perfection. Something stirred inside me and, sitting up in my own room, I opened a Word document and began to write about my strange guest.

The plan to start a journal was not a new one, it had been brewing for a while, but the embryonic conception looked more like a manifesto of my acting and reminiscences about my childhood. Now, here I was in my mother's house, surrounded by memories, the ideal time to explore the past, and my fingers typed about Lark. They questioned, theorized, romanticized; building the foundation of a character I knew nearly nothing about. It was easier to write about her than to think too deeply about what she'd been through. But while my imagination ran wild on the page, the bulk of my recordings would appear, to a later version of myself, to be naïve and understated.

Ill-conceived as they were, they did offer insight into what was going on, at least in my mind, during those early days. My innocence to Lark's actual circumstances was hardly surprising; what is surprising, looking back at the written ponderings, was that I made so little effort to discover the truth. There were at least two solid reasons I awarded myself for this; the first, that I didn't want to bully or frighten the girl, something I believed she had been subjected to her whole life; and the second, I was enjoying her mystery. Spun through all my interactions with her was a deplorable selfishness. Under the guise of help and protection, I hoarded her. The emotions expressed through my words painted a complicated picture of an observer who wasn't sure if she was rescuing or being rescued - a detail which Hamish, later down the line, would studiously propose to me.

The morning after my first journal entry, I stood at the kitchen counter whisking an omelet mix. The radio my mother kept by the microwave was programmed to a local station which tended towards eighties and nineties rock music. It was a strange comfort listening to it while I cooked and picturing Cait doing the same. I was bopping, singing along to Whitesnake's Here I Go Again, when a yowl demanded attention from behind me and I spun around theatrically, expecting only Guido to see the performance. Of course, Lark stood in the doorway, a gleeful giggle playing at her mouth.

"Morning!" I smiled brightly. Guido slunk over to his bowl and sat down to wait.

"Good morning." Lark was radiant, the late night hadn't set her recovery back.

"You look well. Hungry?"

"Very. Can I help?"

"You sure can, you can feed him." I nodded at the waiting feline. "There are casserole packets in that cupboard. Just one, he likes the seafood flavor best, but any is fine."

"I dreamed in German last night," she said excitedly, opening the cupboard.

"Really?" I chuckled. "Not a nightmare?" The series we'd been watching was creepy.

"Nope. A regular dream."

"Aren't you allowed to watch television at the settlement?" The habit of slipping encouraging nudges to talk about her origins was sprouting shoots, as was her habit of not taking the bait.

"No, it's amazing." She nodded, with that smile that trapped my breath half-way down my windpipe, and emptied a casserole into Guido's bowl. "Can I watch some more tonight?"

"You can do anything you want. Plastics bin under the sink."

She came over and watched as I poured the omelet mix into a pan. When I turned away, she caught my arm, jolting me with the sense the same thing would happen as that first time she grabbed my wrist. The feeling evaporated rapidly.

"Thank you for everything you've done," she said when I met her wide eyes. "But I don't need to be in bed today."

"Do you want to go home?"

"No." She glanced out the window. "But I feel well, can't I do something useful?"

"That's not necessary, you shouldn't be pushing yourself."

"It's just that being in bed is making me crazy... It's the silence." Her expression darkened. "It gets to me. I start thinking and..." She shook her head. "At least you have music on down here, it's nice."

"I'm not going to force you back to bed! How about this, after breakfast, you help me light the fire in the sitting room and I'll show you how to use the television yourself. You can hang out there and watch whatever you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah, sure. No need for silence when you have unlimited internet. I can only imagine how it would be to finally have access to a virtual cornucopia of multimedia entertainment. As long as you stay warm."

"Ah-ha!" She clapped her hands in excitement and I felt a flutter in my chest. Her happiness was an alarmingly beautiful thing.

And so the morning was killed acquainting Lark with the television and from there, the tablet and Google search. She was an extremely fast learner, and by midday she had grown roots on the sofa, heavily engrossed in sampling shows from Netflix and cross-referencing them on IMDb. She refused to dismiss anything without checking it thoroughly but she was only watching previews and teasers. Systematically she went through shows one by one, occasionally adding one to the watchlist, as if she had a job to do. It was humorous to me, but she was happy and occupied and I had no doubt the process would both keep her distracted from her cruel thoughts and tire her out.

"Will you watch more of your German series?" she asked over dinner.

"You can put on something you like. Maybe you'd prefer something more cheerful."

"I like your one, it's weird and now that I've read about it, I understand what's happening better."

She fell asleep on the sofa, and again, I urged her up to bed under light protest.

The following day, she asked me to explain the appliances in the kitchen and laundry. Since I suspected she was trying to weasel her way into housework because she was used to it and felt like she owed me something, I initially argued with her, but she was insistent.

"I want to learn about everything, I need to."

"But surely you've used a microwave and washing machine before?"

"I haven't," she said quietly, and looked away. "I'm sorry."

The situation utterly confused me, but seeing her upset or sorry about anything wasn't acceptable.

"Okay." I smiled as she looked up. "I'll show you everything."

I coached her through the kitchen appliances and the laundry equipment. Her lack of experience with each and every modern convenience was baffling, and her excitement over everything from the dishwasher to the electric kettle, highly infectious. Again, I found myself fantasizing she had stepped out of another time.

She vacuum cleaned the entire house that day with zesty determination, and when she returned it to its place, I caught her pat and thank it. Unable to hold it in, I laughed out loud and she whirled around to look at me, a furious blush on her face.

"Sorry. That was just too cute," I said and she smiled sheepishly. She pulled an old photo out of her pocket and waved it at me.

"Is this you?"

"Ay." I was about seven, looking thoroughly pissed off at having my picture taken. "Where did you find that?"

"Caught behind one of the book shelves. You were a little chublet."

I chuckled at her wording and conceded, "Yeah, I was. I don't have a fast metabolism."

"It's just baby fat, I'm sure you lost it quickly."

"With some serious hard work. Unlike you, I require upkeep. Thank you for cleaning, you should veg for a while."

"Veg?"

"Relax."

She seemed just as happy to help with practical things, if not more. The troubled expressions I caught crossing her face sometimes as she stared at the tablet were as contagious as her enthusiasm.

She insisted on helping me with dinner that night, and one thing stood out among all others - she had absolutely no experience with food preparation. It was bizarre, I would have assumed cooking was one of the few things women were not only allowed but forced to do in a segregated religious sect. Based on what I'd read, women were generally assigned the role of housekeeping and baby-makers. Since Lark hadn't even a basic understanding of how to throw a meal together, I could only speculate her duties had been involved in other areas and I wasn't at all comfortable with what those might have been. Without considering an alternative to Hamish's theory, I instead jumped to the most disturbing conclusions, further fuelling my need to shelter my strange visitor.

With the radio on, we were chopping vegetables when I spotted a cockroach scuttling down the kitchen wall and to the underside of the counter.

"Fuck!" I screeched hysterically, threw the knife down and groped for the spray under the sink, darting my eyes toward the bottom of the counter to keep an eye on the slippery beast. Of course, the spray was nowhere to be found and I must have been making quite a fuss because Lark stood by, giggling at me. "It's a roach! It must have come in through the window, why the hell did I leave it open?"

"For Guido."

"Right. Guido!" He would catch the damn thing with pleasure. "Never here when I need him." I grabbed a newspaper and began circling the area warily. "They're not common here, maybe it didn't come through the window." I didn't like to think about where it'd come from - where there was one, there were usually more.

"It's not going to hurt you," Lark said in enjoyment. "Why do you want to kill it so much?"

"I don't like killing them, but if I don't, it will absolutely come after me. I'll spend the rest of my time in this house feeling it crawling up my back or down my pants. The little bastards always find you."

"They don't come after me. Maybe it's your smell."

"Hey. You are a rude shit."

"Why?" She looked at me innocently. "I like your smell. If I was them, I'd come after you too."

"Ay, Dios mío," I laughed. "I take it back, you're adorable."

"I am?"

"Yes. Now would you help me? This is serious, we have to get it. You won't like it either if one ends up in your bed."

"Whatever you say."

To my amusement Lark apologized to the squished corpse before she disposed of it. Yes, she was adorable. If Lark was the first person to make me question whether people with pure hearts existed, she was also the first person to present as a possible candidate. To me, it was almost incomprehensible she turned out so kind after the treatment I believed she had suffered at the hands of her own family.

The limited ways I tried to get her talking about her past were rejected consistently. It remained the elephant in the room, which I was almost as unwilling to confront as she seemed to be. Latent in my mind was the idea the teddy bear had belonged to another person at the settlement, a child, perhaps a little sister, or worse, a baby of her own she had left behind. She never referred to family, made no mention of God or anything spiritual and displayed no sign of having been brainwashed for or against anything. Her interests were wide-ranging and unprejudiced.

Guido didn't show up for his dinner that night, nor was there any sign of him the next morning and I started to worry. He'd gone walkabout before, occasionally skipping meals, but never in an environment like this. What if he'd been caught in an animal trap, or eaten something poisonous? He had a nasty habit of chewing on anything.

After three overcast days, a shy sun dared to unveil itself on Saturday morning, peeking up over the horizon to the west, while Lark was taking one of her excessively long showers.

Watching her over the breakfast table, I hazarded a suggestion.

"Do you want to come for a walk along Fountain Creek? It's a beautiful day and you could probably use some fresh air, just if you're strong enough." My line of thought was she might open up if we were alone outdoors and on the move, where she couldn't be distracted by screens or suffer the discomfort of a face to face confrontation.

"That sounds good." She delicately sliced a section of hash brown with her knife and fork and poked it into her mouth before smiling at me.

"We can call for Guido. I'm worried about him."

"Mm, silly Gwidsy. He'll be back."

Her pet name for him made me smile.

"He better, I love that damn cat."

"He knows he's got it good with you."

I was glad the suggestion hadn't been vigorously declined. If she was reluctant to venture back into the woods at all, it wouldn't have surprised me. That she was willing was a good sign; she understood the need for movement and air. The boots I lent her were a size too big; she compensated by wearing three pairs of socks. Perhaps I could take her to get some new shoes at some point, I stored the idea at the back of my mind. She looked very appealing all bundled up in thick clothing - she wouldn't suffer from cold this time.

"Just in case," I said and tossed a can of bear spray into her hands. She studied the can curiously for several seconds before pushing it into the pocket of her coat.

The stream had shifted over the years, its path moved further east so there was a rocky but fairly clear section on its western side which could be followed easily. The chirping of birds and the soft trickle of water over the stony bed were the only sounds; the sun shimmered on its surface and the breeze was cool but gentle.

Everything about the setting relaxed me. I walked this stream a lot when I was a child, used it as an escape from the house and Cait's tyranny. Lark, however, was vigilant; she scanned the wooded surroundings with scrutinizing eyes and her steps were hurried, as she was if uncomfortable lingering in one spot for too long. We walked for a good twenty minutes before I commented.

"You're still afraid of being seen." Spoken mildly, I didn't phrase it as a question, didn't want to give her the chance to deny it. "Tell me about where you come from."

"You mean, the settlement?"

"Yes. All those marks you have, the bruises, did they do that to you?"

"They hurt me. Every day they hurt me, I was scared all the time. There was nothing nice there."

The words were delivered mechanically, making my chest ache and tempting me to change the topic to happier things. But the subject had been successfully opened and I needed to make the most of it. I wanted to ask why they hurt her, whether it was because she wouldn't conform to their belief system, but I realized no matter the reasons they gave, there was no excuse for it. She had been abused, and that set my teeth on edge.

"You could have them arrested, they're not above the law." She didn't respond. "I'm glad you had the strength to leave."

"So," she began haltingly, her tone transformed, "would you approve if I had done something bad in order to protect myself?"

"Of course I would." I didn't hesitate but narrowed my eyes in thought as she continued walking. "Did you do something bad?"

She only shook her head without looking at me. I couldn't imagine Lark doing anything particularly terrible and whatever it was would have been in self-defense, so I didn't push the issue.

"Do you have a husband?"

"No," she said, turning to glance at me briefly in surprise.

"That's good, I guess." Interesting; if it wasn't for her revealing reaction, I might have suspected it to be a lie. From what I'd read, the pressure to marry young in these places was intense. Pressure? No, it was more like outright force. Though it wouldn't be official if she'd been forced into a polygamous marriage; if, on the other hand, she was a first wife, it could generate legal issues if she decided not to return. "So, was it your parents who treated you badly? Other family?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She trudged ahead of me.

Stopping, I sat down on a boulder. In a few moments, Lark realized and turned around; she came and crouched in front of me.

"You've got to give me something," I said quietly.

"What?"

Asking about her family wasn't working; I changed course.

"What did you see when you touched me that first time? You have some kind of psychic sensitivity?"

She stared at me, apprehensive. Wanting to influence her response to be honest, I met her eyes with soft encouragement.

"I saw your heart," she began slowly. "It happens through physical touch, a kind of transference. I saw a composite of emotions and memories. Not much, but enough."

This was an honest answer, her tone sincere, her gaze open, unwavering.

"You said I had many faces. Is that how you knew the name Belen?"

"I saw other names - Mia, Julie, Taryn - but Belen was the strongest. It was confusing because that's how you see yourself, you don't feel real or know who you are. Why do you have so many names?"

There was calm certainty in her voice when she said these things, leaving me with no doubt about her ability. The other names were characters I had played, roles I'd worked on over extended periods of time.

I shrugged, driven to reflect her own secrecy. She didn't seem to mind.

"What does it feel like? To do that?" I asked.

"With you?" She glanced toward the water and I thought I detected a slight blush creep onto her cheekbones. "It was nice. So much spirit and understanding, I knew I didn't have to be afraid of you."

"Can you do it anytime you touch someone?"

"It requires openness. On the sofa that day, it happened accidentally, because we were both vulnerable."

"Does anyone else know you can do this? Does your family know?"

She lowered her head with a shake, picked up a stick and started poking in the stony ground. The response was unconvincing; maybe she had been treated badly because of these peculiarities. In the past, people had been burned at the stake for less.

"You were still afraid of me after it happened." An observation rather than a question.

"Harm can be done unintentionally." She threw the stick in the water and stood up. "Should we go back?" She looked drained. We'd seen no sign of Guido but had walked more than enough.

"Yeah," I agreed, and followed behind her as she started back toward Linwood.

"Are you scared of me?" The words were quiet, as if she feared my reaction, and thrown over her shoulder so I almost didn't hear them.

"A little." I didn't deny it or hide my surprise at the question. "But not in a bad way, it's just new to me. I didn't know it was possible to have a gift like that."

She stopped and turned to look at me. "Gift?"

"It's an incredible thing, Lark."

She studied me for a moment before turning and continuing on in silence.

It was the first time she offered me a truth - I asked and she had given, not much but it was a big revelation. She displayed uncertainty over my reaction, but she'd trusted me anyway and I wasn't going to belittle the leap of faith. It satisfied me for the moment, and it fed the flames in my journal later. Behind all the questions about this ability of hers, her mention of harm being done unintentionally, lingered. It was further motivation to know more, always more. Lark ending up hurt because of simple ignorance wasn't a notion I could cope with.

She curled up in front of the television after lunch, tired but relaxed.

There was nothing inadequate about what she told me that day, I had set the ball rolling and was comforted by the knowledge she wasn't totally closed off to revealing things about herself. Like everything with Lark, it would require patience, which I had no problem with. I was enjoying her company. Her light, her plight, gave me substance, something I'd been missing for far too long. She replaced explorations of memories and my inner psyche and her presence was becoming something I didn't want to be without. Picturing how empty the house would feel when she left, put me in the mindset that I would probably leave fairly quickly too, once it happened, without having fulfilled any original plan to resolve my problems.

In an effort to combat this rut, I ventured, that afternoon, into the attic for the first time and began to assess the situation. Multitudes of junk had been collected and stored there over the years, in piles and on shelves, and I immediately encountered items which stirred me. To my surprise, Cait had kept many things from my childhood; boxes of Grimm brother's fairy tale books, computer and video games, plastic toys, and even baby jumpsuits.

All of this stuff and none of it had meant nearly as much as that bear she had thrown away. Why had she been so insistent on getting rid of the thing I loved the most? Backtracking, I duly reminded myself there was a good reason I'd given up trying to figure out my mother's screwy motives long ago.

I spent a good hour digging through one box alone, in a vague state of shock at what I was seeing, before I realized my bladder was about to explode. Frantically, I ran down to the bathroom. Feeling ten percent lighter when I came out, I paused in the hallway and listened. Jaw dropped and eyebrows up, what I heard had an even greater impact than my baby books. Up the stairs from the sitting room carried the sound of Spanish dialogue; my Spanish dialogue. I recognized the scene immediately, it was from one of the first big roles I'd played, in a telenovela called De otro mundo.

Poking my head around the doorway of the room, I spotted Lark who grinned at me and pointed at the screen.

I strode over to the television where a DVD cover sat beside it. "Where did you find this?"

"It was in the cupboard." She nodded toward the cabinet below the screen. "Is this your house or not?"

"So fucking weird," I mumbled. "It was my mother's house."

"That's Julie," Lark said, still smiling. "You look different and you're talking in Spanish but it's you."

She was convinced and I could hardly argue with her.

"I can't believe Mom had this." To imagine her sitting here watching me in some of these scenes was humiliating. I didn't do a great job when I tried to assure myself she had probably not watched them.

"This is why you don't feel real. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't play that card with me," I said with a chuckle; it was hard not to appreciate the look of delight on her face. "You never tell me anything about yourself. Besides, it's weird how much you know without being told."

"You kissed a woman, you're with a woman."

"It's just a stupid soap, turn it off."

"No, I like it." She hid the remote in her lap.

"Hmm, I'll be in the attic," I said and stalked out of the room. She'd learn her life skills pretty quickly watching that shit without any effort from me, I thought distractedly.

Another two hours engrossed in attic boxes and I finally emerged feeling disoriented, out of touch with reality. It was the perfect condition where Lark's company assisting me with dinner helped dissipate negative nostalgia. She was persistently bright and refreshing. As her health returned her appetite was becoming ravenous; she ate a lot, never leaving a crumb on her plate. Certain she may have lied when she explained her emaciated state as a simple metabolic anomaly, I fed her. My skills in the kitchen were being honed; I adored that someone was enjoying my food and found the process of teaching her as satisfying as she did learning.

"Say something in Spanish," she demanded while rolling some dough, patches of flour spotting her skin. It was after five and I was taking my time, showing her how to make a pizza from scratch.

"Honestamente me asustas, pero está bien, me gusta."

She laughed and clapped her hands in glee, puffing more flour dust into her face. "You must teach me! What a beautiful language. I thought German was fun to listen to but this..."

"I bet there isn't a language on the planet you wouldn't like." Her ability to draw pleasure from things was indiscriminate.

"What's your least favorite language?"

"Um... I guess Hungarian would be right up there, it's a bit hard on the ears."

"I need to listen to it. So, is that where you're from? Spain?"

"My father is. He moved to Mexico when he was in his twenties, got involved in television and eventually became a talent agent there."

"This title De otro mundo... Did I say that right?"

"Pretty well, I'm impressed."

"What does it mean?"

"Literal translation would be, 'of another world'."

"Julie is an interesting character. Not nice, but interesting. She likes to play with people." She had watched several episodes while I spent the afternoon in the attic and seemed quite taken with it.

"She's a bitch," I said plainly.

"Yes," she agreed. "I'm glad you're not really like that, but I want to learn what makes her tick. You're a good actress, you feel her, don't you?"

"Unfortunately."

"I want to feel her too."

I blocked myself from arguing with her, if she wanted to feel Julie, let her. Maybe she'd be able to appreciate being Lark.

"Committing to a role like that isn't such an easy thing," I sighed. "Method acting requires a potentially dangerous emotional investment, especially over a prolonged length of time. I often hated myself playing Julie. It can suck the life right out of you."

"No wonder your insides are jumbled, you give yourself over to it."

"Don't know why, in the end, it's just a silly soap." The acidity in my words was out of the blue even to me - maybe my future did lie in a different direction.

As I placed a bowl in the dishwasher the doorbell rang and Lark looked toward me in panic. Usually I could hear when a vehicle pulled into the driveway from the kitchen but the radio in the background had drowned it out today.

"It's probably just Hamish," I said and she escaped into the sitting room.

"Figured I'd stop by, check on your patient," he explained as he followed me inside. Lark sat on the sofa pretending to be engrossed in a book. "Hi, Lark." He smiled at her.

"Hello." Her response was robotic and she kept her eyes stubbornly on her page.

"You look much better. Saf's been taking care of you?"

"Yes."

"Her temperatures back to normal and her cough is easing. We went for a decent walk along the creek today."

"Good, good. You have any lingering pain?"

She shook her head and put her book down but sat stiffly and concentrated on the flames in the grate while Hamish felt her glands, listened to her lungs and asked her to cough for him. She did as he asked but looked none too comfortable at his proximity. Because of this, I neglected to bring up the wound on her neck, it was healing well anyway.

"I'd like to take a blood sample, just to be certain." He put his stethoscope away and rummaged in his bag.

"No." Lark's voice was loud, indisputable and I looked at her in surprise. "No blood."

Hamish met my eyes with a raised brow.

"It'll only take a second and it won't hurt." She'd suffered far worse pain lately in any case, I thought.

"No blood," she repeated firmly and I studied her.

"You don't like needles?" She shook her head briskly and I shrugged at Hamish. "You heard the woman, no blood." I kept my tone mild. "It's not necessary anyhow, she really is much better."

"Yes, but..." Hamish seemed a little put out. He stood observing the room for a few seconds then looked at me. "Can I speak to you outside for a minute?"

Oh brother, here we go, I thought and got up reluctantly.

"What is going on?" he asked, turning to me when we reached the side of his range rover in the driveway.

"What's wrong? Don't her lungs sound better to you?"

"I'd prefer to take some blood but she probably will be fine." He stared at me with a frown. "She doesn't trust me."

"At least she spoke to you this time, right?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

"I wouldn't dare. Say what's on your mind." I rubbed my arms. "And hurry up, it's cold out here."

"You do grate my nerves, girl. My concern is that she may not trust anyone, you can't allow her to become dependent on you. Has she talked about why she ran away?"

"She admitted they hurt her, she said she was scared all the time there."

"She hasn't talked about returning?"

"No."

"What else?"

"She's not married." That, at least, was the truth. "I assume it was her parents or other family who treated her badly but she won't talk about it."

"You're going to have to start asking her practical questions at some point, you can't shelter her forever."

"If she has an aversion to the subject, why push her? They hurt her, asking for details is completely gratuitous. You're the one who told me to be patient."

"The word I used was gentle. You're a good person for looking after her and I can understand why you don't want to be alone in this house but..." He paused for a few moments with a frown and I braced myself. "It's okay for you, you have a life to go back to, a career. If she chooses not to go home..."

"There's no way in..."

He held up a hand testily. "Let me finish. If she chooses not to go back, she'll have no family, no job, no money; no prospects. Staying with you is hardly a permanent solution."

"Could you exercise a little patience? It's only been a few days."

"Why don't you bring her round for dinner next weekend? It's an official invite, Viv would like to meet her and she needs to start trusting other people. It's unrealistic for you to take all the responsibility."

"I'll ask her."

"You know I'm only thinking of what's best for her. I could talk to some of the locals about getting her work, all you have to do is encourage her to open up a bit."

I wasn't able to argue with him or appreciate his level-headed logic; I'd have preferred to stay in the pleasant bubble of complacency I'd been in for the past few days. And my interest was concentrated in other areas.

"Isn't anyone looking for her?" The situation was confusing. "Doesn't anyone care about her?"

"Maybe they have more to lose by finding her, won't like her showing up and telling anyone what goes on at that place."

"There's not much chance of that," I muttered bitterly. "They've got her too scared to talk about it. I just can't believe they don't even bother to file a missing persons report. I keep seeing this alternate reality where she's lying dead in the forest, it's totally fucked." I frowned in frustration, I was getting carried away. "Sorry."

"You're becoming attached," he chuckled.

"You will as well when you get to know her, she's smart and really sweet."

"Pretty damn tough too, by all counts. I best be off." He climbed behind the wheel. "Think about what I said and let me know about dinner."

"Uh-huh. Drive safe."

Lark sat, still staring into the fire with a vacuous expression, her book cast aside carelessly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." She didn't look at me.

"We've been asked to dinner with Hamish and his wife next week. Her name's Vivian, you'll like her, she's super nice."

All she did was shut her eyes and shake her head slowly.

"Hamish is a friend, you don't need to be so tense around him. If it's because he's a man..."

"It's not because he's a man." Her response was swift.

"Then why?"

She took a while to answer but I think she realized the question was important to me.

"He's a doctor," she finally said in a small voice.

For the first time, she expressed a smidge of prejudice which I'd expected a lot more of. If she had been brainwashed against doctors and taught to believe in the power of prayer, her reaction was understandable.

"You're too smart to believe in that bullshit," I said, perhaps too harshly. "You don't have any problem taking the medications, you know they help you."

A deep crease formed in her brow and she pulled herself forward so she was perched on the very edge of the sofa.

"I have to get out of here," she said, her eyes darting around the room, as if searching which direction to flee.

"What? Why?" Her sudden change in demeanor and inability to look at me was alarming. Had I pushed her too far? Did she want to go back to her old life now? "Where will you go?"

"Don't make the mistake of thinking I need you!" she yelled and I flinched.

"Calm down. It's just dinner, if you don't want to go, you don't have to."

"I want to be left alone!" It was close to a scream and the lights chose that moment to go out, plunging the room into soft twilight. She rocked back and forth on the sofa, arms clenched around her, unresponsive to the power outage.

"Okay." Unexpectedly stung by the outburst, I turned and walked away.

I had to replace one of the fuses in the basement and at the back of my mind was the eerie feeling Lark's temper tantrum had caused the surge. Not for the first time, I considered the feasibility of giving her some money and letting her go; a thought which was immediately dismissed as abhorrent. She could insult me all she wanted, in the end she was still that trembling, vulnerable victim I'd found on the porch.

She curled up on her bed in fetal position for the remainder of the evening, refusing to come down for dinner. Puzzled but still relieved she hadn't insisted on leaving, I gave her the space she needed. It was the first time I'd witnessed a dark side to her moods and I wondered if she'd eavesdropped on my conversation with Hamish. I fed my melancholy into my journal and went to bed early.

The night was colder than any previous - winter was fast approaching. I sat up in bed reading; I'd picked up several books which focused on religious fanaticism and cults, which I kept in my bedroom, out of Lark's sight.

There was guilty truth to the impression that, as well as being entertained by her, I was studying her. I'd always found the human mind to be an elusive riddle and Lark presented a multifaceted conundrum. There weren't the resources to learn about her touch sensitivity but figuring out other aspects of her peculiar psychology through second-hand material was plausible. Asking direct questions proved fruitless so I concentrated on general ideas which, at that point, I thought were a given. There was an obvious problem with the information I was reading about in these books, however - I could connect so little of it to my direct observations of Lark.

I wasn't seriously considering the possibility she suffered amnesia. Because of what I believed to be a traumatic past, I assumed the more likely explanation for lying and secrecy, lay in simple reluctance to reveal her experiences. After all, I was no stranger to the desire to move on and reinvent oneself - I was similarly happy to be evasive about my history.

My eyelids were beginning to droop when the floorboards under the carpet in the hallway creaked and I looked up to see Lark appear in the doorway, teddy bear clutched to her stomach. I flattened the book cover on the duvet as she strolled into the room, staring around.

"Are you okay? There's food in the fridge, if you're hungry."

"Are you angry with me?"

"Always. You're a horrible person."

She nodded and tucked a wayward, flyaway curl behind her ear only for it to spring free again immediately.

"I'll come to dinner with them," she said with some reluctance. "If it's what you want."

"You must understand, Hamish is only trying to help... The thing is," I continued awkwardly, "I won't be here forever. He and his wife would be good allies for you to have."

"You're going to leave." It wasn't a question and she nodded sadly as she said it, staring at the bedspread.

"Not for a while, I'll make sure you're okay first, I promise." I tried to keep my voice light but felt as though, no matter what I said, I was betraying both her and myself. She glanced around the room again, wide-eyed.

"Why doesn't your room have a bathroom like mine?"

"You sleep in my mother's room. I could never sleep there."

"Why not?"

I shook my head. I couldn't express in a single sentence how complicated our relationship had been and didn't want to complain when I knew Lark's background must be so much worse. She accepted my silence and shocked me by pulling the bed covers back and sliding into bed with me. She didn't touch me but put her face close to my shoulder, as if comforted by my scent. I'd seen her do the same thing with her bear, which she now held under the sheets.

"I'll sleep with you tonight," she decided softly, and two pages later, she did just that, her breath slow and steady against the sleeve of my shirt. She was contradicting herself - she had begun to need me, in plain sight. It was a strange feeling, confusing and beautiful at once; like falling down a rabbit hole.

Early the next morning, I emerged sluggishly from the haze of sleep to the intimate sensation of Lark cuddled against my back, a hand resting lightly on my ribcage. How she had managed to get so close without waking me lay in my new nightly canter into the shadow world.

For as long as I could remember, I'd been a light sleeper; every little noise or disturbance woke me and it was a habit to wear an eye mask and ear plugs. At first, I thought the weight of my sleep and difficulty snapping out of it since I'd been at Linwood was due to lingering after-effects of cocaine withdrawal. Later, when the foreboding feeling became more pronounced, I assumed it had to do with being back amongst memories. With Lark here, I hadn't had to concentrate on childhood demons, so it shouldn't be surprising they might sneak in during my unconscious hours. Waking up brought with it a feeling of being held down by something huge, it required deep internal struggle to shift it off and emerge into daylight. What motivated me to shake it away and face the day, was the essence of this weight; it was an empty, lonely, hopeless feeling, which no one would want to remain trapped under. I'd taken to exercise straight after waking in order to escape it; a run and a shower worked so well I often didn't think about it again until the next morning.

Did it bother me when I realized Lark was so close? Yes. It bothered me because it was way too nice. I lay there for a few minutes without moving, just enjoying her closeness, her still slumbering breaths soft behind me. Her warmth and touch relieved the menacing weight of my unremembered dreams.

The idea she was the cause of them never crossed my mind.

She barely stirred when I finally slid out of bed and dressed. My run was extra-long that morning, the exercise made me feel more comfortable about all the food I was consuming. When I reached the west end of town and went to turn back, the cumulus clouds parted and bright sunlight streamed through. I stopped and just stared up at the vast expanse of sky and light reflecting off the surrounding mountains. The air smelled of pine, the breeze sharp against damp skin. It hit me how good I felt, how good I'd felt for a while. I couldn't remember the last time I'd drawn so much pleasure from something as simple as taking a run; not without the use of a controlled substance. Once the darkness of the night fell away, just being alive and breathing was an incredible sensation. The insight came with some shock - was this how Lark felt? Maybe she had done something to me when she touched me. I knew on some level that should be worrying; feeling this good without stimulants... How strange.

When I got back into the kitchen, flushed and puffing, she stood at the stove.

"I'm making eggs benedict."

"Wow, you are a fast learner. You need help?"

"No, I'm following instructions. I don't know if it will turn out okay but I need to try."

"I suppose Guido hasn't shown up yet?"

"Not yet."

"Damn." Disappointed, my worry increased by the minute. "I'll be in the shower."

Lark's breakfast was close to flawless. Anyone else and I would have been resentful but she was so proud of herself.

"You nailed it," I shook my head. "Don't know how, I'm pretty sure it took me at least seventy attempts to get it to this kind of standard."

"I don't believe that. When did you learn to cook?"

"I was little. Mom taught me, it was the only thing we could really do together without her losing her temper."

"When will we go to dinner at the doctors?" she asked awkwardly.

"I'll give him a call and figure it out. Not until next weekend. Saturday or Sunday."

"That's good."

"You really don't want to go, huh?"

"I just need some time to prepare."

I nodded and tried not to frown, though questions assaulted my brain. Prepare for what? How?

"They're harmless. No need to stress about it. An hour at most and we'll be out of there."

"An hour of asking me questions."

"Lark," I met her eyes seriously, "you don't have to tell them anything. If you don't want to answer a question, just don't. It's not their business what... Certain things are not their business. I think they just want to get to know you."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She looked back at her plate and changed the subject quickly. "I want to finish those episodes of Julie today. Do you mind?"

"Anything you want, you've probably got how everything operates down better than I do. You know," I added, "people can easily get to know you sticking to safe topics like television and books and how to make perfect eggs benedict."

I got a small smile out of that.

She was at home in the house and I felt comfortable leaving her to her own devices. I, for one, was far from interested in rehashing my old character or scenes from De otro mundo. Returning to the attic, I sifted through boxes again. In no way could I foresee myself completing the job of sorting the house out by this method, but it did force me to confront the demons I'd meant to in coming here and contributed to a slight feeling of accomplishment. There were moments, going through those boxes, when I felt overwhelming regret at not seeing Cait before her death - I missed her, and that was weird as hell.

Mid-afternoon, I came across a container full of old photos. Not just of her and my father, and me when I was a baby, but of Cait's own youth and parents. I didn't remember much about my grandparents, I'd only met them a couple of times and they had died when I was still very young. Observing the pictures everything appeared so normal, a loving family, a happy child. Only knowing what I knew about how Cait's mental state would deteriorate as she aged put a darker spin on them.

It was a relief when Lark poked her head through the trapdoor and asked if she could come up.

"Of course. It's hard being alone with memories."

She sat cross-legged on the floor a few feet from me and peeked into another box.

Still flicking through a bundle of photos, I froze when she started to recite something old and almost forgotten. Her quiet, steady voice reached into the deep recesses of my recall.

"...and the voices agreed, 'do it', they said, 'block the emotions that aren't fed

End the life, end the laughter, deed done for now and hereafter.'

But the weapons wouldn't down, so the life kept the frown

But the eyes and head so clear, hid the laughter that wasn't there

So the world keeps on going, routine and schedule still flowing

And does the pleasure block the pain? Was the past worth the future gain?

Saved from death, you did a deed, and in their mumblings, the voices agreed..."

She stopped and I choked at the chunk of bile which rose in my throat. It wasn't a lot, yet still far too much. She spoke the words exactly how I had meant them; and I thought the photos were a hard pill to swallow. I opened my eyes slowly and looked over at her, she held the old, discolored journal in her hands loosely and tilted her head, watching me, a furrow in her brow.

"Where did you find that?" I managed to croak out uneasily.

"Right here, on the top." She indicated the box next to her.

"I've been looking at this stuff for hours and you pinpoint that of all things straight away." If only something about this girl did make sense once in a while. "I can't believe my mother kept it." I preferred the thought of her watching my acting than reading that damn stuff. I wanted to snatch the book off Lark, run downstairs and burn it in the fire, but the thought of touching it spooked me.

"You wrote this..." She sounded as unnerved by it as I was. "How old were you when you wrote this?"

"I guess, about twelve, maybe thirteen." It must have been one of the last entries in the journal. I didn't want to think about it.

"It's dark, Saffron."

She didn't say it out loud, but I could tell she was thinking it - You wanted to kill yourself.

"Dark, yes. I was in a bad place most of the time then."

Staring down blankly at the photo of my mother still clenched between my fingers, I shifted uncomfortably. Pins and needles and heat began to work their way through my body. I shut my eyes and started to count through it.

"What's wrong?" Lark's voice was full of worry, she wriggled closer on her knees and touched my arm.

"Just give me a minute." I pushed her hand away. After several seconds in which I was sure she was observing me with either amusement or disgust, she returned her hand, this time, snaking her fingers around the skin of my wrist firmly, but not painfully like that first time. The nausea and shakes subsided immediately. They usually took minutes to clear, nothing like this; peace rushed through me like a drug. I raised my head timidly and rolled my eyes around the cluttered attic before allowing them to rest on Lark, who finally withdrew her hand from my wrist.

"You did that," I gasped. "How did you do that?"

She shrugged and played idly with the pages of the journal in her hands while I stared at her in shock.

"You're a healer."

"No!" Her response was sharp and a wildness entered her eyes. "You mustn't think that, I'm not a healer at all."

"You took away my panic attack..."

"I feel things, that's all. I can take feelings, and maybe, in the right state, I can give them too."

"Thank you." I was lost for words.

"Is that your mother?" She gestured toward the photo still in my hand and I nodded. "What happened? Why does she make you feel that way?"

"It's not just her, it's..." I began, staring at the picture. She was asking for something and I felt I owed her an answer after what she'd just done. "Cait was schizophrenic, her mind was all over the place. She could be so loving sometimes then turn into a monster at the stupidest little things. She used to lock me in the space under the stairs for hours on end when I was a child. I kept that journal hidden there so I'd have something to do."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm sure it's nothing compared to what you've been through and ...it's good for me to face it, it's why I'm here."

"She wasn't nearly as beautiful as you," she said, pulling me further out of the darkness and into the light. "Was she Spanish too?"

"Irish, through and through." I chuckled despite myself. "She wanted to paint every town green, used to bitch something shocking about the Spanish. But that was probably because of my father, he left her, she hated him for it."

"When did she die?"

"A few months ago, but I hadn't seen her for many years so... It's just weird."

"May I keep this?" She held the journal aloft. "I want to read it."

Why she wanted it I didn't know, but I didn't begrudge her; maybe it made her feel less alone.

"You can do anything you want." I'd said the words before but hadn't put much credit into them until that moment; looking at her wide blue eyes, I would have given her the shirt off my back if she'd asked for it.

What she had just done shook me; it was way beyond simply seeing who someone was. Only now becoming accustomed to her touch sensitivity, this new thing hit me on a completely different level. I tried to keep my awe in check and act normal for the moment.

Chapter Five

Chameleon

Her hair is wild, like her eyes, and her temper. They go where they please, defying natural laws such as gravity, and social grace. Her words remain unedited and her laugh, a thing of raw magnificence. As I study her, she studies me; or rather, she studies Julie. She watches episodes of De otro mundo repeatedly and her behavior is changing. She imitates Julie, the way she treats me is suspiciously comparable. Why does she want to mimic this loathsome character of all she has to choose from? At first, her flirtation was subtle, but it is gaining momentum; she enjoys toying with me. Other times, her eyes hold so much emotion - love and longing.

*

Standing side by side in the kitchen that evening, an item came over the six o'clock news on the radio about local government funding for sports teams. I wasn't paying attention, distracted thoughts of what happened in the attic circulating in my head. Lark, though, clearly had because she began prattling about it; her total dismay that money was being injected into something, which, as she put it, was 'pointless' and 'non-progressive', very obvious.

After a while, I stopped my activities and turned to watch her while she gibbered fanatically, an uncontainable smile of whimsy on my face. She noticed and abruptly turned and cocked her head at me.

"Well?" she demanded. "What is your opinion? Don't you think it's a complete waste of money when there are people dying from poverty?"

I stood staring in bewilderment.

"Hello." She waved a hand in front of me. "Baseball? Isn't it a scam?"

I shook my head at her.

"I honestly don't care, Lark."

Unexpectedly, she began giggling, which rapidly descended into full blown hysterics; so hard it looked like she was having labor contractions. Her laugh was a thing of unpolished beauty; it took her a long time to get it under control.

"You ignore ten real jokes then laugh at that?"

"I try to get you involved in a politically sensitive discussion and you point blank don't care. Yeah, it's funny."

"I agree they should be putting funds into more needy areas, but I don't understand both points of view. There are diehard fans out there, people who would sacrifice their dinner to watch a game, and I'm just not into sports."

"Then why were you standing there looking at me that way?"

"I like listening to you, I like how passionate you get." I shrugged and, crossing to the kitchen table, took a couple of pulls from my vaporizer. When I turned around, Lark's eyes quickly darted away from the lower portion of my body.

"Were you just checking out my ass?" I was half-joking, but a tinge of red tinted her cheeks and she met my gaze seriously.

"Yes. It's a nice ass," she said, her voice even.

"Right." Again, I found myself lost for words.

"In those jeans... You really do have the most fantastic..." She trailed off and made a curvy shape with her hands.

"Only in these jeans?" I raised a brow. "How rude."

She snatched the vaporizer out of my hand and puffed on it.

"You have to press the button," I said with a laugh.

"Mm," she coughed, "it's tasty."

"Shortbread. Watch out - that has a high nicotine content, you'll end up addicted."

I stopped dead and grabbed Lark's arm, who looked at me questioningly. Going to the radio, I switched it off.

"What is it?" Worry entered her eyes and I went to the back door and poked my head out.

I was certain I'd heard that yowl I knew so well; my ears were well-trained and it was a sound I'd been awaiting almost three days.

My joy was absolute when I spotted his gruff little face screaming from the edge of the driveway. I should have trusted he would sniff his way back eventually, when he got sick of the rough life.

"Hey, that's my boy!" I called, bending down and opening my arms.

To my irritation, he dashed straight past me and to Lark who stood in the doorway. I was so happy to see him again and he didn't give a shit! My growl of annoyance fell away quickly when I saw the look on Lark's face as she grabbed and cuddled him. Her expression was blissful and I could hear Guido's motorized purr; his eyes squinted, gleaming, as he rubbed his cheek against hers.

"Fucking traitor," I grumbled, but joined them anyway and stroked his grubby ears. "I raised you, fatty."

He spoke to me with his smiling eyes. Well yeah, they said, but can you blame me? She's special, she has a pure heart.

"Fair enough," I made the mistake of responding out loud.

"What?" Lark asked.

"He needs a bath."

"Cats don't bath!"

"He might love you more but I know him. He's a weirdo, he likes water and a good groom. Some cats do." He gave my hand a delightful smooch and Lark laughed. "Where have you been, you little shit? You don't even have balls, what were you trying to accomplish?"

"You wanted an adventure, didn't you?" Lark said and Guido gave me a dignified glare.

"No injuries?" I inspected him.

"He's just dirty."

"Probably starving too."

Lark sat re-watching an early episode of De otro mundo that night. Her desire to learn what made Julie tick had not been exaggerated, she seemed to be studying her; watching her go over these scenes so closely made my skin crawl. I stared at the screen; it brought back unpleasant feelings.

"Damaged people doing damaged things."

"What?" Lark asked and I turned from the screen to look at her, realizing I'd spoken the thought out loud.

"Can we turn this off? I'd rather talk to you."

"You could teach me another card game," she smiled brightly and reached for the remote. Her ability to adjust with enthusiasm was heart-warming. "Or, no, wait, we could play some more poker. I like it."

We moved to the dining table. I'd taught her poker a couple of nights earlier and she wasn't too bad once she got used to hiding her facial expressions. Guido jumped on my lap and settled; I got the feeling he'd prefer Lark's lap but she was restless tonight, fidgeting and getting up for the bathroom often.

She peered at me strangely over her cards.

"What?"

"I watch you staring into thin air sometimes. You look so unhappy. Why are you unhappy?"

"I'm not."

She studied me, eyes narrowed to slits, as if trying to figure out why I was lying.

"Really, I'm not, I just have one of those faces. Thoughtful. Anyway, happiness is overrated."

"Oh?" She laughed at that. "Do you think there are many happy people in the world?"

"I'm not qualified to answer such a question."

"I'm asking what you think," she pressed.

"I don't know. A lot of people are good at pretending to be happy. A good portion probably use chemicals to achieve it. But it's a complicated issue, one person's happiness can't be measured against another's. Everyone has different priorities, different things which make them feel fulfilled - sometimes those things don't involve the more obviously upbeat aspects of life. For some people, laughter isn't a necessity for feeling good, laughter can be shallow. Same for money, material possessions, even safety, security, family, health, and so on."

"Were you happy in Mexico?"

"Ah... You are asking the hard ones tonight. I had everything I could need, no reason to complain. One of the biggest obstacles, I think, to overcoming lack of fulfilment, is figuring out what you actually want. It can be difficult to snap out of a comfort zone and find your real niche. In my case, cracks began to show in Mexico, that's what forced me to re-evaluate and come here for time-out."

"Cracks? Is that another sexual euphemism?"

"Oh Lord," I laughed. "I love you." It was a silly slip, but as soon as I saw the look on her face I realized I'd overstepped the mark, got carried away with the moment.

"You do?"

"By cracks, I mean my panic attacks," I rerouted. "My subconscious was trying to tell me something and I needed to listen. What about you? Do you think you are happy?"

"It's different for me, I'm at a crossroads."

"Not such an easy question, is it? From one perspective, everyone is at a crossroad of sorts all the time."

"Mm." She looked thoughtful. "I've been happy at this crossroads, with you. But I'm scared of what will happen when I have to choose a direction."

"Choices can be hard."

"But you don't feel the way you did when you wrote in the journal, right?"

"No. I was a child and I was trapped. If you ask me if I am happy compared to how I felt then, the answer would be very. Things have changed completely, I have many more choices now. Maybe you should consider starting a journal, it can help vent things you don't want to talk about to other people."

"I might."

"You should understand one thing reading that prose; it catches moments of sensitivity and is in no way indicative of how I felt overall. I used poetic license to romanticize the way I felt at certain times. I did that a lot, I still do it. But it can't be taken seriously."

"I understand. You're worried about me reading your stuff from back then?"

"A bit, yes."

"I just think it's beautiful. Dark yes, dishonest, maybe, but still beautiful. Don't worry, I will not take it too much to heart."

"Lark," I began cautiously and she looked at me, waiting, "what you did in the attic today - taking my panic attack away, that was way out there."

"I'm sorry."

"No! I didn't mean it like that, you helped me; it was amazing. It shocked me, that's all."

"It was easy, it seems maybe the connection between us is growing. I've never done it like that before."

"The thing is," I felt awkward, "yesterday when you got angry, there was a power surge which blew one of the electrical fuses. There was no lightning that night, is it possible you had something to do with it?"

"I don't know." She looked away, but she wasn't lying, just embarrassed. "Maybe. I've never done that before either."

"Okay." Shit. This was beyond anything I imagined. At least there were plenty of spare fuses in the basement. I would need to find out more about this at some point, if her powers were getting to a point where she was capable of that, who knew what might be next.

"And I wasn't so much angry as afraid," she went on quietly.

"You don't have to be afraid, you're safe. You're here."

"But for how long?" She looked sad suddenly.

"As long as it takes." And for the first time in my life I wasn't embellishing.

"Your mother was awful to you."

"It wasn't her fault, she wasn't well. She didn't try to fight it when I went to live with Dad, she knew it was the right thing. Being back here, seeing all the things she kept, I know she loved me."

"When I yelled at you, did I remind you of her?"

"God no! You are nothing like her, trust me on that. Your emotions are normal."

As soon as I said it I realized how weird it sounded and she raised her brows.

"Normal?"

"You had an excuse for your mood, you're skittish about others and for good reason."

"Regardless, you didn't deserve me yelling."

"Don't worry about it, I have a thick skin."

"That's what I need - a thick skin."

"You've got one," I said with a chuckle. "Hamish called you tough."

"He did?" It pulled a smile from her. "Me?"

"Of course. You'd have to be to do what you did. You know what being treated bad by family feels like."

"Hmm. I need the bathroom." She escaped.

"Are you alright?" I asked when she sat back down and picked up her cards.

"Yes. Why?"

"You've only got up to pee three times in the last hour."

"I'm not peeing, I'm bleeding. It must be all the food you're giving me, my insides are working again."

"That's good." My plan to get her health on track was panning out well. "Did you find the stuff in the cupboard below the sink?"

"What stuff?"

"Liners, tampons." She looked at me vacantly. "What have you been using?"

"Paper."

"Toilet paper? Ugh! Why didn't you tell me?" I shifted Guido off my legs and got up. "Come on, I'll show you."

"What is this?" she asked, pulling the plastic off a tampon and dangling it in front of her face.

"You've never used a tampon before? Ay. You put it ...you know, up inside."

"What?" Observing her wide-eyed alarm, it was very difficult not to laugh. "I'm not doing that!"

I did laugh then.

"If you don't want to use those, here." I shoved a packet of winged shields into her hands. "Just, please, not toilet paper."

I found myself giggling every time I thought of her expression that night.

Drying off after a shower in that same bathroom on Monday morning, I heard a disturbance behind me and turned. Lark stood in the open doorway watching me with her head craned crudely. Her eyes roved up and down my nakedness before I tucked the towel around me self-consciously.

"What are you doing?"

"I didn't know you were in here." A blatant lie, a half-smile on her face. "I need the toilet."

"Use the upstairs bathroom."

"You have no hair between your legs," she observed curiously.

"Lark! Would you get out please?"

With a smirk, she did as I asked, clicking the door shut softly. Was it really necessary for me to lock the door when I showered? She was toying with me, she knew not to intrude on someone getting dressed. Her behavior was changing, showing new characteristics. I wondered if it had to do with the approaching dinner at Hamish and Vivian's but something told me it went deeper than simple anxiety. She had, at least, not backed out of going, for that I was grateful.

Over breakfast she asked, "Why don't you have pubic hair?"

"I have it waxed."

"Waxed. Why? So it doesn't get all matted with blood?"

"Gross! I'm trying to eat here," I whined and she sniggered.

"I like getting reactions out of you."

"And don't think I don't know you're aware you shouldn't be spying on me getting dressed. I don't spy on you."

"You've seen me naked, I needed to even it out. All those runs you do pay off, your body is beautiful."

Staring at her through narrowed eyes, I didn't know what else to say but, "Thank you."

"You're shy for an actress."

"I'm not shy, I'm healthily modest."

"Can you wax me too?"

"I'll take you to get it done, if you want." I jumped at the opportunity to get her out of the house and interacting more - maybe waxing wasn't the best way to start out but what the hell.

"Can't you do it?"

"Bad idea." Getting that intimate with her was out of the question. "It's not like nails, it hurts. Better to get it done professionally. There's a place in Fendin Ridge we can go to." I looked at her questioningly and she returned her eyes to her plate.

"I'll think about it."

Both Monday and Tuesday mornings I woke up to find her snuggled against me, but unlike Saturday night, she hadn't been there when fell asleep. It wasn't bothering me, in fact, I quite liked it. Something happened on Tuesday night which changed my mind though, and Wednesday morning brought with it new set of confusing feelings which forced me to revise what might be happening between us.

I spent most of Tuesday in the attic, separating boxes of things which needed to be thrown away. There were bags of ancient clothes and books which were moldy or moth-eaten, easily recognizable as way past any expiry date. Lark stayed in her own little world, researching, reading and re-watching still more episodes of Julie. Her infatuation with the series was mystifying, to say the least.

We lounged in the sitting room as evening drew to a close, the television was on but neither of us was paying attention to it. Lark poked obsessively at the tablet and I secretly surfed clothes sites on my laptop, trying to choose items that would look good on her. I'd have preferred to take her shopping to try things on properly but to date, she refused to discuss coming out with me, even to towns farther away where I thought she would feel safe from prying eyes.

My mother kept large mirrors strategically placed in almost every room of the house. In the lounge, a gold framed, rectangular mirror hung on the back wall, opposite the windows and when I looked up thoughtfully from my browsing, I noticed Lark watching me from the corner of her eye, thinking she was being so sneaky and subtle. Her expression was indecipherable.

"I can see you looking at me," I said and turned to her. She dropped the pretense and turned to me too.

"I've been trying to find out about you online. Except for publicity photos and interviews, there's almost nothing. Is it hard to stay hidden the way you do?"

"Not really. There is a celebrity spectrum, on one end are the ones who get off on attention, who feed off it and on the other are those who it's just part of a job for."

"Even so..."

"We have PR people to do damage control online and the situation isn't the same for a TV actress doing Mexican telenovelas as it is for big international stars in Hollywood. I wouldn't want to subject myself to that shit."

"You look dazzling in this red dress," she mumbled. I didn't have to check to know what she was talking about. "You suit red. Are you recognized much in Mexico?"

"Sometimes. But I'm a master of disguise," I said with a smile of self-satisfaction. Subterfuge talents could be used to gain celebrity status, or alternately, to hide from it. The irony tickled me.

"There's nothing about any relationship with anyone." She stared at me, unblinking. How was she not blinking? Or were we blinking at the same time...

"No," I sighed. As if I could ever find someone I liked in the show-business crowd but I didn't want to get into that with Lark. She would probably want to blame it as the reason for my 'unhappiness' - which didn't exist anyway. Suddenly I was confused, was it the unhappiness that didn't exist or just a good reason for it? Either way a relationship was not going to cure the problems. If they existed - I reminded myself. Lark has my mind all mixed up...

"Why not?" she asked and I shrugged. "Sofia, the girl Julie has a fling with. She's pretty, did you like her?"

"Another actress, that's all. It's not real, Lark."

"But you did kiss her. What did it feel like?"

I thought about this. I'd been strung out on uppers that day, I wasn't feeling much of anything; if you looked closely at my eyes you could see the abnormal dilation in my pupils. I was ashamed of my appearance in that particular episode.

"It wasn't nice," I said honestly. "We had to redo the take too many times and her breath tasted like cigarettes. Also... She had cold lips. Have you ever kissed someone with cold lips?"

"No."

"In the end, it doesn't matter what their mouth tastes like or how soft their lips are, it still feels like you're kissing a dead fish."

She looked briefly revolted. "You've kissed a dead fish?"

"You know what I mean."

"You act so well, it looked nice," she said and stared at the tablet for a moment before continuing. "Are you a lesbian?"

Ah, so this was what it all came down to.

"I wouldn't label myself a lesbian." She scrutinized me with a glint in her eye, as if reaching the private conclusion she had only asked the wrong question. "Why are you so interested? Do you think you might be gay?"

"I must be."

And here I thought her spying on me in the bathroom had been more innocent curiosity than juvenile voyeurism. I wagered homosexuality wouldn't have boded well at the settlement. Thank Christ, she had got out of there. Or was she stepping up the game she was playing with me? I didn't know anymore, and that bothered me.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't find anything at all attractive about men. From what I see, they are not nice or pretty yet still somehow manage to be completely full of themselves."

On this point, I inwardly agreed with her, but didn't feel nearly as comfortable admitting out loud as she was.

"You're probably generalizing a bit," I said instead, playing devil's advocate.

"Explain?"

"Well, for starters, women have the potential to be a lot less nice than men."

"Hmm, maybe so, but at least they look good," she said casually and I chuckled in spite of my disapproval. "Either way, I find you far more attractive than any man could ever be. I bet you don't have cold lips."

Whoa, this was escalating fast. Her lack of effort to edit what she said embarrassed me at times like this. I never knew how to react, didn't comprehend if she fully understood what she was saying. She went on before I could respond.

"It's an honest mystery to me how any woman could want a penis inside her. Grunting and heaving."

She said it with such sincerity and disgust, I burst out laughing.

"I don't think penises grunt."

"No, but the things attached to them do," she said thoughtfully.

"Mm, evidently, a penis is more enjoyable when you have control."

"You seem to know what you're talking about."

"Ha. Don't mistake me for a slut, I'm imparting common sentiment, nothing more."

My amusement didn't subside until the idea struck me that perhaps Lark had developed such a dislike for men because of the way she was treated at the settlement, if she had been used sexually... Ugh. It was a sobering thought and I hastily swerved the topic of conversation in a different direction. She was so amusing with her narrative, it was easy to lose sight of the difficulties she might have been exposed to in her past; or was I so totally self-absorbed I simply forgot? Another very sobering thought.

Falling asleep alone, Lark's words and unblinking gaze prominent in my thoughts, I dreamed not of the darkness that night, but of her.

We were in my dressing room on the set of De otro mundo. Lark stood close, too close. It wasn't Lark though, it was Julie in Lark's body.

"You can't stop it," she whispered to me. "You don't want me and you don't want me to want you, but you can't stop it this time. I can't either, it's beyond us; we're magnetized. You'll never have the luxury of solitude again, Belen."

Her expression showed anger, evil, sorrow and innocence all at once.

"Don't call me that." My voice wasn't my own, it was small and weak while hers was strong.

"I'll do what I want." She pushed me against the wall and held me there, gripping my waist roughly. I was afraid and she knew it; she liked it. "I'm all gooey," she whispered, her breath hot in my ear, then reached her tongue out and licked my ear lobe. I tried to squirm from her grip and she laughed.

The dream faded away, the images left behind, and I emerged from sleep. I groaned and pulled the mask from my eyes to rub them; it was light, morning already.

"Mierda," I exclaimed as I focused and saw Lark kneeling on the mattress to my left and watching me with a strange look on her face, head tilted.

"You were murmuring in your sleep." She smiled secretively.

"You really need to stay in your own room from now on," I said and rolled over. Talk about awkward.

"Why?" she asked me in the kitchen after her shower.

"Why what?"

"Why do I have to sleep in my own room?"

"Um. We'll both benefit from putting more distance between us." Like a fool, I changed the topic to something I thought would be safe. "You spend three times what I do in the shower. What are you doing in there?"

"Do you really want to know?" she asked impishly and I glanced up to see a cunning smile on her face.

"No," I said hastily and rolled my eyes. "Waltzed right into that one, didn't I..."

"I'm a very sexual person, Saffron," she continued in a prim fashion, clearly enjoying the hell out of herself. "It's your fault really."

"Shut it."

Her tone changed then, became serious, almost sad.

"My body fascinates me. I've never had the privacy to get to know it properly until now. I like being naked in water. I wish I could swim in the ocean."

I nodded, studying her. "You've never been in the ocean?"

"No. I don't even know how to swim."

I wished, abruptly, that it was summer, so I could take her, teach her.

She didn't drill me on what I'd dreamed about. She probably didn't need to; she might have seen it herself. The day found my thoughts jumbled and my emotions askew. Unlike the darkness of the previous nights, this dream persisted in my head, possibly even gained clarity throughout the day. It shouldn't have been surprising given our conversation the night before and the way Lark had been treating me of late; I hoped it wasn't the beginning of a new chapter in dreamscapes. At a struggle, I couldn't remember the last time I'd had anything close to a sexual dream and although it was a big step up from whatever shadows haunted my unconscious previously at Linwood, it still wasn't particularly pleasant. Finding Lark watching me made it exponentially worse.

And yet, when I woke the following morning to the same dark sensation I'd become used to, this time without Lark's comforting presence, there was regret there. She'd respected my words, stayed away and, mixed in with my relief was ...disappointment. Serious questions began to arise regarding my feelings, creating some discomfort at spending time with her throughout the day and getting into any more overly personal conversations.

I was afraid of feeling too strongly and I knew why. Always in the past, any feelings I had were stored away and kept for use when I needed them for a character; when I needed to draw a convenient emotion out of myself. The more intense the feeling, the more use it could be of later. This was different because Lark was different; she wasn't to be used. Not ever. If I had feelings for her they couldn't be easy or off-handed; they would be deep and dangerous and best avoided.

So, to the best of my ability, that's what I did - pushed them aside and concentrated my attentions on the attic. I received another email from my father on Wednesday as well \- several days before in actuality but I didn't read it until Wednesday night. He hadn't said anything threatening in this one, instead he'd sent a copy of the manuscript for Su Piel and praised me on my past accomplishments. It was a bad sign, he was getting impatient.

By Thursday afternoon, unable to stop stressing about it, I went downstairs. An hour ahead in Mexico City meant it would be close to four pm - he might not answer but I should try anyway. I stared out the kitchen window for several minutes before I picked up my phone, took a deep breath and dialed his number.

"Hola." He sounded distracted.

"Hello Dad."

"Por fin. Did you look at the script?"

"No."

There was a sigh of exasperation, a small pause, then, "Why not?"

"I don't need to. You think I don't know what you're trying to pawn off on me? Matias Cano makes sick movies with demented characters. I won't do it."

They might have been the most honest words I'd ever said to him, and he responded by laughing, like it was the funniest joke in the world. I rarely heard him laugh like this. I listened, wondered, waited.

"I called to get you off my back," I said when he'd calmed. "Tell Emilio I'm not interested."

"My daughter, the pathological liar. If you want Emilio off your back, tell him yourself."

His tone pissed me off absolutely. I love you too, Daddy.

"I'm not in the mood to get mind-fucked. You want to know why I'm a liar? You keep asking me something until you get the answer you like. I learned to just give it sooner rather than later a long time ago because I don't want to argue. But I can't live up to the promise, I never could, and I'm done making it anymore. So you get the truth from the start now. You get what you don't want, you get NO." I hung up.

I stood at the kitchen counter taking deep, slow breaths, counting patiently to thirty. Had the prima donna just thrown her career away? No, it would take more than that for my father to give up. When I opened my eyes, I almost jumped from my skin; Lark stood inches away, to my right, staring at me unblinking.

"What the... Don't creep up on me like that!"

"That was sexy," she smirked. "Who knew there was a real person still in there?" She touched the tip of her finger between my eyebrows. I'm sure I felt a tiny electric shock.

"Mental," I said and shouldered past her.

"Mm," she growled at my back and the phone call eased from my awareness as I made my way back up to the attic. She was nothing if not a distraction, provocative little witch. She'd learned to be a tease from television but, like everything, she played the part so well.

I juiced a rather creative version of gazpacho cocktail that night, drank three glasses of it over dinner and, when Lark insisted on finishing an episode of De otro mundo afterward, carried the pitcher to the sitting room and slumped low in an armchair. There was only half an hour left, I could weather that. But when it finally did finish, damned if she didn't keep on.

"Did you actually slap Paolo? It looked hard."

"Hmm," I grunted and pointed out, "It sounded hard. They edit the sound effects later."

"Do Julie for me?"

"No, no, no, no," I shook my head vigorously. "I'm not playing that game with you. Do you have any idea how nice it is to take a break from this shit? I mean, okay," - I slurred slightly - "I haven't worked in over a month, but hey, I've got money and simple needs. Why shouldn't I take some time to look at things from the outside once in a while? My mother just died for fucks sake."

"How many glasses of that stuff have you had?"

"I don't know, a few." The pitcher was almost empty.

"You're drunk," Lark stared at me with a lopsided smile. "You're wasted."

"Well, look what you made me sit through... Yes," I nodded guiltily, "damn lightweight."

Before I knew what was happening she launched herself onto my lap and grabbed the glass out of my hand.

"Ow! God, you've got a bony ass..."

She gulped what was left and put the glass on the table beside me, then wrapped her arms around my neck and leaned into my shoulder.

"I love you."

"Uh..."

She nuzzled my neck, kissed it.

"You're trying to take advantage of me," I said and pushed her back indignantly. I wasn't that drunk. "Disgraceful, Lark." I shook my head in disappointment and slid out from underneath her.

The memory was hazy the next day but it did seem she'd leapt at me as soon as she realized my state. Luckily, I have a backup conduct filter which kicks in when I'm inebriated - Lark wasn't the first person to test it but she was definitely the least expected. Not such an innocent after all.

For her part, she seemed happy to pretend it hadn't happened, acting all sweet and normal over the next couple of days. Did she think I didn't remember? The way I looked at her was changing, I kept catching twinkles in her eye or suggestive innuendos in her words, maybe they'd always been there but I hadn't noticed them till now. Or I was reading too much into it.

On Sunday evening I helped her put some make-up on and get ready for dinner at the doctors. I was nervous for her, like she was broadcasting her feelings, although her face showed no obvious signs of anxiety.

"You look absolutely stunning." I stood back and inspected her in Cait's bathroom.

"You too."

We weren't wearing anything special but it was astonishing how a little make-up turned her from girl next door to movie star.

"Listen, don't talk about your abilities, or, you know, show them in any way. Can you do that?" Asking it of her felt awkward and her response surprised me.

"You don't trust him either."

"It's not that I don't trust him, I just don't know how others would react to this kind of thing. Hamish isn't an artist, he's a man of science, above all else."

"Would it make a difference if he was an artist?"

"No, probably not," I granted.

"Don't worry, I have no intention of revealing my true self tonight. I'm prepared."

I narrowed my eyes and studied her. She met my gaze and in a few moments her expression changed subtly, then she moved toward me, she got so close it was clear she was going to kiss me.

"Hey, whoa." I stopped her and ducked away. "Hugs are fine, but that's too much."

"Why?"

I frowned as she stared with her usual innocent face.

"It just is."

"I know you feel it too; there's magic between us."

It took some struggle to keep my jaw closed. This wasn't a drunken slur, this was an open offensive.

"You and me? It's not going to happen," I said bluntly. It didn't matter if there was something between us, our paths would diverge eventually; it was pointless.

"Why not?"

"You're probably trying to fulfil some fucked up obligation and I want no part of it. I don't want to know if the people at the settlement demanded sex from you - if that's what you want, look elsewhere."

Recognition slowly crept over her expression.

"You've got it all wrong," she puffed out heavily. "I treat you this way because I want you."

I rolled my eyes and tried to keep my tone light. "Shut up."

"I never thought I could love someone, but I'm not afraid of it the way you are."

"I'm not afraid of love." I'm afraid of you.

"It's a good thing," she replied swiftly. "It means you take it seriously. And when you do finally give yourself over to it, it will be all the way. It's why you're right to be afraid."

"You really like watching me squirm, huh?"

"That too." She stared in the mirror while I anointed myself with a last layer of lip gloss. "Have you ever been in love?"

"Hamish is right, you need to get out more. You're bored, that's the problem."

She huffed in agitation and turned away.

"We could go on a road trip, take in some scenery; stay at nice hotels. You don't have to socialize if you don't want, but you should get of the house for a few days. You might even enjoy yourself."

"As long as you're with me," she said absently and I looked at her in surprise.

"Really? You'll come?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Maybe you're right. No crowds though, okay?"

"Baby steps," I promised, ecstatic. I'd made the suggestion to change the subject not because I thought she'd actually go for it. This was huge.

"If this damn dinner goes well tonight, we can talk about it then," she said in a harassed manner.

"You'll be fine."

I didn't know this for sure, but it turned out I was largely right. It was a relief for us to have other company and Lark was surprisingly gracious and well-behaved. She greeted Hamish and allowed herself to be introduced to Vivian, all sugary smiles and polite words. Hamish's wife was exactly as I remembered her and, like he had, didn't hesitate to envelope me in a warm hug.

"What would you like the drink, Lark?"

"Just water, thank you."

In the parlor, she lingered in front of the giant map on their wall. Set behind glass, detailed and beautifully sketched and colored, it had attracted me as a child too. Hamish stood beside her, pleased it had caught her eye.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

"It is. The scale is accurate?"

"Probably more so than mass produced maps. Viv did it herself. Look," he pointed, "this is the hike you made. Here," he trailed his finger a good distance, "to here. Steep terrain all the way."

She leaned closer and studied the path he'd made.

"This is the settlement?"

"Yup," he nodded.

She had a curious frown on her face, then turned slightly to look at him.

"That's why you think I'm tough?"

"It's a hell of a journey."

Everything went smoothly until the subject turned to less safe topics half-way through the meal.

"So, were you home-schooled?" Vivian asked and I stiffened and watched Lark as she took a few moments to answer.

"Yes." For a moment I assumed that was it, then she continued smoothly. "We were taught God was the truth, the way, but I did have access to other material. I had books, though, technically I wasn't supposed to be reading them. Are you religious people?"

"No. Viv and I are solid atheists," Hamish said sheepishly and Lark nodded. "What are your family's beliefs?"

Braced, I kept my eyes on Lark, ready to jump in if she looked too uncomfortable. But she chewed for another few moments in silence then began to speak again - calmly, but somewhat indirectly.

"The idea there is some ridiculous battle raging between good and evil is a fallacy. They didn't like it when I said things like that, when I told them the soldiers for each side no longer had a leader. They work alone and to their own judgments and the multiverse is better for it."

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Told you she's smart."

Vivian was impressed but Hamish watched her with narrowed eyes; he seemed suspicious, which confused me.

"Are you saying there is no God or devil?" he asked.

"There never was," she replied quickly.

"It's a big leap to make from fundamentalist fanaticism." He eyed her dubiously.

"Lark was born into it." I got defensive. "You probably realized what bullshit it was all along, right?"

"Right," she said, and took a sip of water.

Vivian tolled in then and switched the subject to her Anglican upbringing and her own struggles with faith.

She gave both of us a warm hug before we left, and Lark thanked them profusely for their hospitality.

"I like her," she said on the way back. "She has tact."

"She can read the room," I agreed. "You did really well, thank you for coming and I'm sorry for the personal questions."

"I expected more, I suppose it's not over yet."

Now that we were alone again, Lark's earlier antics returned and an uncomfortable silence fell between us for the remainder of the journey home. I kept the radio on and Lark leaned against the window. She was tired; I don't know how I could sense this, but she was exhausted. Just glancing across at her made me tired too.

She was nowhere to be seen when I got out of the shower. Upstairs, I found her already curled up in bed, dead to the world. It was only nine pm. I pushed the door open and went in quietly. She lay on her side in fetal position, gripping her bear under her neck; she breathed easily but didn't look as peaceful as she should. Considering she was asleep, her expression seemed strained. Guido lay stretched at her back and gave me the evils before batting his lashes closed. I swallowed as I observed her, realizing my concern reached beyond the extent of a simple friend. I wanted to lie down and wrap her in my arms, take the strain of her sleep away. I wanted to be the one she held against her. My feelings for her had changed, the way I looked at her had changed. It seemed impossible. This wasn't just me enjoying my ego being stroked. I was actually falling for this girl. I reined my thoughts in and left the room.

Back downstairs a niggling urge needed to be taken care of so I made a quick phone call.

"Saf?" A dazed Hamish answered.

"Sorry, did I wake you? I forgot old people go to bed so early."

"No," he chuckled. "Just wasn't expecting to talk to you again tonight."

"I wanted to thank you again. And... It went okay, right?"

"It did," he said, but his voice was too tight, "it's a vast improvement on how she was."

"But? Why were you looking at her like you didn't trust her?"

"She wasn't answering questions directly, surely you noticed."

"It's incredible she was answering them at all."

"Okay," he sighed. "You're right. I got a weird feeling watching her tonight, that's all, as if she wasn't speaking from the heart, only trying to impress us."

"Would it be so bad if she was trying to impress you?"

"And having you get protective didn't make it any easier."

"So, what you're saying is, it didn't go well at all?"

"It's a start. But I have to speak my mind, I still think you're sheltering her too much. What's going to happen when you go back to Mexico? Have you thought of that?"

"Maybe she could live here," I said idly. "The house doesn't need to be sold."

"On what will she live? You've been supporting her completely for over two weeks now. I think you are using her, more than she's using you even."

His tone was challenging; he waited for my denial. I didn't give it, he might be right. It wasn't something I was proud of but I couldn't stop it. I was treating Lark like a mint condition collectable which couldn't be taken out of its box. But Hamish didn't know the half of it; surely anyone would do the same for someone as special as her.

"And seeing you two together," he continued, "the way she looks at you..."

"How does she look at me?" A tingle went down my spine.

"She's become way too attached, I did warn you. If you don't start preparing her for independence, you're doing the same thing they did."

The comparison made me cringe. "She's agreed to come away for a few days next week. I'll be able to get her out, interacting more. It's progress."

"Sure. Don't get me wrong, you've been amazing."

"Thanks for your honesty. Sorry for the late call."

"Not a problem. Night."

The reasons behind me being so closed off to what she would do when I left must be very powerful.

I sat thinking through his words. He came close to saying he thought she'd been trying to con them, and the suspicion in his eyes at the table backed this up. The inference made me uneasy, partly because I didn't understand it at all. It might be a case of me not seeing the trees for the leaves. Was I too close to see the big picture? My developing feelings could be a further deterrent if that was the case; emotions weren't something to be trusted. Lark was right - I was afraid of love. Mortally so.

But the implication she was dishonest didn't make sense to me. I knew when she was lying, she was hopeless at it. Lark was the most pure person I'd ever met; at least she had been before she discovered Julie and that fucking French novel I'd given her. No, I shook my head, she was still Lark; she was just learning to express herself confidently. What exactly could she have been lying about anyway? Did the doctor think she still believed in all the dogma she'd been indoctrinated with? Perhaps she'd said the things she did only in response to hearing Hamish and Vivian were atheists. It didn't matter to me if she'd lied about that. Where was the harm in trying to impress and not make waves?

I grabbed the tablet sitting on the coffee table and opened Google Chrome's browser history. I scrolled through the list of sites she'd been accessing, amused and slightly taken aback. She had looked up multitudes of little things which she hadn't asked me about. Definitions of slang words I used frequently, vaporizers, nicotine, acting, the use of tampons, personal upkeep topics like waxing, shaving, moisturizing and deodorizing. Then there were subjects I didn't find unexpected - schizophrenia, religious fanaticism, God, sect life, psychic ability, clairsentience, psycho-kinesis. Other things were far more puzzling; government websites, conspiracy theories, human medical testing, electroconvulsive therapy, methods of anesthesia, neuropsychology, biofeedback manipulation. Highly curious about what was driving her to investigate these sorts of topics, I would have been interested to learn more. Then I hit a section in which she'd clearly been looking up sex and sexuality. I stopped, embarrassed, and more than a little guilty at my invasion of her privacy. Deleting the search history immediately in an attempt to redeem myself, the removal of the information from my mind was, however, far more difficult. At least I hadn't glimpsed anything resembling hardcore pornography. Thankfully her interests appeared primarily information-orientated.

Maybe, like sexuality, she'd become interested in the other subjects because of something she'd seen on television. I hadn't paid much attention to what she'd been watching, I only knew she wasn't concentrating solely on De otro mundo, a fact which was a relief to me.

Chapter Six

Closing In

Something firm and sweet being pressed against my lips pulled me from the shadows of sleep on Monday morning. I knew what it was, it gave off a pungently fresh odor. I opened my mouth and it shoved its way impatiently inside. Half of me was still asleep; eating in ones sleep is a satisfying experience, like being high, the senses are exaggerated. The flavor of the strawberry exploded in my mouth, every taste bud and scent receptor lighting up.

"Mm," I croaked in attempt to produce an appropriate sound. What was this all about, was my first thought, as I swallowed the chewed pink remnants.

"Saf, wake up," I heard Lark's voice urge from overhead.

"I'm still asleep? I'm dreaming," I heard myself mumble and somersaulted backwards towards darkness. A second strawberry nudged at my lips, pulling me out again. I allowed it entry, my awareness of the room gaining clarity. I could sense her presence so close, I could smell her.

"What..." I began, but suddenly something entirely different was pressing against my lips. Lark's lips were warm and silky. Her kiss started gentle, but when I opened my mouth to her probing tongue, it turned almost aggressive - her hands cupping my jawline, she moved the strawberry flesh around to conquer every corner of my mouth. I gathered my wits, pushed her away and pulled the eye mask onto my forehead, blinking.

"I got one," she said with a smirk. "I finally got a kiss, a good one too."

"What the hell?" Her triumphant tone irked me. "You can't do shit like this, it's just wrong."

"I wanted to know what it felt like. And now I know, I want more. You liked it, I felt you like it."

"I was half-asleep," I grumbled.

"Best we do it again then." She lunged back towards me but I dodged and scooted backwards on the bed.

"No, Lark, no. Why do I sometimes feel like I'm trying to train a dog? Stop fucking around." I was furious and it showed.

"Hmm," she snarled, then muttered, "It was worth it anyway," and left the room.

The kiss haunted me all day. I had liked it, it felt shockingly good until it turned so forceful, which made the reality of its stolen nature so much more irritating. I didn't know what to make of her, why she insisted on toying with me. Just when I thought I had my feelings figured out or under control, she confused me again. If Lark really wanted me that way surely it wouldn't feel so spiteful. Maybe she didn't know any other way - at the end of the day she had been a lifelong victim of abuse, a fact I could neither forget nor totally understand. Whatever my mother's faults, she had certainly never abused me in a sexual manner. So agitated was my mind, I forgot she'd tried to be open and direct with me in the bathroom the night before. My default setting had always been rejection, I didn't know how to deal with genuine feelings.

I walked into the kitchen early afternoon just as Lark started the dishwasher.

"Do you want some tea?" she smiled, as if nothing was wrong. Her smile still took my breath away.

"We should talk about what you did this morning."

"You're still angry," she said, observing my expression.

"I'm confused. That wasn't the Lark I know. Are you..." I squinted at her unblinking eyes. "What are you playing at?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Are you trying to make me fall for you so you can hurt me?"

"Wow." She shook her head and took a step towards me. "I can't count the number of ways I find that question wrong."

"Alright, whatever. Can you just stop treating me the way you are?"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me why."

"Because it makes me uncomfortable when you're so forward."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Very uncomfortable."

"Julie is forward."

"Julie is an asshole!" My voice rose an octave. "I wish you would stop it with that shit."

She winced at my tone. "I'm sorry."

"You're such a lovely person, Lark. Why would you ever want to be like Julie?"

"Julie makes me strong. I need to know how to be strong so when you leave, I'll be able to deal with all the real assholes in the world." And like that she was the old Lark again. I felt awful, but I didn't know whether it was because I'd snapped at her or because she'd just made me realize I liked her better when she needed me. The allure of role as protector was strong.

For a few moments I stood staring; her words hitting home in an unforeseen way. Neither of us had raised the subject of my leaving since that night after Hamish's visit, it felt wrong. It felt wrong now.

"Jesus." I wrapped my arms around her and held tight. "I didn't know you were thinking about that." But it was a lie, I did know, I'd been thinking about it too. She didn't comment, she knew as well. I wondered as I breathed her in; how I was ever going to leave her.

"Come on." She took a step back and smiled as Def Leppard's Hysteria came over the radio. "Dance with me."

Her mood was as infectious as usual; I relented and laughed as she spun me around. My future was staring me in the face - the predominant thought beat louder than any music could. But what could I do about it? We lived in different worlds.

A minute of this and she got hold of me again and didn't let go.

"Stop fighting it," she whispered in my ear before, saved by the bell, the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway was just discernible behind the radio.

"Someone's here," I said and backed away.

"Gr!" She vented her frustration while I headed toward the sitting room.

Staring through the veil curtains of the western windows, I saw a dark-haired, heavily made-up woman climb out of the passenger side of a sleek, black Audi.

"Puta madre," I cursed out loud. Fucking Dad. I suppose it was only a matter of time, I thought with a sigh.

"What is it?"

"It's an invasion." Lark's hand slid into mine and gripped it tightly as she drew up beside me - she was afraid. "It's okay, they're not here for you." She let go and I went to the front door.

"Hey," I heard her murmur as she peered through the blinds herself. "It's Cold Lips."

Wiping the chuckle from my face, I opened the front door and faced my old co-star, Amy Alvard.

"Ah!" A shrill scream rang out. She kissed both my cheeks with a flourish, an overwhelming whoosh of perfume hitting me. "Esta helando aquí y tengo algo que te va a volar la cabeza." I opened the door fully and her eyes widened when she spotted Lark behind me.

"You need to speak English while you're here. This is Lark. Lark, Amy." A tall, roguishly handsome man came up at her back. "Brought your dog with you?"

"Very loyal," she whispered close to my face, sliding past and into the house.

"Hola, Esteban," I said when he grinned and greeted me.

"Look at that bone structure." Amy studied Lark, her voice complimentary, but resentment in her eyes. She had a jealous streak. "Damn, chica," she commented on the scar at her neck - curse her attention to detail - "there are doctors who can fix that."

"Hello Cold Lips," Lark said bluntly with a plastic smile.

"Cold Lips?" Amy frowned and I suppressed a laugh, relieved Lark hadn't just run off to hide.

"I've seen you on TV, nice to meet you." She grabbed her hand animatedly. Ha, she was playing it cool.

Amy nodded, tugged her hand back and strode into the house like she owned the place, Esteban tailing her.

"You can't call her Cold Lips," I whispered ferociously, stuck between amusement and annoyance.

"I'm being polite, Dead Fish is just mean," Lark responded loudly and I bit back another retort.

"Just in the neighborhood, were you?" I stood in the sitting room entrance watching as Amy made herself at home on a sofa and began rummaging in her bag.

"You know me, I get around. I've been in LA for a few days, Javier suggested I spend a night here, on him. He's going to introduce me to Sebastian Andres. Might lead to a part on Los Culpables. They're casting for..."

As she driveled on, Lark approached from behind and I felt a hand squeeze my backside - she was groping me! What the hell had gotten into her? I jolted quickly away in a state of exasperation and caught her smug expression as I took a seat on the sofa opposite Amy. It didn't work, she followed and sat so close she was practically in my lap. Amy's oration trailed away and she raised an eyebrow, watching while I wriggled further along the couch awkwardly.

"You've been here a couple of weeks and you already have a gorgeous admirer? Typical," she snickered and withdrew a case from her bag. "How come people always go for the ones they can't have?"

"Lark's staying here for a while, that's all."

"That's not all," Lark snapped. "She loves me. She kissed me." The certainty in her tone was shocking.

Amy shook her head and fiddled with the case on the coffee table between us. She laid a small mirror down and emptied a bag of white powder on its surface. "You really need to stop stringing people along the way you do, Bel."

"Stringing along?" Lark sounded confused and watched curiously as she sectioned the powder into lines.

Still invasively close, I was acutely aware of her leg and shoulder nudging against mine; it sent tingles through my body but I couldn't edge any farther along the sofa without sitting on the arm. I poked her in the ribs with my elbow, a tactile warning to stop fidgeting. At Hamish and Vivian's she'd been operating with preparation and a caution label; no such restrictions could be said of this impromptu social interaction. She was acting up to a degree I hadn't seen before; was it just Cold ...Amy's presence? Possibly; I could feel it emanating from her, the wildness. I didn't need to look to know her line of sight was trained directly on the woman opposite her.

"Belen's not a sexual person. You're barking up the wrong tree if you're trying to get her in the sack," Amy said.

I fought the urge to throw something. After a brief glance sideways at me, Lark scowled at her.

"Maybe she just needs the right person."

"Think you can succeed where others have failed?" Amy laughed scornfully. "Sure, why not? You think you're better than the rest of us, but you're the biggest bitch I know, Bel."

"She reflects the attitudes of the people around her," Lark barked.

I raised an eyebrow as Amy lit a cigarette. I didn't want her smoking in here, the smell would hang around for days.

"So, why are you staying with Belen?"

"She doesn't like you calling her that."

"It's fine." I certainly didn't want her calling me Saffron. This was a clash of two incompatible worlds, one I wanted and the other, I didn't.

Lark's expression was dangerous, she leaned back and narrowed her eyes threateningly; the tiny crinkle above her right eyebrow appeared. Most people wouldn't notice it, but it was a bad sign, she was thinking bad thoughts.

The irony was, watching Lark's stormy reaction to Amy, I found myself decidedly turned on. It was no secret her passionate side attracted me but I'd never had the opportunity to witness her go up against someone else. That it was Amy made it even more titillating.

"Doesn't he speak?" Lark directed her words loudly at Esteban to Amy's left. "Don't you speak?"

"You are very beautiful," he said in a thick accent, leaning forward with a grin.

"Down boy," Amy chimed. "I wouldn't be too flattered, it's the only thing he knows how to say in English."

"Doesn't it bother you my father has you doing dumb shit like this?"

"It's his money," she shrugged and snorted a large line from the mirror using a banknote. "Don't worry," she said moments later, "this is more of a refreshment stop for me. We're booked into a hotel near here, you know I like my room service. Here." She pushed the mirror toward me and I held up my hand.

"No fucking way."

"Por qué?" The refusal didn't register easy, she looked stunned. "I thought you'd be gagging for it."

"You do realize I spent a week in rehab last month."

"Yeah, so? You're ready to get back in the game."

"I came here to get away from it, you fool. I'm not going through detox again."

"What about you?" She looked at Lark mischievously.

"Leave off, she doesn't want it."

"Javier's worried about you," she continued after a shrug of indifference, "turning down offers."

"Who is Javier?" Lark asked.

"My father. He shouldn't have given you this address, you shouldn't be here." I wondered how soon I could get rid of her.

"Your approval means nothing to me," she said scathingly. "Personally, I would prefer it if you never came back. More parts for the rest of us."

"How do you breathe with your head so far up your ass?"

"Oxygen? Please, this is all I need," she scoffed and snorted another rail. She was trying to get to me. Without Lark's presence, the temptation would no doubt have been overwhelming, but with Lark here, there was no temptation. It occurred to me, as I watched Amy, Lark had become like a drug to me. I fed off her; a frightening realization.

"Where's your furry shadow, BTW?" Amy asked, swiping her nose and scanning the sitting room.

"Guido? Probably hiding from you."

"Whatever. That fucking animal loves me more than you."

"Apparently he loves everyone more than me," I muttered.

"I don't know why you drag the poor thing around everywhere with you. Face it, Jelly Belly, you're not the most loving person."

"Piss off."

Her words sent a chill down my spine; other people had accused me of being withholding plenty of times but Amy had no right to point it out so openly in front of Lark like this; she'd never commented on it before. These two were bringing out the worst in each other. Anyway, I did love Guido, as if Amy understood that. The beauty of a cat was that they didn't need to be showered with affection constantly. Bitch, pretending to have me all figured out. I wouldn't be nearly as resentful of the words had Lark not been there. I didn't want her getting the wrong impression about me. Or was it the right one... Dammit.

"Are you friends or not?" Lark was lost.

"Come help me make drinks," I demanded before Amy could say something rude.

"Tequila, Bel!" she called after us, before adding, "Nothing for Esteban, he has to drive."

I crossed the kitchen and pulled glasses from a cabinet, wondering if Lark would keep her hands to herself this time.

"I don't like her," she growled, standing at my side as I opened the tequila.

"Don't stress, it's a tactical move by my father, nothing more. Pendejo."

"Kick her out, Saffron. She doesn't belong here, she's interfering and she's an idiot. No wonder you left Mexico if that's the kind of person you had around you."

"She's not that bad. You can't hate someone for being superficial, Lark."

"Says who? Anyway, I don't, I hate her because she wants to take you away. She wants you."

"She does not! It was one stupid scene, she's completely straight."

"Straight?" It was rare for Lark to stumble over her words, it showed how agitated she was.

"She's slept with every male actor in Latin America," I exaggerated.

"Disgusting. I don't care what you say, she wants you."

"Would you keep your voice down..."

"No." She was being stubborn to the point of childish.

"You and I aren't together," I pointed out. The reasons why this wasn't happening were thin even by my standards and having Amy here was only bringing the intensity of my feelings more sharply into focus. But one thing remained - I was still afraid of her.

"What are you saying? You want her too?" This was dangerous territory.

"I'd rather chew off my left nipple," I said disdainfully and she looked dumbfounded.

"You could do that?"

"Jesus wept. I'm just saying I'm not your property." Strange how saying it out loud made me realize just how inaccurate it might be.

"Nevertheless," she glowered, "neither of us want her here."

"When she realizes I'm not going to get high with her she'll get bored, an hour at most. Can you control yourself for that long?"

"One hour," she stared at me then looked down at her fidgeting fingers. "Maybe I should seduce her," she said wickedly. "Maybe that would get rid of her." I had to laugh.

"She really gets to you, doesn't she?" I said curiously. "One hour. Just don't encourage her, trust me, she gets bored easy."

Amy was entwined in a passionate tongue dance with Esteban when we returned to the sitting room, all hands and mouth. They didn't break it when I placed the tequila and water on the coffee table, loudly slopping both. Annoyed, I sat back down, wondering what to do.

Lark gawped shamelessly. Without taking her eyes off them, she leaned toward me and said, "Do you think they're going to have sex right in front of us?" under her breath. Her expression and unwillingness to avert her gaze made it look like she probably wouldn't mind.

"Maybe," I said, studying them critically. No, this was stupid. It was my house, Lark was right, I needed to get rid of them. I launched one of the sofa cushions over and with a curse Amy finally broke the lip lock. Unfazed, she pushed the hair from her face and Esteban grinned at me.

"You need to leave, maybe you'll find a more interested audience at the hotel."

"Ha-ha," she responded dryly but made no move to get up. "See what I mean? Frigid." She bent back toward the mirror then handed it to the man on her left.

"Didn't you hear her?" The crinkle above Lark's eyebrow returned.

"Sure. A few minutes, my sweet. You're not going to tell me when you're coming back then?" she asked and I took a few moments to think about it.

"No." I couldn't explain to Amy the turmoil my mind was in right now. It wasn't my fault she'd made the trip for nothing.

"That's your solution? Just stay here until you get bored like the last time in Barcelona?" She shook her head. "It's not cool, Belly, always running away when things get hard. You're lucky Javier's got your back, the rest of us have to fight tooth and nail for every bit part."

Of course it had nothing to do with talent.

"Maybe he could get you a shot at this movie Su Piel," I said, restless now. She raised her eyebrows incredulously and I looked away. "It was a nice drive for you anyway, good to have some fresh air. I need the toilet."

The first thing that struck me when I returned to the sitting room was Lark's face focused on Amy; she looked like she was gearing to spring up and throttle her at any second. Maybe she was doing it in her head.

"You'll see," Amy said as I sat down and looked over, then she changed her tone, "This is the house you grew up in, Bel?"

"Yes." No clue why she was interested, I didn't know what to say.

"I have to admit, the area is stunning. Too quaint for my tastes around here, but it's pretty." A thin line of blood crept out of her nose. With a curse, she swayed slightly in her seat, shut her eyes.

"Hey, are you okay?" I frowned.

She straightened, pulled a tissue from her bag and dabbed at her nose.

"A little light-headed. Weird." The confusion was evident in her voice. "Te sientes bien?"

"Si. Bueno, bueno," Esteban nodded, still with that stupid smile and Amy finally put her case away.

"Okay," she said with a deep sigh. "We're going."

"If you need a doctor..." I began but Amy cut me off with a raised hand, gathering her bag.

"I'm fine. It's probably just jetlag."

Jetlag from a flight from LA? At least she made it to the car steady on her feet.

"We're at this place Crystal Summit tonight, late check out tomorrow.

She kissed both my cheeks again before getting into the passenger side. Amy was a big girl, she knew when or when she didn't need a doctor. I hoped anyway. Nosebleeds were common, light-headedness not so much.

Lark put the empty glasses in the dishwasher as I came back to the kitchen.

"That was interesting."

"Yes, it was," Lark said thoughtfully without looking at me. Amy's words had got to her, I could feel it. I couldn't think of anything to say which might repair the damage. Saying she was lying would be dishonest in itself.

"I hope that wasn't bad stuff," I mumbled instead. "If she bought it from an unreliable source here in the States..."

"She'll be okay. It wasn't the powder, it was my fault." She wandered out of the kitchen. I followed her into the sitting room and frowned as she stood staring through the windows.

"What do you mean?"

"It was my fault," she repeated.

"You... What did you do? You hurt her on purpose?"

"It was an accident, I didn't know." The words were plain and said with utter honesty and an expression full of self-hate.

"But you weren't touching her..."

"I think my abilities are getting stronger, and... I think I know why."

"You can hurt people with your mind?!"

"I didn't mean to hurt her." A tear squeezed from her eye. "I'm sorry, I just wanted her to leave. She was going to take you away."

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady.

"It was a mistake then, you just need to learn to control your temper."

"It wasn't temper, it was fear. I'm not ready for you to leave yet, you can't."

"Why would you think I would go anywhere with her?"

"You went to the bathroom and she started babbling about you being an addict; that you'd go back to it. You'd fold, it was in your nature."

"She was wrong."

"The way she was talking about you... You're a drug addict. You're still Belen, I thought I could trust you."

"What the fuck? Did you see me take any drugs?" My tone was way too harsh.

She slouched against the wall, head down and started weeping into her hands. A knot formed in my stomach; it hurt me to see her this way. Normally I turned a blind eye to hysterical women; I couldn't do that with Lark. I stood close, pulled her face up to look at it. Even like this she was still breath-taking.

"Please don't cry."

"You think I'm like a dog."

"What?" I asked in shock.

"You said a dog would be easier to train."

"Well, but you're learning." She kept looking at me with her huge eyes.

"Why can't you just love me?" she asked. I swallowed at the lump in my throat.

"I do love you."

"But you don't want me," she gestured hopelessly. "Is it me? Am I that awful?"

"You're the most beautiful person I've ever known," I said honestly. Goddammit. I did love her; there was no denying it.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers. It was supposed to make her feel better and it started out so gentle. But when her tongue pushed its way into my mouth, the kiss changed character; she was needy, aggressive, like she had been that morning. She backed me hard against the wall and jammed her knee between my legs, her hands roaming over my body.

On fire, I didn't know how to stop it; I wanted to tell her to slow down but couldn't get the words out.

Lost in the friction of her mouth on mine, the hunger of her kiss, her fingers started rubbing me before I even realized her hand was down my pants. I moaned and fumbled with her zipper, but she was giving me the most powerful feelings far too quickly. Without mercy in her assault, she launched into a vigorous rhythm.

It was so primal and I had reached a point of no return already.

"I can feel what you can," she gasped and increased the speed she was rubbing me. "Oh God, I can feel... Everything."

It was too much - I came hard.

The lamp by the sofa flickered out.

She held me sandwiched between herself and the wall, breathing heavily in my ear, while the stars cleared from my vision. The heat between us seared, her heartbeat thumping against my breast.

"Did you just..." I rasped. I hadn't even touched her but the rigid way she'd jerked against me and the high, grating moan which accompanied it, was unmistakable - she'd cum when I had.

"Light you up? I knew Cold Lips was wrong." She brought her flushed face around to the front of mine with a self-satisfied smile. "You think I'm like a dog," she said, affecting a sob. It dawned on me what she'd just done. Regret bubbled inside my chest and I pushed her away.

"You've blown the fucking fuse again," I muttered over my shoulder and made my way down to the basement, zipping my pants. Why did she have to do that? Ruin everything.

Hurt and completely confused, I spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding her, lugging boxes from the attic to the garage. I didn't want to lose my temper; she took the hint and kept her distance. The night brought with it an unavoidable confrontation though. I joined her in the sitting room and tried to concentrate on the television.

I could feel her eyes on me before she came over and cuddled up, twirling a lock of my hair through her fingers.

"I love your hair, it's so silky. Maybe I should straighten my hair."

"Your hair is beautiful, you don't want it straightened." I couldn't keep the frost out of my voice or the rigor out of my body.

"You're angry with me for earlier."

"Just, please..." I pushed her back. "We can move on."

"I don't want to move on."

"It can't always be about what you want."

"But you liked it too."

It? Was she loath to give it a name? What it was to me was an animalistic fumble. I didn't feel aggressive about her, I wanted to love her. In which regard, I hadn't liked it at all.

"You manipulated me, you're a better actress than I am. Don't ever do that again."

"I love you." I could feel her eyes drilling into me. "I shouldn't have to act."

"I had no idea you could be so cruel."

"I didn't mean to be cruel. It's only because you are the way you are I had to act."

"How am I?"

"You're hard work."

And you are fucking impatient.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. I didn't push her away when she rested her head back against me. "I was upset, I won't do it again." Her skin wasn't touching mine but I could feel disappointment and regret leaching from her as if it were my own; alleviated now by a tug of contentment at just being near me. The link between us was getting stronger; perhaps it leapt forward every time she touched me. If this was the case, the intimacy of her last touch would have geometrically strengthened whatever bonds were forming. Our emotions were being bounced back and forth like two mirrors facing each other. I couldn't tell where the feelings originated anymore and, I realized, I didn't know how long this had been going on. Was she reflecting my hurt or did she feel her own? If she had her own hurt, it may not be for the same reasons as mine.

Amy, the fucking troublemaker, she'd caused all this. Stirring the shit as usual.

It was too late; my love for Lark was greater than my dislike for games. I didn't want her to feel pain, hers or mine, so I placed the incident aside, allowed her closeness, stroked her wrist with the tips of my fingers. Her bruises were gone, her skin flawless toffee velvet, stretched over fragile bones. I felt her regret gradually dissolve into peace.

"It's a miscommunication, that's all," she said softly.

"You said something about your abilities getting stronger, said you thought you knew why."

"Because of you. Because I'm happy."

I stayed silent. I was trapped.

She wasn't watching the screen, her eyes were shut, she just wanted to be close; I knew that. Within an hour she was asleep and I tried not to disturb her; I lasted another hour before I needed the bathroom and had to wake her.

"Come on," I shifted her arm and she stirred, "bed." I helped her up the stairs - when Lark conked out, she really conked out.

"Stay," she said sleepily without opening her eyes.

"I'm going to stay up a while longer."

Barely conscious, she didn't argue and I left her. I wondered if her sleep habits had anything to do with the energy she expended doing the weird things she did. In any case, I was glad of it, relishing the personal space and time to think. I didn't go to bed myself, fell asleep in front of the television instead, not ready to wake up to find Lark beside me again just yet. One fact solidified in my thoughts that night - I couldn't leave her. She made me feel a lot of different things - fear, awe, confusion, most importantly, she made me feel real. She was the only person in that room today who I cared about, the only person in any room; and I really cared about her. Returning to Mexico without her would be like going back to an empty world, it was impossible.
Chapter Seven

Too Late

Tuesday morning found me in a state of anxiety. What happened yesterday worried me and I was concerned about Amy. I should have questioned Lark more, I was at a loss to what she'd done. Distracted by my own selfish preoccupations, I'd considered it little the day before. Other thoughts I'd failed to pick up on because of Lark's callous treatment also crowded in. The way she had echoed my orgasm; sharing a physical sensation went way beyond exchanging emotions. And she'd rendered me helpless so quickly, incapable of saying no - it was unheard of. Confusing and yet... I wanted more, needed to see if it could be repeated, if it wasn't just some strange, singular anomaly. Dangerous thinking like that.

My run didn't do much to ease my disposition so, with Lark still asleep, I climbed behind the wheel and headed for town just after nine.

It was too early to impose on Amy so I made a round of the supermarket. I'd become weirdly fond of wandering through Safeway, lazily investigating new products.

Waiting at the checkout I noticed, through the front windows, people dotted talking in twos and threes around the police and FWP offices across the road. I hadn't seen so many people congregated in one area since I'd been here. Ogling them as I crossed the exit zone, I bumped into Vivian carrying a tray of seedlings.

"Sorry!"

"Saffron," she smiled. "No harm, no foul. Are you alright? You look ruffled."

"I'm fine. What's going on?" I nodded toward the car park across the road. "A town meeting?"

"Not exactly," she said, following my gaze. "Apparently a hiker came across a wreckage on the Goa Range early last night. Helicopter crash, bodies and everything."

"No bull. Dead?"

She nodded. "They weren't local though. It'll have everyone excited for a while, I suppose. How's Lark?"

"She's a trip."

"Sweet girl. I wanted to say something the other night but wasn't sure if I should bring it up in front of her. She's welcome to stay in our guest house when you leave. We do want to help."

"Thanks Viv. I appreciate it and so does she. I better go," I lifted my bags demonstratively. "These are heavy."

"Enjoy your day."

When the bags were safely in the car, I went to a nearby coffee shop to sip a latte and watch the goings on with amused eyes. Strange how small things could be so entertaining in a town like this - people did seem excited; uniformed and non-uniformed milling about, buzzing with chatter. I supposed the atmosphere might be different had the deceased been local. By ten thirty I decided I'd waited long enough and made my way to the top of Featherston Road.

Crystal Summit Resort & Spa was a majestic, sprawling hotel; a neatly manicured golf-course visible through the trees as I approached. Ugh, golf. A concierge at the front entrance desk informed me where Amy was but didn't call the room first.

I would probably wake her but it didn't matter, the visit was mainly to ensure she was alive.

She opened the door quickly when I knocked.

"You're up early," I commented, following her in.

"Flight from Lake Point at one." She turned to me and raised an eyebrow. "Giving in to the temptation for a morning pick-me-up?"

"No. I'm finished with all that."

"You used to be... What did they do to you in detox anyway?"

She'd just got out of the shower, bath-robed, hair wrapped in a towel. It was the first time in my life I'd seen her without make-up, but at least she seemed okay. Esteban was nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning to you too. I used too heavily for too long, you know what I was like."

"You were a machine."

"Yeah well, it's not worth it anymore. I came to make sure you were still alive."

"Like I said, just jetlag." She stood at a minibar and sipped from a glass, eyeing me curiously.

"Are you drinking? This early?"

"I'm on vacation. Want one?"

"I'm good."

"What do you want me to tell Javier?"

"I'm going to stay here for a bit, I've got things to work out."

"Are you still having those episodes?" That she knew about them didn't surprise me, what did was her being so upfront; Amy rarely spoke bluntly about sensitive issues.

"Not too often, I'm getting better. Maybe you'll get your wish," I smiled, "maybe I'm done with acting. The sooner Dad learns to stop interfering, the better."

"I guess you're right." She hesitated. "I'm sorry about your mother. I didn't even know she had died until Javier mentioned it a few days ago."

Huh, I had caught her in a susceptible state. Maybe she'd just taken a fistful of Valium.

"No biggie. I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing."

"You don't have a plan, do you?"

"'If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans'," I said idly.

"Don't tell me you found religion," she sneered.

"It's an expression, Amy."

"I don't understand you at all." She studied me in silence for a few moments, it was probably the first time I'd ever seen her still and quiet and actually thoughtful. "It's her, isn't it?"

"What?" I asked, surprised by her straightforward tone.

"Your friend. Lark?"

"What about her?" I hoped like hell Amy didn't suspect she had anything to do with what happened yesterday.

"She's got you, Belen Abreu's finally lost her heart."

"Oh." I sighed inwardly. "I don't know, it's complicated. I'm not thinking about getting out of acting because of her, if that's what you're implying."

"I honestly did not expect it to be a woman."

"You never expected it to be anyone."

"True dat." She put her glass down and startled me by stepping forward and giving me a proper hug, warm and real. "I'm happy for you. She was right, you know, I did want to take you away."

I pulled back and looked at her with a frown.

"Everyone wants the unattainable," she shrugged.

"You'll be okay. I'm gonna go. Don't come back to the house, okay? Lark really doesn't like you." I felt bad saying it but it was more for Amy's preservation than Lark's.

"The feeling is totally mutual," she grinned easily. "Shoot me a text when you get home."

"I will. Take care, Amy." I gave her a last smile and left before the awkwardness became unbearable.

By the time I pulled back into the driveway at Linwood, it was after eleven. The house was silent until footsteps approached rapidly from behind as I put my bags on the kitchen counter. Without giving me time to turn around, she ran up and pressed herself against my back; my heart rate increased by at least thirty beats per minute at the simple gesture. She was wet, her skin still dripping as I stood still and placed my arms over hers, before she pulled me around urgently. She planted kiss after kiss over the lower half of my face, closed mouth but frantic and again, I was powerless do anything but give in to the barrage. She tasted of toothpaste and smelt strongly of shower cream, only wrapped in a towel.

It wasn't long before she seemed to realize what she was doing, stepped back and lowered her gaze ruefully.

"Sorry." She looked up, that same wildness in her eyes. "Where have you been?"

"Ah..." I caught my breath, heart still thumping, and gestured at the bags. "The supermarket." Wasn't it obvious? Turning away, I started to unpack the groceries, eager to keep my hands occupied and try to calm my chest. How did she do that? "I went to see Amy as well, she's okay."

"I told you she would be."

"Have you eaten?"

"I've only fed Guido. I was awake late and you weren't here and... I need to finish my shower."

"Take your time. I'm making apple and cheddar tartines, ready by twelve."

Relieved to have something to do, I needed to sort out the questions I had for her. She backed slowly out of the kitchen, hesitant to take her eyes off me - as if I would melt into the floorboards - but eventually turned and went upstairs.

I put a plate in front of her when she returned and sat down to eat, struggling with how to start the conversation.

"These are really good," she said.

"They're okay."

I couldn't place the look in her eyes as she stared at me over the top of her baguette, it fit with almost every emotion I could come up with, including an uncomfortable level of suspicion.

"Why did you go see her?" She offered an easy opening.

"I thought you would appreciate it if she didn't come back to the house."

"I'm making things hard for you, aren't I?"

"Always. What did you do to her yesterday? I mean, what did it involve?"

"Emotion." She didn't take her eyes off me and didn't change her expression.

"You knew she would be okay so you must have some idea."

She finally looked away, down to her plate.

"It's pressure, enough to burst blood vessels and make her light-headed but it won't do any permanent damage. I knew she was okay because she didn't lose consciousness, she was fine once it passed."

I wanted to say she shouldn't be doing things like that but she'd already claimed it was an accident.

"You've done this to people before?"

"Not like that." She kept her eyes on her food. "This whole thing is a learning curve for me."

"Amy would never have hurt you. You need to learn to reel in your emotions."

"If anyone can teach me how to do that, it's you." The words were a little too bitchy for my palate, then she leaned back with an exhalation. "I know, I'm sorry."

She didn't seem okay, kept moving in her seat, expression now troubled more than anything. She wasn't herself; then again, she was a moody creature.

"Is anything wrong?" The question sounded ludicrous; I couldn't place much that'd been particularly right lately.

"I feel weird, scared. Like something's going to happen." She looked back at me. "Are you planning to leave? I wouldn't blame you if you were, after everything."

"No. I told Amy I'd be staying for a while."

"It must be something else. Maybe we're going to get another visitor; for me. Too many people know I'm here now, they could call the police." She wasn't making much sense. I leaned over and held my hand against her forehead. "I'm not sick."

"Can you see the future too?" I was joking but she looked at me sharply.

"I'm an empath," she snapped, "I feel things. Everything."

"Okay." I held my fork aloft and wiped a piece of apple that had flown from my mouth off the table. "Tell me, why would you be worried about the police?"

"The people I escaped from, they'll want me back. Everything's closing in."

I studied her in silence for a few moments; she looked both defeated and angry.

"It might be good for you to confront them," I kept my tone mild, "tell them you're finished with it so you can stop being afraid."

"You don't understand." She got up and paced around the kitchen for a moment, looking like a caged animal and casting fretful glances my way.

"But..." I didn't know what to say, should I be apologizing for yesterday? Should I be telling her my feelings? "Please, tell me you're not thinking of going back."

"I would never do that by choice. But I can't stay here, they'll find me and they'll hurt me. They aren't like you." She collected the boots she'd been using from inside the front door and sat down to put them on as I watched. I didn't think she'd really go anywhere, she was just hyperactive.

"A cult, I know."

"Cult?" she said, surprising me with her tone. "It's not a cult."

"Sect, whatever." She laughed bitterly, confusing me more. "I don't get what you're so scared of. They're idiots and they can't force you to go back. Is that what worries you? They could send the police over here to collect you?"

"Yes."

"They can't do that, the law is on your side. You know that, right?" She finished tying her laces and stared at me. "Forget about the police, they have more important things to do, there's been a helicopter crash."

"What?"

"Yeah," I nodded and shoved a final bite of baguette between my teeth. "A helicopter wreckage has been found, Viv said it'll keep people excited for a while. And your asshole family haven't even filed a missing persons report for you. What is up with that anyway?" The words were said casually but when I glanced back at her all the color had drained from her face. "Sorry, I just mean, you don't need to be worried."

"It's over then."

"What's over?"

"I've been here too long already."

The words completely jarred me; it was the way she said them, off-handed and yet with certainty, as if it had only been a matter of time. Something inside her had shifted. I rose from the table impotently as she stalked toward the front door.

"You can't leave..." But she was already gone, leaving the door open in her wake. I stood staring after her, dumbstruck. "It was one bad day," I said to the empty kitchen. "Lark... Fuck!"

No way had that just happened, she wasn't going to just wander off into the woods again like she'd never been here. She just needed to work off some nervous energy, she'd be back. She hadn't taken anything with her, not even a jacket. When I got my paralyzed legs to move, I went to the creek and around the house calling for her, drove down the surrounding roads but gave up halfway to town - she couldn't have got this far.

She'll be back, I kept telling myself. At one thirty I wrapped myself in a blanket and sat outside on the porch to wait. Miserable and mortified as I was, other emotions were plaguing me; an irrational, urgent fear. I didn't understand it and was sure it wasn't my own. What could make Lark feel this way I didn't know, but I hoped it meant she was still close by.

The paranoid part of my brain argued, maybe she left because she'd finally got what she wanted out of me and realized it wasn't so great after all. The soft part determined, if I had to, I'd go to the settlement and fetch her back myself. But what if she got lost or sick again trying to navigate the woods? At least this time I could get the police involved to search if she was missing too long. I sat there for two hours, trapped between fuming and scared shitless.

"Saf."

I must have closed my eyes for a minute, hadn't even heard her approach. She stood over me, hand on my shoulder and a filthy, bulky knapsack under one arm.

"Jesus Christ!" I said and jumped up to wrap my arms around her, my stiff legs almost buckling beneath me. "You fucking idiot, don't you dare do that to me ever again!"

"It's too late." Her voice was sorrowful but I sensed a window of hope emanating from her, a small, bright one.

"Too late for what"

"It's your fault." Searching her face for a sign of what she meant, I found a mixture of longing and dread. She took a deep breath, "We should talk properly."

"Yes? What's that?" I frowned at the dirty bag.

"Are you out here because of me?"

"You just ran off. I was going to call the police."

"No police. Let's go inside."

Seated at the dining table, she stared at me, went to reach for my hands then thought better of it and retreated, glancing around the room nervously.

"Lark." I tried to rein her in. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I must ask you something direct."

"What?"

"Why did it bother you so much? Yesterday, when I... When we fooled around?"

"I don't do fooling around and I don't like being toyed with. I'm not Julie."

"Do you care about me?"

"Do you think I would still be here if I didn't care about you?"

"Do you think I would be?"

I shook my head in frustration. This was going in circles, I tried to think of what I could say to break out of it. She knew I cared about her; she was asking for verbal confirmation, testing whether I was willing to admit it, give in to it. She continued before I could.

"My point is, neither of us need to be here. We're here because... For each other." She sounded so sincere but I wasn't sure what she meant. Was she still keeping a return to the settlement open as an option? Honesty was the best choice at a time like this, I decided.

"That was a really shitty thing you did. You played on your own vulnerability, and then rubbed it in my face afterwards."

"I was awful, I know."

"Fuck it," I sighed heavily. "It's as much my fault. You showed up my own problems and I didn't like it."

"While I've been here, I watched a bit of this show called Brooklyn Nine Nine."

"Yeah," I frowned, wondering where she was heading. She must be stalling with whatever it was she wanted to say for as long as possible. In which case, it must be important. "Do you like it?"

"Yes. It's very good. Anyway, there's this character, Captain Holt; in one episode he says 'Every time someone steps up and says who they are, the world becomes a better, more interesting place'. I liked that quote."

"Trust you to pull a sensitive line from a comedy series."

"They have more impact when they're surrounded by jokes." She met my gaze with serious eyes. "I keep hearing this phrase 'no strings'. People use it a lot and I can't say I understand it. I come with strings, you see," she chittered anxiously.

I wasn't sure she was using the term correctly but starting a debate about semantics didn't feel right.

"We don't need to talk about this n..."

"No," she held up a hand. "We do. I've seen your strings too so I know you understand why I need to say things. I want to show you something." She reached for my neck but I automatically flinched away. "Fine. Just listen then because I don't have time to screw around anymore."

I looked down with a cringe.

"I'm... You need to be patient with me," I began slowly, "I'm not used to feeling this way."

She wasn't listening, she got up and brought the dirty bag from inside the door, dumped it at my feet, unzipped it and pulled the flap aside. I stared in shock at bundles of hundred dollar bills.

Bending down, I looked closely, picked a bundle up and flicked through it, rubbed a bill between my fingers.

"It's real," she said.

It looked real, felt real; smelt real. But I didn't believe it, I only wondered what the hell Lark was doing running around with a bag of convincing but no doubt counterfeit money.

"Where did you get this?" If it were real it would amount to tens of thousands of dollars, I calculated.

"I took it. I need it. I buried it in the woods not far from here. I didn't think I'd find it again, but I did."

"Where did you get it, Lark? Did you take this from the settlement?"

"I want you to understand that I don't stay because I need your money or your help, not anymore." She wasn't playing a game, her words were firm, certain. Too real for me to deal with on top of everything else.

"This is why you're worried about the police. This is why you're so afraid of them."

"This," she kicked the bag, "is nothing to them."

"Don't be ridiculous. If it's real... We can fix it, we can take it back, return it. Maybe they'll understand."

"The religious people?" she laughed.

"What the fuck is so funny?!" I shrieked, losing what little grip I had left on my temper. "How can you laugh at a time like this? If you've stolen real money from them, it's not going to matter how bad they treated you, they can..."

"Think, Saffron!" she interrupted in a loud voice, poking her fingers crudely into her head. "The place you're talking about is downstream, why would I have headed uphill in an area like this? I have some rudimentary instincts, you know." Her tone was too loud, too real, too much.

"You were delirious..."

"Not when I decided which direction to take."

I looked at her, her eyes were wild but not irrationally so.

"You're not from the settlement at all," I said slowly.

"There it is." She raised an index finger, stared, forehead creased, waiting for the information to sink in.

I struggled. How could I be so blind?

"I'm not... Who the hell are you?"

"That's one of the more difficult questions."

"Fuck!" I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Where did you come from?" I asked through gritted teeth.

She turned abruptly and trotted upstairs, when she came back she had one of the maps in her hand. She spread it out on the dining table.

"The best I can figure, here," she pointed to a mountainous area far northwest of Linwood.

"That's the middle of nowhere, there's nothing there." She must have it wrong.

"Of course not. Why else would I have to walk for two days?"

"Two days. You said you didn't know how long you were out there."

"And you knew I was lying."

I looked again at where she had pointed on the map, the Goa Range. Something clicked.

"That's where the helicopter wreckage was found."

"Yes," she nodded, staring at the map. "Somewhere there."

"Were you in that chopper?" I frowned at her, disbelieving.

"Yes. I don't know why, but I was."

Snatching my vaporizer off the table I began puffing, pacing back and forth from kitchen to sitting room. My brain raced.

Lark had lied to me, Lark wasn't the girl I thought she was. Lark had played me like an old fiddle. I had fallen for a stranger. How was that possible? I felt cheated, disjointed, lost. Desperately trying to rationalize the turn of events in my mind and connect it to our time together, Lark stayed by the dining table, watching, before she broke into my thoughts.

"You're going to give yourself an attack," she said quietly. "Saf, calm down."

Ignoring her, I continued pacing.

"Saffron..."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I screamed. "I just need to think!"

The outburst served better than expected to calm my attitude; it still felt very wrong yelling at her and when I saw her sit at the end of the table with tears in her eyes, I took the seat near her. She was willing to talk, that was something; I wouldn't make any headway shutting her out.

"You have to see how fucked this is." I stared at my hands. "I thought..." What did I think? That everything was going well? That we had a future? Curse my self-absorption.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly and I looked up. Her eyes held so much emotion, it was hard to face.

"Vivian said it was a wreckage, all the passengers were dead."

"Not all of them."

"How did you survive?"

"It wasn't that bad a crash, more like a crash landing."

"Just, please, tell me who you are..." I begged pitifully, my voice breaking.

A deep frown on her face, her eyes darted between me and the table top. She opened and closed her mouth several times, but whatever words she had in her mind weren't coming out. She shut her eyes briefly, as if coming to a difficult decision, then without warning reached out and curled her hand around my neck.

There wasn't time to react - the dining table, the map, Lark, disappeared; reality morphed.

I hunched against the wall in a cell-like room, the overpowering smell of bleach and antiseptic making my head spin. There were no windows, the walls were steel, a single, metal door laid into one. Florescent light shone from a fixture built into the ceiling, where a camera was angled. A tiny bed with a thin mattress sat against one wall while an un-partitioned toilet and basin grew from the wall opposite the door. Beside the bed, a few books were stacked and on top of it, lay a soft toy, the only thing I had to love.

I was scared, so scared I shook; they would be here any time. I had nothing to tell me this was true except the sense of the lapse of hours since the last time. They came soon; men in black coveralls with black gloves. It was pointless to resist but my fear made me struggle and scream, it always did. They pulled me down several long corridors to another room where they strapped me to a chair. Another man and woman came, dressed the same but in green, and put a helmet on my head, electrodes on my skin. They showed me things, asked me things, made me feel pain and fear. It went on and on. By the time they were finished, I sagged. Too weak to hold myself up, the black dressed men dragged me back to my cell. I curled up with my bear. I had no will to live, no shred of happiness or hope. The same thing would happen again tomorrow.

When Lark took her hand from my neck and I came back to my mother's house, the vision was too powerful, being away from it didn't stop me from lurching up and bolting to the downstairs bathroom to throw up. When my stomach was empty, I collapsed against the wall and tears came. Lark crouched close as I sobbed, forehead against my knees. I felt her nearness but she didn't touch me, didn't attempt to take away my pain like she had before. As I cried it became clear, this was not my pain, it was hers; it was where she'd been, what she'd felt, how she had lived. The rationale pushed my tears aside; I wiped my face, tore a hunk of paper from the roll and blew my nose. She didn't meet my eyes when I stared at her, only looked down at her hands on her legs, as she knelt in front of me.

"I've seen that place before," I said hoarsely. "In my dreams."

"Yes." She didn't look up.

"The dreams were vague, I didn't remember them. But it was that place, it was exactly the same feeling."

"The dreams came from me. Unintentionally at first, but when I realized you were having them... I didn't want to hurt you, just make you understand. I didn't know how else to do it."

"How could they..." I grabbed her wrists in panic, more tears squeezing from my eyes. "How could they treat you like that? If you were so goddamn special to them, why didn't they look after you properly?"

They were futile questions, desperate and answerless.

"They were scared of me," she said quietly. "They never let their skin touch mine but I knew they were afraid."

"So they treated you as less than human?"

"I'm used to people being afraid of me."

My guilt ran deep. My assumptions about what Lark had suffered at the settlement were terrible but they didn't come close to what I'd just seen. The darkness of my dreams had conscious images to go with it now, I'd never be able to get rid of it. I felt as if everything inside my brain, my whole personality was being pushed aside and reshaped to make room for the immensity of it. This was the kind of thing people went to great lengths to avoid being aware of.

"Please, stop giving me the dreams?" But I knew it was too late, I was changed.

"I will, I promise. You know now." She still wouldn't meet my eyes. Her guilt ran deep too. I got up and helped her to her feet. I rinsed my mouth out with Listerine, headed to the kitchen and took up my vaporizer again.

"How long were you held in that room?"

"I don't know." She sat at the counter and stretched her hands behind her neck. "I can be certain I was there for several months, but before that I don't remember anything. They must have done something to wipe my memory."

"I guess that answers the question of how you got there."

"There are things I understand without knowing why or how, so I must have a past, but it's a blank. I've been waiting for it to come back but nothing's changed. I don't even know who I am. Thinking about it terrifies me. What if I'm no one at all?"

"Maybe they had good reason to be afraid of you."

"I know," she said quietly with a deep frown.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean that. If someone treated me the way you were... I don't even know what I would be capable of." No words could accurately express how I felt and I was shocked to find Lark still apologizing to me.

"I know you think I strung you along, and it's true. But think about why I did it, put yourself in my shoes. I couldn't trust anyone, I knew almost nothing about the world I was escaping into. I was ready to die out there on that porch seat. I remember thinking, at least I got free first. And then you came along. When I realized you thought I was from some religious settlement, I went with it; better that than the truth. You were the first person to show me kindness, to show me how the world, normal life, is supposed to be, I didn't want to give that up. I didn't know how you'd react to the truth."

"I wouldn't have believed you."

"But you believe me now?" She stood in front of me.

"I can't argue with what you just showed me." I shook my head, the darkness dominated it - to know it was real, to know it had been Lark's world made it so much worse. Foggy but present, was the awareness she'd only shown me a tiny glimpse of what she'd been through. The cell, corridors and fear were cloaked in thicker shadows.

She wrapped her arms around me.

"I can't lose you," she whispered. I didn't answer, just buried my head in her shoulder and breathed her in. "I didn't intend for it to happen but... You and me, we're bound. You fought it so hard because you thought I was some used and abused religious woman, you don't have that excuse anymore." I sensed the hesitation in her words, as if she were asking for confirmation. "I'm so sorry."

She was right. She wasn't the downtrodden sect girl I thought; she was something else entirely.

"Never mind about that. Do you have any clue what you were doing in the chopper?"

"Maybe being transferred to a different... I don't even know what to call it. Facility?"

"And you don't know anything about who these people are?" She shook her head miserably. "I've seen the things you've been looking at online. What did you come up with? Are they government?"

"I don't think so. They're scientists. If they were that powerful, they would have found me by now."

"That's something, I suppose."

"You know I can't tell you for sure. They planted a chip under my skin, but I hacked it out and destroyed it after the crash."

"The wound at the back of your neck?" She nodded and I shook my head with a cringe. "Jesus."

"Now that the wreckage has been found, they'll come looking for me."

"You have to get out of here."

"Yes. But I want you to come with me, haven't I made that clear? I want us to be together, I love you." The words made me dizzy; I looked at her as she stood close.

"If you gave me the dreams about your past... Did you give me the other dream too? When you were watching me?"

"Yes." Her voice was no more than a whisper and her gaze dropped to the floor.

"Why would you toy with me like that?"

"I wanted you. I'm selfish. I never did it again, I knew it was wrong. You kicked me out of your bed because of it and I wanted so badly to stay with you at night. Just to feel you close."

"You only think you want me because I was the first person to show you kindness."

"No," she said firmly. "I can make you understand. I can show you."

At first I dodged away when she reached her hand toward my neck for the second time, fearful of the same sensation as the vision of her past. When I saw the innocence and hurt in her eyes, I yielded with a nod. She curled her fingers around the ligaments at the back of my neck - this image was infinitely different. I saw myself, felt things for me as if I were a separate person. I was beautiful, haunting; intelligent - I embodied all these things so completely. There was no lingering doubt to who I was. I was real and whole and I loved me, I wanted me; so bad I could feel my loins ache with longing. Oh my God, what has she done to me, I thought with a mixture of awe and disgust. This must be what true narcissism is - to see oneself and literally be in love with it.

"It's how I see you," Lark's muffled voice reached through the fog of my vision and her hand abandoned my neck. All the sensations left as my eyes refocused and I didn't know if I felt relief or loss. Blown away, I looked at her wide blue eyes. "It's how I feel about you."

"But that was..." No words in my vocabulary could describe it.

"I've seen how you see me, so I know you didn't believe I could ever love you. But now you know, I could never fake what you just felt."

"Why did you treat me like a conquest? It's almost like you hate me sometimes. Yesterday..." I tailed off.

"I'm an idiot, I don't know how to relate properly. How could I? I don't have the experience you do. I think, I panicked yesterday, went weird and did what Julie might do. I thought if I showed you how I really felt you'd get scared, but I made the situation ten times worse. I was angry too. When your friend said those things, I was furious and reacted childishly. It wasn't the right way to treat you, so now I'm telling you how it is."

"Because you don't have time to play games anymore," I said slowly.

"I know it's scary for you, it's scary for me too, but... Our connection can't be reversed. If we separate, we will both feel pain."

I didn't react at first, too much was coming at me at once; my brain whirred. I sat down at the counter and puffed on my vaporizer.

I'd never imagined someone could feel the way she did about me. Love and relationships were endeavors I avoided because I never believed two people could feel the same for each other. One person inevitably felt less and the other poor fuck always got screwed over. In my imagination, it was always me. It was what I was so afraid of since my feelings for Lark had surfaced; the stronger they became, the more certain it was I would be hurt. Until now. She'd given me a gift, a gift as penance for the other things she'd done, the gift of naked truth, unimpeded by fear. The most precious gift anyone could ever give me.

And in her eyes, a question; will you accept? Will you reciprocate?

I nodded absently and backtracked. The most important thing was to keep her safe. But where would she be safe from an organization like this? Like what? Who in hell were these people? Clearly they had absolutely no goddamn scruples.

"Maybe I could take you to Mexico," I said finally and Lark raised an eyebrow. On reflection, what about Hamish? If people came to town asking questions, they would find out about me and follow the trail. Would Hamish and Vivian be open to keeping their mouths shut? Maybe if they knew Lark's story...

"Does that mean..." she began cautiously, "does that mean you want me? Even though I'm not the person you thought I was?" The doorbell interrupted before I could answer and I jumped slightly and looked at Lark. Her forehead creased for a moment in panic then she hissed, "Don't answer it. We've gone for a walk, we're not here."

Checking my watch, it wasn't five pm yet. We'd heard no car in the driveway and Hamish would probably still be at work. I nodded and crept to the dining room entrance to wait. The bell rang twice more, then my expression fell into dismay as the knob turned - I never locked the door during the day, not around here.

Frozen in place, I watched as a tall, well-built man in his forties, wearing a long coat and black, leather gloves dominated the doorway. I blinked at him agape, his eyes widened and he gave a smile that looked more like a snarl as he focused behind me then stepped inside. Abruptly, Lark was tugging me backward with urgent strength. I stumbled slightly.

"So this is where you've been hiding." His voice was deep and almost toneless as he glanced around then settled his gaze on me. "And who might you be?"

"It's my house, I didn't say you could come in." I wasn't prepared for this. Jesus, we should have had more time, I thought hysterically.

He turned back to Lark who had backed herself into a corner, behind the dining table.

"Aranea. We were starting to think you were dead. You've got some tricks up your sleeve we didn't know about."

"Is this one of them?" I asked her, my eyes darting to the bulky bag still lying on the carpet by the windows.

"I've never seen him before in my life."

"Does she know about you?" he jerked his head my way. "Does she know what you are?"

"Who are you people?" I felt my front pockets and cursed silently. Where had I left my phone? Who was I supposed to call anyway?

He didn't answer, just stood peering curiously at Lark, like he was waiting for her to do something. I wanted to push him out the door but there was no way I could compete with his strength. I couldn't just see the fear on Lark's face, I could feel it pulsing from her. As though confirming its validity, he reached beneath his jacket and withdrew a bulky black sidearm.

"Whoa." I backed further away and put my hands out, thoughts racing.

"I can't say I'm impressed with the girl who's caused so much trouble," he said casually. He didn't raise the gun, or point it, just held it loosely at his side, letting us know he could do what he wanted.

"The money is there," I pointed out, desperate for something to distract his focus from Lark.

"Money?" Ignoring the bag, he bared his teeth again - there was something very wrong with this guy's smile. "This is about a much more delicate commodity. Bringing you in without help would earn me a slap on the back."

Commodity. His use of the word sent a shiver of fear down my spine, but it was overpowered by the anger it sparked. How fucking dare he call her that...

"She's a human being, not a commodity."

"Has she told you she's a killer?"

I found myself giggling at the foolishness of it all; I was definitely hysterical.

"Lark apologizes to flies before she swats them."

"Lark?" He tilted his head and waggled an index finger. "Tsk, tsk. I don't know how but you caused that crash and you killed those men."

"Saffron, come here," Lark said in a surprisingly strong voice. "He'll use you to get to me."

"Wait a second, what..."

"Come here!" she yelled as the suited man stepped further into the room. Before I could do anything she ran to me, took my wrist and pushed me into the corner. Over her shoulder I saw the man stop advancing and stand several feet away, eyes gleaming.

"I can hurt you," Lark warned, her voice losing some of its power.

"Not without touching me, you can't," he smiled again. "And you're not going to touch me." He waved the gun, stopped, smile dropping away; he swayed on his feet and the gun fell to the floor. A moment later, he too crumpled to the floor, a thick line of blood trailing from his nose.

"He didn't know," Lark muttered to herself, "a good thing too." She went directly to him, crouched, picked the gun up with one hand and started patting his pockets with the other.

Stunned mute, I could only watch in shock when he moved unexpectedly while she was reaching inside his coat. He hooked her around the ankles, forcing her onto her backside, the gun tossed out of reach as she broke her fall.

Uncoordinated, his eyes rolling back in their sockets, he was obviously struggling to stay conscious and in control of his body, but he was still too strong for her. Operating on autopilot, he had her gripped around the shoulders, which, as she struggled, slid up to her neck. It was a bad position, a choke hold, he could kill her like that. He clearly didn't want to kill her though, or he would have shot her the minute he walked through the door.

He also appeared to be trying like hell to keep her skin from touching his, straining his neck away from her while maintaining his grip; his grasp was awkward and he looked in as much pain as she was. But it was her pain I felt; her total panic and fear were unbearable. She was going back to her hole, to be used as a guinea pig, she would rather die than that.

I moved to pick up the gun lying innocuously against the wall and stood over them. Neither noticed me, locked in their losing battles. Lark had turned a bright shade of crimson and the man leaked spit through blood-stained, clenched teeth, only the whites of his eyes visible. I pointed the gun and fired. After that, time seemed to stop, no sound, no feeling, no sense. All I saw was the puncture ripping into the side of his face and the pool of blood spreading on the rug beneath his head. Why wasn't the blood being absorbed; why was there so much?

I dropped the gun and after what seemed like far too long, heard it thump against the floor heavily. The noise brought me back to my senses. Lark lay against the dead man's side, still caught under one of his arms. Eyes shut, she wasn't moving.

"No," I croaked, pushed the arm off and peered at her through streaming eyes. When I held her wrist, there was a pulse; she was alive, just unconscious. I zoned out of reality then, sat back against the wall and reveled in numbness, eyes glazing over.

I don't know how long I sat like that, rocking slightly, the movement of some comfort and the only thing I was aware of.

"Saffron." The voice I knew so well finally broke through my daze. She was crouched beside me, speaking gently; she held my right hand in hers as I focused my eyes. She fell silent for a few minutes while I stared over my knees at the rug.

"I had to do it," I said finally. "I had to, he was hurting you. It was supposed to get his shoulder so he'd let go but ...I was afraid of hitting you. He's dead. I killed someone. He's dead, Lark." I started crying again, my eyes perpetually swollen. "Oh, fuck, I killed someone." My wailing didn't put Lark off, she wrapped me tightly in her arms and stroked my head.

"It's okay," she tried to soothe. "It's going to be okay."

A few minutes of this and the absurdity of the words hit me, my tears changed into a virulent snicker. I pulled back, wiped my eyes and glared at her challengingly.

"How is it going to be okay? Look at him," I pointed, just now noticing a towel draped over his head. So sensitive was my state that seeing Lark had performed the reverent gesture brought more tears to my eyes. The torn flesh puckering around the entrance wound was still fresh in my mind, I had no wish to witness it again. She let go of my hand, sat back against the wall beside me, exhaling a deep breath.

"You didn't do it, I did," she said and my frown deepened. "It was self-defense, tell them that."

"Who?"

"The police. I just need a head-start. After I shot him, you went into shock and I disappeared. It took you a few hours to snap out of it and call them. Maybe four hours. Can you do that?"

It dawned on me what she was suggesting. I wanted to laugh again. I turned my head and looked at her; she didn't meet my gaze. Small smears of blood stained the left of her chin and forehead, and her throat was inflamed red. It would probably turn purple later. In that moment, I hated the dead man.

"I thought you didn't want to leave me."

"I didn't know this would happen." She shook her head in defeat. "I thought we could get away, somehow we could have a life. It could be like it's been but with the truth out in the open. I'm so stupid; of course you can't be a part of this."

"It's a bit late for that."

"You're a good actress, if anyone can pull off my plan, you can."

I felt both the truth and the wrongness of her words. My head was so full, compartmentalization was impossible, improvised authenticity was the only way ahead.

"I've been thinking about getting out of acting," I leaned my head against the wall with a sigh. "It's bad for my mental health."

She snorted and tried not to smile.

"Is it because of what I did?" I nodded toward the body.

"You must be joking, you saved my life. Twice now."

I stayed silent for a long time, listening to the sound of Lark breathing beside me.

"He called you something... Aranea. Is that your name?"

"Aranea means spider in Latin. I don't know why they called me that but ...it's offensive."

"You weren't kidding about those strings. What happened in the chopper?"

She took a few moments to answer.

"I woke up in it. Maybe I've developed a resistance to their sedatives."

"So you don't know where that room was?"

"No, I only knew the rooms and corridors." She paused. "In the helicopter... They didn't know I was awake, it was the biggest chance I had to get away. That possibility sharpened my mind; I reached out with it and the pilot lost control. He crash landed and while they were scrabbling trying to get out... They lost focus."

"They were alive. You did kill them."

"They were injured but they were alive. I took one of their guns and I shot them then set the helicopter on fire to make it look like they died in the crash." Her tone was mechanical; at least she was being honest. "You saw what I have to go back to."

I had. It was a worse fate than death. I wondered what kind of men they were, if they had families. I wondered if the man in front of me had a family. Images of Lark patting the vacuum cleaner and apologizing to the squished roach played in my mind. Whatever organization these men had been a part of, they were immoral by association. I'd looked into this man's eyes and there wasn't an ounce of compassion there. Lark was worth a thousand of him even without her talents. She'd done what she had to.

She started to move and I stopped her. She settled back.

"He knew they hadn't died in the crash but Vivian never said anything about suspicious deaths." She shook her head, answerless, but wouldn't look at me. "Am I safe with you?"

She turned to me then, her eyes wide and horrified, tears welling up in them.

"I would never, ever hurt you. No matter what happens, even if you turn me in, I need you to believe that at least. It's all I have now."

I leaned my head back against the wall heavily; I believed her.

"I'm not going to turn you over to psychopaths. My eyes are just open to how hard this is going to be for you now."

"I know," she whispered weakly, tears staining her cheeks.

"Have you told me everything? Are there any more surprises I should know about?"

"No."

"Now would be a good time, I don't think you need to worry about trusting me anymore."

"You know what I know."

It didn't offer much comfort since what she knew was fuck all but at least it was an honest answer.

"We need to leave Linwood. Savage Falls. Preferably the country." She turned to me and I could feel the hope inside her again.

"You'll come with me?"

"I'm not staying here with him for four hours. I can't see you getting very far on foot," I grumbled and she grabbed me, squeezed me so hard it hurt. God, it felt good. She still wanted me with her. "I promised I would do everything I could to look after you; that hasn't changed."

Chapter Eight

The Road

It might have been different; I might have let her go. In another reality, I might have even turned her in. But I'd just shot someone. Killed a man, and I'd done it for her; it was a fact that couldn't be denied. He was right there, in front of us. I could still see him struggling with Lark, still feel that moment when I decided to pull the trigger. It wasn't just Lark's fear which made me do it, it was my own. His blood pooling beneath his head would be etched into my brain forever. If the entrance wound had been hard to look at, the monstrosity at the rear of his head was an image I did not care to envision.

Lark was right, I could act my way out of this; I could allow her to take the fall. But I wouldn't.

For the first time in my life I believed I'd made a pure choice, and I was going to own it. Follow through. Once Lark helped to pull me out of the initial shock, I felt surprisingly little guilt over that choice. My concern lay in getting her to safety - if that were ever going to be possible.

Her saying she didn't need me didn't make it true. I was all she had. She was all I had, the only person who meant something. It wasn't a sacrifice or a burden; if we lasted one hour or ten years, there was no question to where my loyalties lay. We would pick a direction and leave this crossroads. Whether it took us anywhere remained to be seen.

"We will be okay now," she said while she gripped me, as if she'd read my thoughts. Perhaps she had. "We'll take the gun. As long as we're together."

About that she was wrong; I only wished it could be so simple. I had a good understanding of the complexities of moving around undetected but knew it would become much harder once the authorities were involved. The gravity of what I was about to do was not lost on me.

"Let's just think this through for a minute." I let go and she sat back, staring in anticipation. "He showed up way too soon... If only we'd had more time. How long do you think we have before others come?"

She looked toward the body, nodding absently.

"That man didn't know what he was walking into, if he'd known, he would have been better prepared. He was probably combing the area randomly, hoping for someone who might have seen me. He had this in his pocket." She held out a photo of herself. She wore a bemused expression and was focused on something to the left of the camera. It looked like it had been taken without her knowledge but the definition was perfect; it was unmistakably Lark.

"What else?" I stood up.

"The gun, of course," Lark said as I followed her to the table and studied the items on it. The gun was a black-frame Walther P99; no external safety, as if designed specifically for a quick kill. A phone, a leather wallet with a Colorado driver's license; Daniel Ruebeck, and car key. "The phone is locked. The car's parked out on the road."

I stood staring at the table, ruminating for a few moments and Lark fiddled with the phone quietly. I kept thinking, you're a performer, do what you've always done, act as if until it is. So I slipped mindfully into my new role.

"There's a hammer on one of the shelves in the laundry, would you go get it?"

I collected two pairs of gloves and handed one to Lark when she got back. I wiped the phone off and went out to check the car; a silver Toyota Corolla. Aside from a half full bottle of Gatorade, registration papers and an extra magazine in the glove compartment, the vehicle was empty. The plain driver's license and lack of badge or any other ID brought only a small sense of relief. It meant Lark was probably right in assuming these people weren't connected with anything official. Unfortunately it wasn't conclusive; there was almost nothing we could glean from his personal items; it might not even be a real name. Disappointed and puzzled, I could only assume, whatever secrets he held were locked away inside the damn phone. Lark watched with wide-eyes as I smashed it on the pavement and threw the broken pieces in the back of the car.

"Was that necessary?"

"I don't know. It felt good though." I peered around the deserted cul-de-sac. "Lucky no one ever comes down here," I muttered. For the first time in my life I was glad my mother was a hermit.

"What about the body?" she asked and I looked at her.

"I don't suppose you could tell anything about him from touch?" The hope was faint and immediately dashed.

"I tried that, there's nothing there," she shook her head. "Not from a dead body. What I mean is, maybe we shouldn't leave him where he is."

"We could take him into the woods, bury him. He'll be found eventually but it might buy us more time. I could run the car over a cliff, somewhere it will take a while to be discovered." There were a couple of possible spots I thought of straight away but wasn't sure if I'd be able to do it on my own. Jamming a brick against the accelerator might not be as easy as it appeared in the movies.

"The longer we have before they come after us, the better," Lark agreed. "You could tell the doctor we're going on that road trip, an explanation for why and where we are. No one would suspect anything to begin with."

"And by the time they do, we'll be gone. We'll need to cover our tracks, change our appearance... Shit, we'll need new ID's. Jesus, you don't even have an identity now." The enormity of the situation was hard to grasp. I tried to take my thoughts one at a time. Lark knew my mind, she turned to me.

"If you don't want to do this..."

"We're doing this," I cut her off. "We are. We need to stop talking and start moving." She nodded.

"The soil in the woods is pretty soft. It wouldn't need to be a deep grave, or even very far in."

"There are shovels in the shed. Are you good to find a spot and start digging while I get rid of the car?"

She clearly didn't want me going alone, was afraid something might happen, but she knew as well as I did time was of the essence and acquiesced quickly. I got changed into running gear and drove the car to a deserted back road about two miles away. There was a sharp turn at the bottom of a steep slope where a cliff dropped dangerously away into thick undergrowth and fir. Bricks weren't necessary; I pointed the car downhill, let the handbrake off and jumped out. My heart raced as I watched it trail down, gathering speed, and careen over the ledge; there was a loud crash and the sound of twisting metal before silence fell and I went to inspect the result.

The vehicle was visible from the road, but only if you went right to the edge and looked over; it could potentially take a while to be discovered. Staring at the forlorn contraption for a few moments, I wasn't thinking about anything, just elated it had worked so well. I pulled myself together, stretched lightly and began the run back to Linwood.

On returning to the empty house, I stood over the dead man again in a daze, before patting him down, double checking for anything Lark might have missed, sniggering inappropriately at the idea of a body cavity search. Maybe it was the small triumph of disposing of the car so easily but I was dealing extraordinarily well. I grabbed one of the shovels from the garage and went to the trees out back, calling.

"Over here," Lark yelled and glimpsed her amongst the trunks. Marked with dirt, she looked immensely relieved to see me as I approached. "How did it go?"

"As well as it could," I said, studying the shallow hole in the ground. She'd chosen a section of the forest floor already dipped lower than its surroundings and circled with dense shrubbery. It seemed an appropriate place.

"How big do you think it needs to be?"

"Let's go get him and we'll judge then."

We wrapped the body up in the rug he lay on, tied some rope around it and dragged him. We took it slowly, the fucker was heavy as shit and poor Lark was exhausted even without the manual labor. As for me, I was only running on adrenaline.

"Sit down a rest for a minute, it won't need much more."

It was the shallowest grave possible, but, I reminded myself, it was only to buy time, and once we'd filled it in and covered it with dry leaves, pine needles and bits of branch, it looked remarkably innocent.

We scrubbed the worst of the blood from the floor of the dining room and shifted a rug to cover the rest. It was a strange few hours; I wasn't feeling much but would have been thinking more sharply than I ever had before. My emotions were pushed down deep to prevent interference; the fight or flight response is a powerful driving force in altering normal psychology for shorts intervals.

We showered, dressed warmly and packed as much as we could into the car without making it look like we were living out of it. A lot of things could be bought along the way but I wanted to be as prepared as possible before we left. I'd never taken to the road before without a home-base. Once we left, we were not going to be able to come back and that was scary. Carefully loading all my mother's medical supplies into a bag, Lark coaxed Guido out of his hiding place under my bed and put his cage on the backseat.

"Here," I caught her before she climbed in the passenger side and tied her hair back. "It might not be necessary but if there are other people out looking for you, your hair is one of the main things which needs to be hidden." I handed her a woolen beanie and lightly tinted pair of shades. Darkness had long since fallen and she wouldn't be getting out of the car for a while, but my nerves were understandably on edge and every possibility needed to be covered. "Can you keep these on?"

"Yes. It's cold anyway." I could feel her exhaustion as she gave a weary look from behind the glasses. She still looked far too much like Lark. I pulled the collar of her coat down and observed the inflammation at her throat.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. I'm just really tired."

"I know." As I slammed the cargo bay closed, I remembered, "My make-up bag."

"Really? Make-up is important right now?" Lark stared with incredulity.

"Trust me, with that stuff, I can make us blend in anywhere."

When I finally climbed behind the wheel, Lark waited in the passenger seat; I shoved her bear into her lap.

"You forgot somebody. It might be useful to keep a friend around who can't be killed."

"I hate you," she said, snatched my hand and kissed it before I started the engine. "Which way are we going?" She had tucked a stack of maps into the center console but didn't open any.

"Lake Point then toward Wyoming. We can work out routes later."

She looked around in alarm when I pulled up outside Hamish and Vivian's house on Birch Street.

"What are we doing here?" Her voice was worried. "I thought you could just call the doctor."

"We have to leave Guido. Vivian will look after him."

"No!" she almost shouted and I looked at her in surprise.

"What we're doing..." I frowned, Lark knew the risks of what we were doing; there was no need to point it out. "It's impractical to have an animal with us. He'll be safe here."

"But he won't be happy. He has to come, he wants to come. You think he doesn't love you but he does, he hates it when you leave him. He knows there's trouble but he needs to be with us, not some stranger. Please, Saffron, he's ours, I'll never forgive myself if I'm the reason..."

"Okay! Ahh!" I leaned back with a groan. "Shit. It'll complicate things." As if they weren't enough already. I twisted my head toward her with a smirk. "He understands what a burden he's going to be?"

"Yes," she said with certainty. "He's okay with that. He promises to be good."

I gripped the wheel and glanced at the clock. Nine pm. It wasn't the best time for an impromptu visit just to let them know we were taking a road trip, it might arouse suspicion. Why would we be leaving so late at night? Calling Hamish in the morning would be a better option, that way I could divulge if we were still safe or not. If something was amiss it would be evident in his voice.

"Let's just go," Lark said, and I nodded and restarted the engine. "Can I turn the radio on?"

"Yeah, I thought you might want to sleep."

"You don't mind if I sleep?"

"I'd prefer it, you need it."

"It will be easier with the radio on, the sound relaxes me."

She fiddled with the controls as I coasted out of town and past the Savage Falls sign. I couldn't tell for sure, but was fairly certain she was asleep within ten minutes. She leaned against the passenger side door heavily, bear clasped to her stomach. It was strange, it was as if, once she was unconscious, her exhaustion wasn't being echoed in me anymore. Wide awake, I got a second, or was it fifth wind, keen to put as much distance between the day and all evidence of it. Driving carefully, I used my racing mind in the area it was needed most, and began conceptualizing a vague plan for what would need to happen over the next few days.

*

"What time is it?" Lark asked sleepily, peering around as she stretched her arms. "Where are we?"

I'd been driving all night and the sky was a pale shade of pink to the west.

"It's just past seven. We're in Collins, Wyoming."

"We crossed the state line? You must be exhausted."

"I'm okay, but I'm not stupid enough to keep going without some rest. This town is a good place to get a few things done before we move on. But first, a room, food, phone call and sleep."

The motel was cheap, not the kind of place I'd ever stayed in before. But it was safe, tidy, and they didn't demand identification or a credit card. I needed to get used to using cash and not leaving a trail, even if it wasn't strictly necessary yet. For a few extra dollars the middle-aged woman at the reception desk had no problem allowing an animal in the room, though it would have been easy to just sneak Guido in without anyone the wiser. He'd been on his best behavior and hadn't strayed far when I stopped just after midnight to give him a toilet break. I'd had it in my head to get a leash for him but maybe he wouldn't be too much trouble.

I caught Lark eyeing the beds dubiously, one single and one double.

"I can get you a separate room if you want," I offered, not knowing what the look meant.

"No," she said hastily. "Why would I want a different room?"

She brought the maps in and spread them over one of the beds, finally able to free her head and face from their covers.

"There's a coffee house across the road, what do you want?"

"You choose. What's this town called again?"

"Collins." I left her pawing over a map.

The town stretched over a wide land area and wasn't densely populated. There were few people about this early which I was grateful for. The sun emerged from behind the peaks to the west and I kept my glasses on while I bought a selection of sweet and savory foods from a bored looking barista and headed back to Birdseye Motor Inn. I felt a strong pang of regret we hadn't had the chance to take a more relaxed trip and stay at nice places. But this was how it had to be and I shouldn't dwell on it.

At least I could no longer feel the exhaustion from Lark, who still hovered over the maps. I put the orange juices and muffins down, handed Lark a bacon and egg wrap and stood next to her chewing.

"We'll head this way. Stick to smaller routes," I said, mouth full. "Skim the top of Wyoming over to South Dakota. Down through Nebraska to Kansas. All the way to Florida. It's going to be a very long trip."

"I need to learn how to drive," she mumbled. "Why Florida?"

"I know someone there. He'll be able to put us in contact with someone who can get us ID's. It's the best I can come up with right now."

"Do you have an address? Would anyone suspect you'd go there?"

"No. Our ...friendship was kept under wraps."

"Friendship?" She looked at me suspiciously. "Who is this man? A boyfriend?"

"He's more of a drug source," I said reluctantly.

"No, he's out. We'll go anywhere else."

"We don't have much choice, Lark. You're going to have to get used to the fact we'll both need to do things we don't want for a while."

"I know." Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're not going to fall back into old habits, are you?"

"Absolutely not. Just think of it as an opportunity. We won't be hanging out there, he knows people is all. Enough money and he could get us anything. We need identification, this will keep us safe."

She nodded. "Florida it is then. How long will it take us to get there?"

"I honestly don't know. I think we should avoid larger cities and..." I inhaled sharply, "I'm not sure it's a good idea to get too ahead of ourselves for now. Depending on how quickly the cops find the car and the body, our plans will be subject to heavy revision. We could end up having to do a lot more things we don't want to do." Stealing cars was a prominent possibility in my thoughts; and, regrettably, the least harmful.

"Are you okay?" Lark turned to me.

"Tired probably." I checked my watch. "I'll have a shower then call Hamish."

The phone call didn't last long. He was already at work and clearly hadn't the faintest clue what we'd done or how bad our situation was. He thanked me for letting him know, asked how long we'd be gone and warned me to drive carefully. A cursory exchange and when I hung up, relief flooded through me - we were still relatively safe. It was when the real authorities got involved that we'd truly need to disappear; a frightening prospect.

"He doesn't know anything," I sighed and flopped onto my back on the bed next to Guido.

"This is good," Lark nodded to herself before I pulled the mask from my forehead over my eyes. Tiredness I hadn't allowed to creep in until now emerged abruptly. "You sleep, I'll make sure no one weird is hanging around."

Unnecessary, I thought, but whatever makes her happy.

"If you go outside wear the beanie and glasses. Keep your hood up and your hair ...and throat out of sight. Before we leave Collins there are some things we need to do. Wake me up by four, I have to go to a bank for serious cash. My accounts need to be cleaned out before the authorities catch on."

"But we have the money from the crash," she pointed out.

"We can't use that."

"Why not?"

"We don't know where it came from, it might be marked."

"We'll keep it for when we're desperate then."

"Mm. We need to return the rental, there's an Enterprise outlet here."

"You mean the car?" Lark's voice was confused. "But we need the car..."

"We'll buy a used trade-in, something a bit less flashy. I have to get rid of my phone and buy some burners. Even more important is to get you properly disguised before we go any further. Don't worry, I'm good at this kind of thing, I can teach you how to change your mannerisms, accent, body movement," I was babbling and drifting out of reality, my voice getting quieter. "The only way to really disappear is to fake your own death. Which might work for me but not for you when no one knows who you are."

"Good point."

"For now the main stuff - clothes, shoes, hair, contact lenses; your skin tone can be altered with make-up. Lucky it's winter. People who see you can't be able to identify you as the person from that photo. Either immediately or after the fact."

"It sounds very complicated."

"Mm." It was little more than a whisper. "Disappearing is not an easy thing to do."

"Contact lenses?" I heard Lark ask but it was distant and muffled; it barely registered, I welcomed the numbness.

I slept till three, no dreams, no shadows; just pure exhausted, uninterrupted slumber. When I pushed my mask up, Lark sat in the chair by the window, silently staring out; the tablet dark on her lap. What was she thinking about? I felt unease from her; I would try to dispel her fears by acting as normal as possible. But with our connection, I knew acting wouldn't be enough.

She was quiet that afternoon, there was a distance between us as we journeyed around Collins. I bought a 2007 Toyota RAV4 - quite ugly but reliable - and the salesman threw in jump-starter kit and, to her delight, gave Lark a lesson in how to change a tire. These were little things we needed to consider, calling roadside rescue might not be an option in the foreseeable future. We transferred our stuff before dropping the other car off. It came as a pleasant surprise Lark was not shy in these public settings, she interacted easily, raising her guard only when we were outside in the open, where she made sure to keep herself adequately covered.

We cruised department stores - bought her dark, unremarkable clothing for the most part and equipped her with cheap jewelry and a pair of Tommy Hilfiger raelene duck boots, finally in her size, which she asserted were the most comfortable shoes she tried.

I gave her a dark hazel pair of contacts, two fake eye-brow and a fake septum piercing, lightened her skin with foundation and applied heavy eye make-up till she looked considerably Goth. At some point we would have to either change her hair at a dresser or buy her a convincing wig but for now hats would suffice. The thought of ruining her beautiful hair made me cringe inside.

"I look like a different person," she stared at her reflection agape then turned to me. "You are good at this."

"The truth is," I said with a misplaced smile, "I love this kind of shit, dressing up and fooling people, pretending to be something I'm not. It's not the same in front of a camera when everyone's aware of the ruse. It's cool having one other person in on it though."

"Sneaky, shrewd, Saffron, what will we call each other now?"

"I hadn't thought about that." I stood back, studying her with a frown. She definitely looked different; it wouldn't be easy to see she was the person in the photo, but... "You're still far too beautiful, we're supposed to be blending in. Can I give you a moustache?"

"No!"

"Just a little one, a five o'clock shadow, so people look at you less."

"Facial hair will make people look more, not less!" She paused thoughtfully. "Okay," she raised an index finger. "I'll have a moustache, if you have one too."

"Hmm," I recoiled, "you're right, no facial hair."

We began our journey east toward South Dakota at seven that evening, after a light dinner and stocking the car with snacks. Whatever the circumstances, I didn't want Lark's health to suffer. Without a vote from me, Guido was liberated from his cage and spent his time moving around the back, watching the scenery go by or curled up on Lark's lap. She seemed to know instinctively when he needed to relieve himself.

"You can't actually talk to him, can you?" I asked at one point.

"No," she laughed. "I feel things from him, he's very open. He's enjoying himself, he's decided he's a road cat."

Other than brief, light exchanges such as this, the first three days we spent on the road were not okay. They went largely unchanged from that first twenty four hours; I drove for eight hour stretches at night. Lark slept in the car and stared through grimy motel windows when I stopped to sleep. I tried to keep our pace unhurried, our routine relaxed. I ran in the morning; largely to combat the stiffness in my limbs from driving and to help me sleep. But it also gave me the opportunity to scope the environment I would be in for the day. Maybe it seems silly but it settled my mind, gauging the general atmosphere of a place during a quiet run. Lark barely touched me and whenever our eyes met I saw hesitation in hers, fear and regret. I could see she wanted to question me, ask me how I was, but didn't know how.

We didn't talk much, perhaps because we were both afraid of what subjects might come up. I think we were both in a mild state of shock about the situation we found ourselves in; it wouldn't be long before it was discovered what we had done. Single-minded in my determination to keep Lark safe, I'd given up everything and she knew it, felt it. She blamed herself. Our emotions were still being reflected in each other, being magnified. She was paranoid, hyper vigilant; we'd slipped into a rut and I knew something had to be done about it. There was no point in us being free if we were miserable.

I was no leader, I was an actress, and had been a loner all my life. Lark proved she was capable of taking initiative on her own, but she was being deterred by my presence; she was more scared for me than for herself. Which was a horrible feeling. There wasn't much I could do except take advantage of the role required of me, step into it.

Taking the power back was the only way forward and a well-timed spanner in the works presented an interesting method for doing it.
Chapter Nine

Take the Power

We crossed over into Kansas and stopped at a motel in a town called Marton on our fourth morning. I slept most of the day away.

At just after eight we were having a bite in the diner next door to our motel before we left. It was quiet but not conspicuously so on a Saturday night. I was composing a small speech for Lark in my head when she returned from the restroom. I had to admire how she looked with a pair of black-rimmed non-prescription glasses she sported when shades were inappropriate. As she slid into my side of the booth she wore a deep frown etched with fear.

"We need to leave," she hissed under her breath, pulling her hood up and leaning toward me. My heart skipped a beat but I continued poking at my plate casually.

"What's wrong?"

"A man." She fell silent and I followed her eyes as they glanced up to see a grey-haired, balding male emerge from the small foyer that led to the restrooms. He wore a wrinkled pair of khaki's and a striped blue shirt, bulging at his ample stomach. "He was pinning a photo of me with a phone number onto the message board outside the bathrooms. We have to go."

"Don't panic, act normal. Did he see you?"

We watched as he paid his check, clanged through the door, crossed the street and disappeared into what looked like a tavern. Lark inhaled a deep, slow breath.

"He looked right at me, but nothing. No recognition. It doesn't mean we should tempt fate, we have to get out of here."

I sat, staring through the windows across the road, wondering. He didn't look like the other one, he seemed clumsy, almost kindly, fumbling with his wallet and paying in small bills and coins with an apologetic smile.

"Saffron... Please?" Her voice was achingly desperate. My brain whirred into action.

"I have an idea," I said.

"What?" I could tell by her tone she was afraid I'd changed my mind, was going to do something to put her in danger. If she trusted me so little then it was all the more important I showed her properly; my idea would work better than reciting some stupid speech. I turned, touched her hand, trying to assure her. She felt it from my skin, saw it in my eyes, understood. Her face relaxed and she turned her eyes back to the window. "I'm scared."

"He didn't recognize you, the make-up is doing its job; you're okay." I paused, wiping my fingers on a napkin. "We might be going about this wrong. Let's think of this as a chance for information. A chance we missed with the other one."

"What are you talking about?"

I began speaking quietly, explaining what I had in mind. Gradually her anxiety melted away into something more like anticipation as we formulated a plan.

He still had not reappeared from the taverns entrance fifteen minutes later. He might have left via a back entrance but if he was having a drink it was perfect.

"Okay, if I'm not out in ten minutes..." I gave her a final look before getting up.

The message board called to me.

The photo was the same one the man I'd shot had, set into a photocopy with a Have you seen this girl? and a cell phone number. It was bare bones, unprofessional, gave no indication of why they wanted her, no words of encouragement she would be better off contained. I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. Firstly, it meant the police weren't involved, which was good. Lark was responsible for deaths, did they not realize that? Had the people involved covered it up totally in order to keep their secrets? Also a fact which could work either way. It wasn't enough, we needed more, and we were going to get it. I unpinned the notice from the board and made my way across to the tavern.

The place was dimly lit, fairly quiet for a Saturday night and smelled of cigarettes. Scattered at tables, about twenty people were visible straight off, chatting and smoking, none of whom were the balding man. Bad Case of Loving You played at a moderate level. A few people looked my way as I approached the bar and ordered a Corona, the scruffy attendee giving my license an obligatory once-over.

"You have a bathroom?" I asked and he jerked his chin toward the back.

My target was acquired on the trip, tucked into an alcove against the far wall, his back to the thoroughfare, as if trying to choose the most inconspicuous spot possible. Alone, hunched over a glass of something brown and a folded newspaper, a ball point pen in his hand. Outside the restrooms, in a cramped hallway, the same photocopy of Lark was pinned amongst flyers advertising bands. I took a sip from my bottle then pulled it from its place and made my way back to the man. He puzzled over a crossword with obvious concentration and struggling to see in the half-light. It took him a few moments to realize someone was standing over him; he looked up from his newspaper and slopped his drink as he put it clumsily down. Very different from the first man.

"Yes?" he said, squinting at me and straightening his glasses.

I tossed the paper onto the table-top carelessly and slid into the seat across from him, dropping my bag with the gun close on the floor. Using it would be very ill-advised but its presence provided a backup level of security.

"Did you put this up?" I asked.

"I did," he glanced behind him nervously.

"Who is she?"

"Have you seen her?"

"Are you some kind of stalker sicko? Why are you after her?"

"I am not after her. She's a missing person."

"You look pretty shady to me," I said loudly. "If she was a missing person then there would be a police number there. Did she escape from your basement? What do you plan on doing with her when you get her back? I should call the cops right now."

"Young lady, I assure you that isn't necessary."

"Then why not tell me who she is? Maybe I've seen her."

He raised his brows and glanced around again, though what he was expecting to see from our hidden position, I couldn't guess. I hoped he didn't have someone else with him. He stared at his glass with a grimace, as if struggling to make up an appropriate story.

"People are concerned for her well-being," he said eventually. "The number is there if you've seen her." He checked his cheap watch as Lark approached from behind and questioned me with her eyes before she reached out. "If there's nothing else..." His words were cut short and he slumped his head and shoulders on the table top, spilling his drink.

No one noticed. Lark sat close next to him, slipped her hand under his cuff and curled it around his right wrist, her brow knitted.

"Well?" I asked moments later and looked at her expectantly.

"He's an open book, Saf," she said, opening her eyes, a smile spreading across her face. "He's not like the others, he's just putting up posters."

"What's his relationship to them?"

"He was a gateman at a research place but he was fired. Another man, a man he didn't know but worked for the same place, offered him a job, paid him to put the pictures up." She glanced at me with expectation. "The man's name was Simon Hughes. It might be the facility I was at."

"Address?"

She shook her head with a frown. "Just a vague sense. Colorado."

"Daniel Ruebeck had a Colorado license. Can you see anything about who the phone number goes through to?"

"He believes it went to the man who paid him, he thought it was weird but he didn't ask questions because he needed the money." She narrowed her eyes in concentration then pulled her hand from his wrist as if stung by a bee.

"What?"

"He's sick..." she said awkwardly, "there's a tumor in his spine." She rubbed at her fingers in discomfort. "We can leave him, he doesn't know anything and he's harmless."

"Okay." I didn't know if I was relieved or disappointed. "Hang on." I reached down and rifled through the lap top bag at his feet. It contained no lap top, not even a cell phone. It did however provide us with a name, likely a real one this time because his wallet contained various other cards. I jotted the name onto a corner of newspaper and stuffed it in my pocket. "What about the pictures?" There was a thick stack of them.

"If it's not him putting them up, it will be someone else."

I nodded, taking anything from his bag was a bad idea anyway.

Lark put another finger to his hand and whispered, "I'm sorry," gently.

"Do we leave him here like this?" I studied our surroundings, if anyone noticed our companion had lost consciousness, they would probably assume he was just drunk.

"Yeah, before he wakes up." She rose and edged her way out of the alcove.

I left my half full bottle on a table near the entrance and followed Lark out.

We didn't stay in Marton long after that, we returned to the motel, loaded Guido and our bags in the car and headed south east, toward Missouri. Lark's mood was changed, her movements lacking the weariness or wariness of before. Although she was due to sleep, as was her habit in the car, I felt no tiredness from her. For the first time in days, she was talkative. To my amusement, she started in on a bag of honey roasted peanuts and an iced coffee straight away, though she'd eaten dinner only half an hour earlier. Food must be more necessary than sleep.

"Even with the pictures up, no one's looked at me twice," she commented while chewing.

"I don't see many people taking a flyer like that seriously, it's pretty slack. They're not even offering a reward."

"They're just sending out feelers," she nodded. "Even so..."

"It is a relief," I admitted. "The police still aren't after you. Don't you think that's strange?"

"Yes. They must have covered up the deaths in the crash somehow."

"That's what I was thinking. Small town police, especially in Montana are highly corruptible." It also meant they didn't know she was with me, which meant they knew nothing about what had happened at Linwood.

"It's good though, isn't it?"

"It's good real authorities aren't out looking for you, their resources would be limitless. It says something about how important you are to them, which I'm not sure is a good thing."

"It is for now. They've provided us with a level of protection."

"I'm going to call Hamish again when we stop next," I decided. "It's been four days and it would be interesting to know if anything is amiss in Savage Falls."

"He hasn't tried to ring you?"

"I got rid of that phone. Not safe."

"Is it essential to talk to him? Maybe that's not safe either."

"Once they find out about Daniel Ruebeck, I won't be able to use my identification, say if we get stopped by police. They might be willing to cover up your crimes but I doubt if they'll bother with me." Although I'd been very careful with my driving, there was always going to be a chance. "Masquerading as innocent will become difficult and risky."

"We always knew it was going to happen though. Do you think we'll make it to Florida?"

"Don't know. It's why I need to get a feel for what's happening in Savage Falls - knowledge is power."

"I know that should scare me but... I feel better than I have in days."

"How did you know that man had a tumor?"

"That's the weirdest thing, it wasn't emotional; I could feel it physically. It was a very creepy sensation." She didn't sound creeped out, she sounded excited.

"You're happy about it?" Secretly I was too; it meant there couldn't be much wrong with me, I had no own personal non-invasive diagnostic tool. It was strangely soothing to realize I'd retained my self-absorption - I was still me.

"Not about him, of course. Poor man, he won't... I'm just happy we confronted him instead of running away with our tails between our legs. It went well, we didn't get in trouble, found out a few things and I learned something new about what I can do. You turned something bad into something good."

"It might have been very different," I reminded her. "It could've been dangerous."

"But it wasn't. I feel energized, it renewed my confidence in what we're doing; I needed that."

"We both did, the last few days have been a drag."

"It was a brilliant idea. Thank you, thank you." She threw her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek, almost causing me to swerve off the road.

"Watch it!" I laughed and she withdrew. Truthfully, I was tempted to pull over so she'd keep touching me. Her distance was becoming a worry.

We opened a real dialogue that night, talking about subjects we'd avoided before. I can't say we made any progress with regard to plans but it helped to know we were on the same page with worries and possibilities. We even threw names around we might call ourselves eventually. I'd been signing the motel registry books with Wendy Dixon, but it was a spur of the moment thing, I didn't want to use it permanently. I wouldn't use any of the names Lark came up with either - she was way off taking the discussion seriously.

"What about Bertha?" she suggested at one point.

"What the... It sounds like a beached whale. I'll be Bertha if you're... Winston."

"That's a boy's name!"

"It's no worse than Bertha. I could give you that moustache after all."

"Stop the car!" she screeched suddenly.

"What is it?" I asked pulling over.

"Didn't you see?"

I watched as she got out and ran a few feet back to a bulk lying on the side of the road. It was a very drunk man, conscious but not making much sense. We were on a lonely stretch and I couldn't guess what he was doing out here in that state. Lark insisted on helping him into the car and dropping him off in the next town; I went along with it only because if he was dangerous at all, she would know. He babbled spiritedly at us while I drove but was difficult to understand. I did manage to grasp, just in time, his request for me to stop so he could throw up. As he leaned out the back door and vomited loudly, Lark turned to me.

"Do you think we could stop for a burger?" she asked, wide-eyed. "I'm quite hungry."

I bit back a laugh and smart-arse retort and nodded.

"The next town is only a few miles."

At two am we bid adieu to our intoxicated friend, Lark ate, and not long after, fell asleep. Skimming the north eastern corner of Kansas, I crossed over to Missouri by three and at four Lark woke up and began chatting again, her mood equally jubilant. The roads were long and straight, grassy fields extended away on either side, spotted with sparse groups of trees. We watched the sky slowly lighten to a deep blue though the windshield. She tuned the radio, turned it up and at one point began to sing at the top of her lungs to a country song I'd never heard before, Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town, seamlessly inventing the words she didn't know. It was the most entertaining drive I'd had so far.

At seven, just as the sun was peaking over the horizon, I pulled into Magnolia Motor Lodge on the outskirts of Quilter, Missouri. It was a habit to get Guido settled before anything else.

After a run, shower and breakfast, my nerve-wracking phone call to Hamish needed to be dealt with. Lark sat close by, watching intently.

"Hamish Roche speaking."

"Morning Hamish." Keeping my voice calm and unconcerned, I offered what he'd expect if we were on a regular road trip.

"Saf, where are you?" he asked, his tone confused and frustrated but not to the dire level I would expect if he knew about the body. "I've been trying to reach your phone for two days."

"Sorry, I lost it first thing at Lake Point. Is something wrong?"

"Yes, actually." He hesitated and my heart skipped a beat. "Is Lark still with you?"

I thought fast, I didn't want to reveal anything at all about us. I changed my tone to impatient.

"Why wouldn't she be? What's going on?"

"Believe me, if I knew I wouldn't be asking you. Two men have been going around with photos of Lark, asking if anyone's seen her. Saf, they aren't from the settlement, I don't know who the hell they are. They've put up flyers around town as well. Do you know what this is about?"

"What have you told them?" There was a long pause, his brain processing that I wasn't surprised to hear about it.

"Nothing, Saffron," he said finally, voice stern. "I've lied to their faces."

My surprise must have been evident on my face because Lark stared and gestured to me in a panic. I didn't know what to say and there was an awkward silence.

"Saffron?" Hamish hissed.

"I'm here. I'm sorry."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I can't." There was an audible sigh of frustration at the other end.

"The only reason I haven't opened my mouth yet is because these men look like unsavory characters and Viv won't let me. They don't have any identification, any authority."

"How many of them did you see?"

"Two came by the house. They've been to everyone's house."

"Did they only ask about Lark?"

"Yes. They wouldn't even say what it's about, only that she's missing in the area. They left a contact number if I see her."

"Do you think they realized you were lying?"

"I don't know! For Christ sake, what aren't you telling me?"

"They're the ones who hurt her, they're not good people, Hamish. Thank you for not saying anything, it means we have more time."

"More time for what?" Another deep exhale. "You better know what you're doing, they look like they mean business."

"Has anything else happened there?"

"Like what? Isn't it enough there are dodgy men asking about Lark? She's still with you, isn't she?"

"I'm sorry about all this. I have to go, Hamish."

"Wait..." He paused, I could almost feel his anxiety. I held the line. "You're not coming back any time soon, are you?"

"I don't know."

"Can you stay in touch, please?"

"Maybe. Thank you," I said softly and hung up before he could speak again.

Lark stared at me, wide-eyed. I bit my lip, brain chugging at the new information.

"They haven't found the body or the car yet." It was the most essential thing I'd pulled from the conversation. "Two more men are in town, asking about you, but Hamish and Vivian both lied so they don't know you're with me."

"Really? They lied?" Lark asked, agape. "I never thought..."

"Hamish didn't like the look of them and they never showed any identification. He knows something's wrong, he's worried but he didn't try to push me to talk about it."

"I feel bad for not trusting him now," she cringed.

"It's good news," I agreed and she nodded, "I was expecting the worst from that. No one knows about Daniel Ruebeck yet and Hamish never said the men asked about anyone else. I figured they'd be looking for him now too but who the fuck knows what's going on in their minds. The most important thing is that they don't know about me. And also that the police still aren't after you. They've definitely covered those deaths up somehow."

"Yeah," she let out a heavy exhalation and relaxed her shoulders. "Another huge relief."

"It won't last, Hamish will talk once he realizes what we did, once the body has been found."

The comment didn't seem to put a damper on Lark's mood, she shot me a satisfied smile. I returned it. Even when the car was found, it wouldn't be connected directly to Linwood.

It occurred to me, I hadn't had a panic attack since that day in the attic two weeks ago, hadn't even thought about them. With everything that was going on, the realization came with liberal surprise.

Lark went to the bathroom to scrape her make-up off and I brought the bag with the stolen money in and sat down at the small table to count it. I don't know why, maybe just for something to keep my hands busy; I have to admit it did send some noticeable tingles through my body ruffling through so much cold, hard cash.

"The contacts are a lot more comfortable than I thought they would be," she said when she wandered back out. "It is good to take them out though. How much is there?"

I sighed and leaned back.

"Fifty thousand dollars if the bundles all have the same amount."

"I wonder what they were going to do with it."

"I wonder what we are going to do with it."

She stood at the window, staring out. She looked like Lark again, hair loose; my chest fluttered.

"We could give it to poor people," she said with a smile.

"A luxury we can't afford." I got up and joined her by the window. "You didn't sleep much last night, you must be tired." What I wanted was for her to sleep with me today, I needed her closeness, craved it.

"Yes, but you don't know how happy I am for last night. Really, thank you for pushing that. We're doing okay, aren't we?" she asked, turning to me.

"We're okay. Come and lie down for a bit." I reached out and touched her jaw. There was an electric current from the contact and Lark's eye twitched slightly. She stepped forward, warm hands on my waist. There was hesitation in her touch, caution in her eyes.

"With you?"

Yes, with me. I angled her jaw upwards and kissed the still bruised skin of her throat. Her breaths quickened and became heavy as I lifted my head to her level and stopped close in front of her lips.

"I'm starting to think you don't want..." I began; she didn't let me finish.

She pushed her mouth hungrily against mine and reached her tongue out. My body caught ablaze as she backed me toward the bed. It was going the same way it had the first time, I came close to letting it happen, wanting it too much to let it pass. But I remembered how I felt about her, pulled away and looked at her wide, questioning eyes.

"Do you think we could take things a bit slower?"

She nodded. Voice throaty, she asked, "Can I take off your clothes?" and began undressing me. She was trembling by the time we were both naked, her chest heaving; it was very different from before. "God, you are so beautiful." She ran her fingertips over my breasts and stomach.

Her kiss was soft, deep, but I could feel the desire in her, powerful and urgent. I pulled back and looked into her eyes.

"Will you let me show you how I feel about you now?" I whispered.

She did. She let me make love to her, responding gently.

She uttered broken words between gasps, verbally incomprehensible but I knew what she was feeling. Every touch, every sensation, her ecstasy - I felt it too, she sent it to me. The communion was unanticipated and singularly the most thrilling experience I could imagine. I knew exactly where and how to touch her, when to withhold, when not to. At times, she was tempted to take control, I could feel her impatience, her need; but she didn't. It wasn't as if I was always going to want her to control herself, but it was good to know she could.

Her orgasm, when it happened, was an explosion against my mouth, fingers gripping the back of my neck, against electric skin. It rocked through me too, I felt everything before we collapsed together, a mass of sticky, indefinable body.

She held me tight afterward, her heartbeat slamming against my chest before its pace slowed.

While I lay looking up at the ceiling, she propped her head on her hand and stared at me.

"I can't believe that just happened," I said, dazed.

"Neither can I. I'm in a dream." She ran her hand from my shoulder down the length of my torso, hip and finally, my leg. "You've obviously done that before. No, stop," she added hastily and chewed her lip. "I don't want to know."

"You didn't even have to..." I was in a state of shock. The strength of my orgasm had almost made me pass out, I was certain I'd left the known universe. Not my orgasm, I reminded myself - hers.

"I'm sorry about last time, I didn't know how to love you. Are you scared?"

"Yes."

"I wish we were properly alone."

"We are alone." I glanced over at Guido curled up on the other bed, disinterested, then watched as Lark touched the wall over us briefly with her finger.

"I had to bite the pillow to stop myself making too much noise. Are we done pretending now? I want to be like this with you always, I want us to trust each other."

"We can never be like this again."

She pulled her body on top of me and, hair tickling my ears and neck, looked down into my face, eyes narrowed.

"You're messing with me," she said, brow knitted. "Tell me you're screwing with my head."

She scraped her nipples against mine.

"We can be together," I folded.

"And no one else," she said, eyes flashing.

"I don't know," I breathed, "it will be so hard to break it off with my fourteen other lovers."

"You are a despicable person. But you're my despicable person. We're going to be amazing together, you know that now, don't you?"

I nodded. What we were was in deep shit, on the run; I would probably end up in prison. Or dead. Either way I would lose her. But not while I had a choice.

She started kissing my body. Slowly.

The irony of this conversation didn't hit me until later, when our cozy twosome was scheduled for breach by a third, sudden but valuable player.

We stayed in that motel until the following night when the need to move on became too insistent to ignore.

Another dinner in another diner before we left Quilter found our moods quite different from before. We were talking, laughing, about mundane things, I didn't think I'd ever been so happy. I knew we were nestled in a somewhat delusional bed of roses, the eye of a storm; it didn't mean I wasn't going to make it last as long as possible.

Naturally, it was then, while our guards were down that destiny came knocking in a wholly unforeseen form.

"What about this one?" Lark pointed to a picture of a model with a shock of short, pink hair. We sat on one side of a booth, plates half finished, several magazines spread on the table in front of us, and were contemplating which hair she'd look good with, though not particularly seriously. Only two other tables were occupied, one with four moody teenagers and the other, a couple trying to keep a noisy, wriggling toddler under control. They sat near the windows while we were tucked against the back wall. Pop music played quietly in the background.

"Maybe this." I flipped the copy of InStyle I was holding over to her, open on a picture of a shaved, tattooed head and she laughed.

"Can a hair dresser wax me too?"

"Different place. Do you still want to get it done?"

"Now I do." Her hand slid over my knee. "I love the way you feel."

Without warning, someone slid into the booth across from us. So absorbed were we with each other, we hadn't heard anyone new enter the diner. We both looked up, startled, and stared at her as she peered at us from behind wire-rimmed spectacles.

"Hello, girls," she nodded, anxiety only apparent in her hooded eyes.

"Do you mind? There are plenty of free tables," I said, glancing around.

"But it's you I need to talk to."

"Whatever it is you're selling, we don't want it." The woman looked like one of those Mormons who go around handing out booklets and preaching the word.

"Messing with your vibe, am I? You looked so happy."

"Fuck. Off." Saying we were Satanists was on the tip of my tongue but I bit it back; better not to encourage a moral argument.

She leaned forward, folded her hands on the table and dipped her head.

"I can't do that, I've been looking for you." Her voice was low, serious; respect shone in her black eyes. This wasn't some random evangelist. Lark's hand slid into mine beneath the table, but the fear emanating from her wasn't deep. "The spider and the great pretender, interesting couple."

"How do you..." Lark whispered, unable to finish.

How indeed. Frowning, I toed the shoulder bag at my feet. It was close, all I would need to do... Lark squeezed my hand. She was reminding me to hold back; she could hurt her without making a scene.

She didn't look like the others. Aside from the obvious - she was female - she was young, perhaps only a couple of years older than me. Her nose was large and slightly hooked, her eyes, glittering black marbles in too pale a complexion. Being attuned to such things, her features didn't sit balanced with me; there was something off about them. I couldn't conclusively discern if she was wearing colored contacts at this distance but it seemed likely. As it did she might be wearing a prosthetic nose - I'd contemplated getting one for Lark too. The foundation was thick on her face but clearly not for the purpose of enhancing her looks. She wore a white blouse with a grey wool-knit sweater, her mousy brown hair pulled back in a taut pony tail. If she was trying to look as homely as possible, she was succeeding.

This woman was in disguise, even more so than we were, and it made me curious - not just about why but also what she actually looked like underneath the ugly get-up.

She peered at me, eyes narrowed and twinkling, as if she knew I saw through the charade.

"You think the nose is too much?" she asked and Lark glanced toward me in confusion.

"It's very convincing. Who are you?" The question was supposed to be bland but it came out guarded.

"I'm not here to fight, I'm not going to make trouble for you."

"But you're not going to answer the question?"

She offered a hand, palm open, across the table toward Lark and I squeezed hers tighter.

"She can understand quicker with touch," the woman said. "Please."

"If you try anything..."

"She can hurt me, I know."

My thoughts were more on the gun in my bag but whichever worked.

Maintaining her grip on my left hand, Lark brought her own up and slid it to hers.

When their skin met, I didn't see what Lark did, but I got the general idea. The feelings were hard to stomach but easy to decipher - this woman had been through what she had. She'd escaped, been hunted; lived in fear for years, constantly running, hiding. She carried an all-encompassing sense of aloneness. There was a faint tinge of something else there too - she was taking a big risk by reaching out to us, by being here. She was afraid of us. The revelation brought some reassurance, the beginning of trust.

It was a big moment for Lark, to realize there was someone else like her. Her emotions were complicated, powerful. She let out a whimper before she released the hand from hers and we sat staring at each other for a substantial amount of time. I didn't know what to do, this was Lark's area.

"We have a common enemy," the woman said eventually, her eyes burning into the table top. "I just want to talk."

"There were too many different names," Lark said, her voice breaking with emotion.

"You can call me Laura."

Lark glanced around the diner then said, "You were a lab rat too," quietly and she nodded.

"I wasn't tortured the way you were. I've seen what they put you through."

"But you're not like me."

"No, different. I can see things happening in other places. I saw the helicopter crash and your escape." She focused on me. "I saw how you took care of her. When I finally figured out where it was, you were gone."

A remote viewer. The term popped into my head, though where I'd learned it I didn't know. I wondered exactly how much of our intimacy she had witnessed.

"I can catch fragments of the past too," she continued placidly, "once I've locked on to someone. I'm not worth as much to them, I'm not a weapon. They'll hunt you worse than me."

"They consider her a weapon?" I asked in alarm.

"Her abilities can be developed as aggressive. A weapon is more valuable than benign power. I assume it's why she was treated so much harsher than I was."

This is madness, I thought, but kept it to myself. It wasn't so out of place among everything that'd happened since Lark came into my life.

"Who are they?" she asked and Laura shook her head.

"I want to know too."

"Have you seen others?"

"No. I don't know why I saw you, but it didn't happen until your escape, until you broke free. Like I did. Maybe we're the only two to do it. But I'm sure there are others, I feel it. Do you feel it?"

"Yes." Lark's voice was barely a whisper.

"I don't like this," I said tightly. "If you saw us, found us the way you did, and there are others, who's to say they're not using them to look for us somehow?" I turned to Lark. "Who knows what kind of abilities they could use to track us down? We'll never be safe."

The train of thought was unexpected and terrifying and I probably shouldn't have mentioned it so incidentally like that. Lark's hand turned clammy in mine and her fear mounted. It clearly wasn't a new idea to the woman opposite us though; she nodded calmly.

"Did they ever put you in a position of power or control while you were there?" she asked Lark.

"Not that I remember."

"I understand your concern, but I'm living proof it is possible to evade them - I've been hiding for four years now."

"They have people with abilities, why wouldn't they use them?" I pressed.

"The way I see it, whatever this project is, it's still in its infancy. The test subjects are for research, they want to understand and replicate their talents; they're not using them as mercenaries."

"Not yet." I didn't want to make Lark any more afraid but the avenue needed to be explored and this woman seemed to know what she was talking about. Making no effort to deny the implication, she only nodded again.

"Its organization of skills will only get better. It worries me too because maybe it's a tactic they'll employ in future. But from what I understand, their guinea pigs wouldn't be willing to do things like that for them, nor would they be capable. Am I right in thinking your abilities only became very strong when you were away from them?" Lark nodded. "Same with me."

"It sounds like most of what you're saying is conjecture." It was a challenge but she agreed quietly.

"Conjecture based on what I've seen. Like I said, maybe they'll change their tactics. And maybe," she raised a brow, "we'll know and be one step ahead."

"We?"

She clicked a nail on the table and nodded vaguely for a few moments.

"The flyer they put up," she directed at me, "can I see it?"

I didn't know what harm it could do, she already knew who we were. I reached to the bag at my feet and pushed it towards her on the table. She studied the paper, glancing between it and Lark.

"Outstanding." She refolded and rested her hand on it. "You've done well so far, it won't last. You have a cat with you," she smiled and tapped her left temple, "bad idea that, letting your heart rule your head."

"He hasn't caused any trouble so far," Lark said defensively.

"How long will it be before that changes? Is the cat micro chipped?"

"No, I never had it done."

"That's a plus. Don't get me wrong, I like animals too."

"Then what is your point?" I didn't want to agree with her out loud; Lark deserved her few emotional indulgences. That was my weakness. She leaned back and studied us.

"I want to help, and I think you need it."

"Help us do what?"

"You are underestimating what measures they'll take to get her back. If they have to, they will utilize the authorities, then you're in trouble."

"Do you think we don't know that?" Lark's voice took on an irritated tone.

"You're not helping by being here if they're after..."

"I have a house," she cut me off quietly. "One hundred percent safe." Abruptly I found myself far more interested in what she had to say.

"Nowhere is one hundred percent safe," I said and she nodded slyly.

"I can get you documentation, even passports. Anything you need. Have you still got the money from the crash?" Lark glanced at me sharply. "I can have it safely laundered, turned into something you can use."

"What would you want in return for all this?"

She glanced toward the front of the diner with a sad frown.

"I escaped from a building in Boston only with a combination of months of planning, a lazy guard and pure luck. I lived on the streets for over a year, afraid of my own shadow. You get tough, living like that." She pressed her lips together in a thin line, regret emblazoned on her features. "Really tough."

"I'm sorry," Lark said.

She shook her head and forced a weak smile.

"I was still better off than before. When I finally got my shit together, any trace of what had happened was gone, the building repurposed, commercialized. You've found out more about them in a few days than I have in four years." She hesitated. "What I'm suggesting is a partnership. As far as I know we're the only two to ever get away."

"We haven't found out anything."

"You have a lead." She tapped the flyer beneath her hand again. "You have a level of confidence I never had, partly because your abilities are so powerful, but mostly because you have each other. I've never met anyone like me and I never had the guts to tell anyone my secret. I couldn't imagine it turning out anything but bad, if I did. You got past that. You killed the first guy who came after you and questioned the second."

"He didn't know anything."

"Actually," Lark said thoughtfully, "we know he worked at a facility in Colorado." The woman opposite us leaned forward in anticipation. "And we have his name, we could find out the address if that's what you want to know."

"I want to know who they are," she nodded. "I've been sitting on my hands for too long."

"You can't just rock up to some weird facility you know nothing about," I said.

"Not at all what I'm suggesting. I have nothing but patience."

"You're saying you'll help us stay under the radar if we help you find out who they are?"

"Precisely. Once you start to feel safe again, you'll want to know who they are too. And who you are," she added. "I've been there, believe me."

"Won't it put more of a target on your heads? If their two rogues are together?" I asked.

"Bigger target. Stronger target," Lark said slowly and the woman nodded again, a gleam in her eyes. "We could still get ourselves killed."

"You could do that anyway."

"How do we know we can trust you?"

"You don't. She does," she raised an index finger at Lark. "And I know I can trust you. I never had the advantage of someone like you to help me when I got into the world, I wish I had. You're strong on your own," she said to Lark, "but together, you've managed to get actual information, and you can get more. What I'm proposing is you follow me back to New York and we'll get you new identities. Once you're settled, we start doing some research, see where it takes us."

Lark exchanged a worried glance with me. "But we..." she began.

"Yeah, yeah," the woman rolled her eyes, "you're in love, very cute. Believe me, I'm not interested in your sexcepades. This is about something bigger."

"But you need us," Lark said, still worried. "I felt it."

"I won't deny it. All I ever did was run, hide, but I did learn to use my sight to get money and people in my pockets. You could do it even more effectively. The house is upstate, you don't have to stay in it if you don't want but it's big and very secure. I mostly live in the basement, you'd have the rest to yourself. I've made friends in the city over the years, people who don't ask questions. Where ever it is you're going - and I have to stress, I think Mexico would be a very bad idea - I'm offering you an alternative. I came looking for you because I believe there's a reason I saw you."

"It's an interesting proposal." A lucrative one too.

"If you want to do this, I can give you an address to meet me once you're on the east coast. We can take it from there. I know we have a lot to talk about, most of which should be covered somewhere less public."

"Leave us alone for a minute," Lark said.

"Sure, talk it over, I'll be outside by the Buick." She got up and leaned over the table one last time. "If you decide not to take me up on my offer I won't bother you again. Just remember, we can be stronger together," she said quietly then shuffled out of the diner, straightening her sweater.

Lark sat staring at her fidgeting fingers in silence. I could feel the push-pull inside her.

"I hate to say it, but she's right," I said. "You're strong now, imagine what you could do with her on your side."

"Don't say that!" she responded sharply. "Don't say me. It's we. I'm not doing anything without you, I'll die." Her voice had taken on that petulant, agitated tone I hadn't heard since leaving Savage Falls. I didn't understand why.

"She wants to help both of us. It should be a good thing, what's eating you?"

"I don't like the way she was looking at you. As if she was about to pounce."

"Lark," I tried to hide a laugh, "this isn't the time for childish jealousy. She was looking at me that way because she knew I saw through that mousy camouflage she's wearing."

"She's pretty without it," Lark nodded distractedly. "I saw. What if she decides she likes you? What if you decide you like her?" Her voice was rising slowly. "It won't work!"

Trying to sound as hurt and disappointed as possible, I said, "I thought you wanted us to trust each other." It was effective, she turned and met my gaze. "You can't let anything get in the way of our safety. Anyway, shouldn't I be worried about her with you? I'm the odd one out, the plain Jane."

"Don't be stupid," she frowned, visibly realizing the accusation more accurately applied to herself. "I don't think she likes women anyway." Exactly the response I'd been looking for.

"We can trust each other. Can't you feel it?" I took her hand again, I knew she could. I wasn't raising any shields anymore, my dedication seeped from me. "Enough with the stubborn child act. I know there's a lot more going on in that damn head of yours so come on, let's hear it. We need to make a decision."

"Right," she inhaled deeply.

"Do you trust her?"

"She's not here to hurt us but ...she has a lot of anger inside her, she's even angry for me - she hates them. Her motives aren't the same as ours, she wants to fight back and she's scared to do it on her own. But it's not just that, she's desperate for someone who understands her, she's the loneliest woman I've ever seen. I'd rather it was just us."

"What I mean is, can she do what she says? Can she get us papers?"

"She isn't lying about having people in her pockets, she's been doing this a lot longer. She's not lying about the house either. What are you thinking?"

"The truth is," I began slowly, "I didn't hold much hope for any future for us. Florida was always going to be a big question mark." I hadn't realized how pessimistic I'd been until now. A doorway had opened. "I think we should accept, it's too good an opportunity to pass up. I want to know who they are too."

She looked at me, eyes wide with apprehension.

"I know you want to know the same things she does."

"Secondarily," she argued then added, "Safety is paramount."

"She can help us with both."

"I don't know if I want to learn who I am. What if I don't like the answer?"

"You're jumping the gun again. If we go with her, we still might not learn anything about them let alone you."

"I'm just saying, what if we do and I'm some kind of mutant monster?"

"You were tortured and you're still the kindest person I've ever known. You can't tell me you don't have anger like she does."

She nodded idly. In honesty, I wasn't that enthusiastic about learning Lark's past either, but it was her reaction which worried me. Her sensitivity would always be elevated and her emotions were now quite literally entwined with mine.

"I haven't had time to feel it," she said. "But maybe she's right, maybe it will kick in once we're both safe."

"You'll have..."

"We!"

"...A goal to fall back on then, an outlet for it all." I certainly didn't want to be the one to absorb it when her anger finally decided to surface. "It makes a lot of sense."

We knew we'd be walking into something big; big possibilities, big risks. My life wouldn't be my own anymore, I would be a cog in something larger. I'd already accepted that role when I made the choice to run with Lark. Risks aside, my goal to keep her safe had just been given an unexpected boost. We both knew we had to do it.

"We can always ditch her if she gets weird, I suppose," Lark said.

"Weirder," I pointed out.

"What if... What if we go to New York and meet her? Get a better feel for what she's about, see if she comes through with what she's promised."

"You'll agree to that?"

"Yes," she said slowly and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "But don't get any funny ideas."

God's bones. Given the circumstances, it shouldn't have been such a struggle to keep a straight face. I was caught in her web; she'd know if I even felt something funny. A month ago that would have scared the shit out of me. Not so much now.

"We're doing this then?" I asked.

She stared at me for a long time then nodded.

"It's the start of something important, I can feel it."

And so it was. The strange woman who interrupted our dinner that night would become the gel that held us in a position where we could be safe, together.

It was where our story began. Belen Abreu would never be resurrected but, as strange fate ran its course, my subterfuge career was far from over.

***

Sample of Oculi, the sequel to Said the Spider;

Prologue

I think some people, no matter the sector of life they come from, harbor inside them the secret belief they have not lived their lives well, that they could do more to heal the wounds of the world, or cause just a tiny bit more happiness to flourish.

The person I came to know and love as Carmel, held this; a seed of discontent that turned her love story into a journey of loss. When it came to a just cause, and while many people would have walked away, she stood with us and compromised everything she had, everything she was.

Sifting through what remained of their belongings, I discovered a memory card, containing a journal and the story of how she met the spider and they fell in love. A piece of her old life she couldn't bring herself to discard, and I couldn't bring myself to ignore. Carmel saw herself as self-absorbed, indulgent, but I hadn't met many people with as generous a spirit.

I don't have her humor or her humanity, but I take the reins in her absence, and write this in honor of her sacrifice, a continuation of our story, to the best of my recall.
Chapter One

A Hidden Life

Scientific experimentation on human subjects has occurred through all history. A large number of programs were uncovered in the twentieth century alone, involving surgical, chemical, radiation, infectious and mind-control experiments, performed without consent and directly funded by the US government, military and associated agencies. Often under the pretext of medical treatment, prisoners, pregnant women, babies, elderly, physically disabled and mentally ill patients have been used for tests that frequently involved long-term damage or death. Exposure meant public outrage which led to institutions and policies being inserted into the medical and scientific communities to prevent such atrocities from happening again.

The field of bioethics was born.

The legal implications meant individuals involved in human experimentation went deep underground and could, under no circumstances, be linked to an organization in power. Such individuals will always exist and, given enough time, will attract other, like-minded individuals - people who believe pain for a few is an acceptable price for their version of a greater good.

I was used by a group of these individuals.

In movies and mass media you get bad guys with principles - 'I don't hurt women or children', 'I kill painlessly', 'the people I hurt deserve it' \- always one thing or another. The boilerplate myth of the sociopath with the heart of gold.

The real bad guys, and there are plenty of them, they don't have boundaries.

It is a difficult task for a person who knows so little, to introduce themselves. I can say what I was, and part of how it came to be that way.

There were many things I didn't know about myself, facts others took for granted. I didn't know the details of my birth, who my parents were, I remembered no childhood, no puberty, no relationship; no love. A forced judgment placed me in my late twenties, roughly European heritage. My five regular senses were fully functional and no genetic or physical problems had presented themselves yet. By these standards I seemed normal, healthy, more so than I should, given how much of my history was unknown.

It was my extra sense, the one I had no standard to make comparisons with, which put me in the precarious position I was in.

Within my limited memories, I've always had visions of occurrences in settings separate from myself. The world has a name for it - remote viewing - which is strange because I've never heard of another living soul who can do it.

Because of this talent, my memories started five years ago when I was being held and experimented on against my will. I wasn't cut up or infected wantonly, the testing done was to learn about my extrasensory ability. The goal was likely to be able to harness, recreate and make money from it.

Perhaps they envisioned a world where everyone could have my sight - if they were willing to pay for it. Held prisoner with no illusions about what I was, I knew nothing of my captors and they had carte blanche to do what they wanted. I was never going to have knowledge of the outside world, let alone contact with it.

My detainers never looked at me or spoke to me like I was an equal, they gave me abrupt, expressionless orders. If I broke a rule or disobeyed a task, my punishment involved food or sleep deprivation. I was allowed no life, no warmth. My memories were wiped at intervals and I was medicated to keep me in a functional state.

Prolonged existence in these conditions is unethical, immoral; it effects the body and mind on a level impossible for most people to comprehend. How much of my life I spent with them and how many times they may have wiped my memory was anyone's guess.

This was not my life anymore; like anyone with a will to live and an opportunity, I broke free and ran.

I entered the world as less than human, as a construct with no place in society and no understanding of it.

It took a while, but my new identity fell into my lap like a gift and I accepted it with gratitude.

I met Bea Redding not long after my escape when I was living on the streets of Boston. We were similar ages, both transient, we even looked alike, though her lifestyle had aged her far beyond her twenty four years. We shared the same blond hair, blue eyes, and an identical five foot six inch height. Similar bone structure and dimples.

Maybe it was these simple things that drew her to me.

We would sit together occasionally at one of the homeless haunts and she would drivel about her childhood, her heroin haze making her poetic in her discourse. A gentle spirit, she had been beaten down by life and was destined to die an addict on the streets. She was the closest I ever had to a friend back then, but in my reduced position there was little I could do for her. Her problems were not through any fault of her upbringing, all connection to which she kept confined to pleasant memory. She told me about her parents several times, even gave me an address in New York and made me promise to find them. She was too ashamed of the person she'd become to confront her family again.

I listened, practiced my sight on her. With her, I realized my ability stretched beyond what I'd understood during my captivity. I saw her childhood myself, saw the happy girl she'd been, saw the loving parents who had adopted her.

Saw where it started to go wrong with her college boyfriend.

When she overdosed as a Jane Doe, strong emotions surfaced and keeping my promise to her became very important; I scraped together what money I could and paid for a bus ticket. It led me down the unexpected path to my new life. I think of it as everything falling into place rather than taking advantage of an unfortunate situation. I didn't set out to take Bea Redding's identity, it was just so easy and I needed it so badly.

Her mother hadn't heard from her for five years and wasn't entirely compos mentis when I arrived at her house in St Luke's, NY two months after the overdose, looking and smelling exactly like the street person I was. My intention wasn't to tell her her daughter was dead, it was only to do as Bea had asked and make sure she was okay, perhaps to tell her I knew her lovely daughter.

The widowed Mrs. Amanda Redding was sixty two and suffering from both cancer and mild dementia. She pulled me into the house and kept her arms around me for a good ten minutes, blubbering uncontrollably. It didn't take long for me to realize I'd been mistaken for Bea herself and make the decision to go with it. It was selfish yes, and also unselfish. She needed a daughter and I needed an identity, and neither let the other down. I nursed her through the worst of her illness and she looked at me with love in her eyes. When she died a year later, I felt I'd lost a mother.

She left me her house, her stocks in CVS Health and what savings she had in her bank.

More importantly, I now had a birth certificate, a history; I had a pathway forward. I used it, I forged ahead.

I was now Bea Redding. I had a high school diploma, two years of college education, and a clean criminal history. I owned a house and paid my taxes. Since I was a common shareholder, I was only required at board meetings occasionally, or to sign papers, but it provided a legitimate, steady and generous income.

As Bea became secure in her new environment, I built a second, more elusive identity behind her.

My alter ego, Laura Brams, used her sight to make a powerful ally in the underbelly of NYC. With his help, I accumulated a wealth of options should Bea ever be discovered as a fraud. I perched in a tireless position of paranoia, not just that regular authorities might single me out, but much worse - that my original persecutors would recapture and thrust me back into imprisonment as a research subject. I set up hotspots at several locations containing cash, identification, weapons and disguises, if the need to bug-out ever arose. I learned self-defense, became proficient with knives and guns, equipped the house with security best described as overkill, and never let my guard down.

Not a single soul could claim friendship with Bea Redding. She lived in zombie-land, without direction, almost without emotion.

For a while, I tried to find out who my oppressors were, but each time I thought I had something, it dead-ended. I gave up, the disappointment and fear too much.

My escape took place four years ago, but I was never going to belong. What was done to me was never acknowledged; no one was held accountable and I would always pay the toll for something beyond my control.

I lived alongside regular people, but in another world. My helplessness was the price of freedom.

I was alone, with no one to blame and no one who understood. My life was fear first, and later, anger. It didn't matter if I could hide what I was or for how long, these two emotions built the foundation of my personality, always bubbling under the surface, always with the potential to explode should the pressure become too great. For me, that pressure concealed a need for closure, for justice, for the emergence of a real me.

This odious truth didn't fully crystalize until I saw her. The spider. Dormant parts of my brain woke up and, if I drew one conclusion from my first vision of her, it was that everything was about to change.

*

It was a Wednesday. The 2nd of October. My lunch consisted of a low fat yogurt, an apple and a muesli bar; eaten at twelve on the dot and out of necessity not enjoyment. My days were rigorously scheduled, the routine offering the illusion of security - any diversion could be dangerous for a person always rubbing up against the outside of the box. This Wednesday a deviation was necessary - I was expected in the city to pick something up.

At one pm I checked every security camera, locked the house and made the two hour drive from St Luke's to lower Manhattan. Only one stop along the way was required; a public restroom situated in a busy park where I could safely don my guise as Laura Brams without being noticed.

It was a warm day for October; the heavy make-up, prosthetics and scratchy clothing I wore when meeting contacts like Rhys Morgan, made humidity more uncomfortable. The lobby of 319 Jarvis provided some relief as I stepped through the revolving doors and spotted him slouched in an arm chair. He rose, picked up the shoulder bag beside him and met me near the south wall with a nod.

"Is everything there?" I asked as he placed the bag on the floor between us.

"What you asked for. You've got the drives to install the right software?"

I nodded without meeting his eyes, instead staring toward the far wall where a painting of a black splodge was placed. The world seemed more ridiculous than usual when I saw pieces of art like this.

"What's your connection with Perry?"

He had never asked a question like that before. I looked at him. He was a small man, my height with a slight built and casual but expensive, designer clothing. It was his accent that singled him out more than anything; a thick British accent that I, with my lack of worldly experience, could not pin down to any specific location. His face was too whiskery and too inquisitive. He was aware he shouldn't have asked, and in response to my silence, he came close. I didn't back away but held my breath to prevent tasting his.

"I don't have any problem with you personally," he said quietly. "I'm curious is all. I'm told to get you whatever you need, and no messing. I don't get it. What makes you so-" His voice took on an ominous undertone, meaning it was time to shut it down. I'd weighed my options with this guy a long time ago, he was weak and just wanted to test me. Stopping him mid-sentence, I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him, pressing his chest up against the wall. A few short, swift moves with zero resistance. It was unusually satisfying; I didn't get the chance to use my training often. Making a spectacle and showing my true strength was to be avoided.

That day was different, my patience was thin; anger was not being tempered by fear. The boiling point was apt given what was about to happen.

He hissed as I twisted his wrist further out, not a fighting hiss, a hiss of pain. I hooked my chin over his shoulder and spoke in his ear.

"Aren't you being paid enough?"

"Money isn't the..."

I jerked his arm again and he broke off with another grunt.

"You shouldn't ask questions."

The revolving door opened and someone entered the lobby. I moved back slightly but kept his arm held tight. He twisted his head toward a middle-aged woman dressed in a power suit clicking stiffly past us and grinned at her; a praiseworthy effort to trivialize the scene.

"Foreplay," he said with a wink and I caught her smirk as she headed toward the elevator doors. "You've made your point." I let him go and he straightened up, rubbed at his wrist and gestured toward my feet. "Why you need the ankle holster, I don't know."

"Mind your business," I said sharply. "I'm not a threat to you now but I could be."

"We should have dinner, you and me," he grinned again.

The suggestion was highly unusual. As Laura Brams I was about as unattractive as I could get. Rhys was a clever man, if he couldn't get answers one way, he would try another. He also liked his women dominant, never mind what they looked like.

For a moment I considered what dinner with him might be like.

Then it happened, everything changed. Without warning his smiling, stubbly face blotted over with static and I took a step back, tried to blink it away, fight it off, but this one was too strong. The static went black and... Twisted metal and trees.

A small clearing surrounded by thick pine and grey sky opened in front of me; a crashed helicopter positioned awkwardly on the edge of a steep incline, smoke still rising from its controls.

I saw her for the first time, a thin girl with a mass of dark curls, dressed in matching trousers and shirt of plain maroon. She rummaged in the machines corpse. Two men, each with a bullet hole in their forehead, lay within the wreckage. She searched their pockets, the cockpit and the cargo bay. Several Kit Kat's and a half-empty bottle of Evian she shoved into a bag with a small stuffed bear, then pushed it inside a larger bag where I caught a brief glimpse of cash bundles. She didn't linger; she took up a gun, backed away toward the tree line and fired several shots straight into the fuel tank.

When it exploded she held her arm in front of her face protectively. The scene was so powerful I could feel the heat on my own skin. The girl didn't wait to watch the flames, she threw the gun toward them, picked up the backpack, slung it over her shoulders, and disappeared into the trees.

For the past few years I'd had my visions well under control, they rarely struck in an awkward situation and when they did I was able to pretend it was something normal, a migraine or vertigo. This one was different, it hit without preempt and floored me.

When I came to, I sat on one of the chairs in the lobby; Rhys must have carried me there. He bent over me but backed off when I straightened up and glanced around.

"Okay, okay," he said and motioned impatiently at an older couple standing by with concerned expressions, "she's fine, nothing to see, just a fainting spell."

I stood up, forced a smile and mumbled apologetically to illustrate his words. They wandered slowly away.

"You've been out for four minutes," he said. "What just happened?"

"I'm narcoleptic, so what?" He didn't look convinced but that wasn't my problem. I owed him nothing and it irritated me that he'd now spotted a weakness, a truth - however much it could be misconstrued by a regular observer. "Next time, hey." I picked up the bag and pushed through the revolving door, leaving him staring after me.

As I walked away and my aloneness again enveloped me, I kept the vision and what it meant pushed far back in my mind. Not until I was out of the city and safely ensconced in the house could I allow the images and cumulating thoughts and emotions to infuse my mind. I knew once a vision so powerful had emerged and I concentrated on it, subsequent visions would present themselves, likely all as potent as the first. They couldn't happen in public; I wanted to experience them fully, without restriction.

The trip home took an eternity that day. As the cityscape gradually melded into wholesome suburbia and I made my transformation back into Bea Redding, I felt it - raging beneath the surface - excitement, anticipation.

At the house, I calmly keyed in the code to the front gate, parked the car and entered the side door.

After stowing the bag in the basement and returning to the kitchen, I allowed a slow trickle of emotion to begin alongside associated thoughts. I did not interrupt my daily routine. It was six o'clock, time to prepare my Wednesday night meal.

One carrot, one potato, twenty green beans. I lined them up methodically, and began to peel.

Someone else like me. An escapee, of that I was certain. Large questions loomed, feverish and impatient. Where was she? It was a mountainous, isolated area, it may not even be America. I'd never had a vision that spanned countries before, but this one was singular even in my strange repertoire of experiences, it was not out of the realm of possibility. I had never had such a detailed view of a person I had no clue existed, one which had popped out of nowhere. In itself, that meant something.

The ugly, oversized jumpsuit she wore, so similar to the ones I was supplied with for the first year of my memory. The haunted yet triumphant look in her eyes, the determination of her movements.

I thought back to my own escape. It had been very different than this scene but she surely felt what I did \- that desperation only to get away. The bullet holes in the bodies, the burning helicopter. My emancipation hadn't required murder, but if it had, I, like her, would not have hesitated.

The bags, the cash, the teddy bear, the chocolate bars. The trees. The images filled my head, made my heart beat faster than it had in years and, as it did, the second vision came.

I felt it coming, expected it, hoped for it, now I was alone and could accept it without audience. I placed the knife beside the half-finished vegetables, sat down where I was and leaned against the counter.

This one was different, the image flickering and foggy; typical of a view to the past. The same girl was dragged down a corridor, she fought, screamed, to no avail. She was strapped to a chair, an albino rabbit, shaved, heavily wired, and strapped to its own tiny mechanism, placed on a table in front of her. My views into the past were always less vivid, lacking in peripheral detail; I could not make out the faces of the people who were working on her, nor could I understand what they were saying. But I knew she was resisting their demands; they were using electrical currents to shock her into submission.

What was done to me was a flagrant human rights violation; what was being done to her - that was torture. As much as I wanted to see more of the girl, know more, the sights were debilitating to witness after so long in my new, free life. When the image faded, I stood up and continued mechanically with my vegetables.

There was no doubt she was like me now. What they were trying to make her do was unclear; my testing had rarely involved direct contact with another animate or inanimate object. If she had an extrasensory ability, it was not like mine.

Even if its logic had been flimsy, I'd always sensed there were others, still in the situation I'd been in, prisoners with no future and no rights. The ideas were vivid and inspired so much emotion during the early years of my freedom, but had dwindled alongside the possibility of ever discovering the truth.

My plain, boiled dinner had taste and texture to it that night, my senses woken. Though its detail had been incomplete, the girls' past affected me on a much deeper level than her escape. Refreshed all the feelings of anger and pain that had lost their power over the years.

Greater than my need for her, was its reverse. She needed my help, without it she would almost certainly be recaptured, if she hadn't been already. There were many things that weren't clear back then, exactly how important she would become was one of them. But the choice was to seize the chance for some control, even if it meant simply denying them one of their guinea pigs.

Suddenly I was not alone, a counterpart existed, a stranger who could understand me. The sensation was addictive, terrifying and thrilling.

No way could I turn away from it. I would find her before they did; it was a risk, but rejecting it and remaining hidden meant continuing to live a pseudo-life.

What she looked like was fairly all I knew that first night, from there I could narrow search parameters \- gender, approximate height, approximate weight, approximate age, etcetera. I began checking databases I had access to - a long, labor-intensive process that would likely end in disappointment.

Searching reports of helicopter crashes and missing helicopters was equally futile - that vision had been in real-time, if there were to be news of it, it would take longer to reach media, if at all.

I was a methodical person, there were advantages to this kind of work. It calmed me, knowing I was doing the only thing I could to discover her whereabouts. It also provided a welcoming backdrop for more visions - if they happened, they would not happen in an awkward situation. And they did happen; while my online searches rendered no results, the visions came with increasing frequency and intensity.

Bea spent the next two weeks in this way, barely stepping out of the house, fully engrossed in her new obsession. It is astonishing how two weeks can change a person. By the end of it I wasn't Bea Redding or Laura Brams, I was the infantile version of someone new, someone I was supposed to be. I had purpose.

The first week brought with it an average of five visions daily, and once, a total of eight. They ranged from thirty second to ten minute time spans. The shorter, less frequent, always noxious views to the past. From them I discovered they called her Aranea. Spider.

My real-time views were far less disturbing, but worried me nonetheless, especially while I was uncertain how it would play out. There was relief when I realized she had made it to civilization and was getting help, along with significant anxiety about this new woman who now had her under her wing. I knew the names they had given each other; Lark and Saffron. I knew it was somewhere in the United States, but had not been able to discover exactly where.

The spider was not eager to talk of her true situation, but, alarmingly, she did reveal her abilities to her helper. In doing so, she revealed them to me.

She was an empath, a touch prodigy. And she was powerful, her capabilities stretched far beyond the limitations of my own. They were physical as well as emotional, they could be used to affect others in a way I'd never dreamed possible. The visions of her past became clearer; they were trying to get her to a point where she was capable of killing animals with minimal skin contact. They were investigating her use as aggressive, as weaponry. It was logical when considering their intentions for potential use, and became laughable as I familiarized myself with the spiders, not only benign, but truly kind-hearted nature.

The more I saw of her, anger on her behalf blossomed above that caused by my own grievances.

But I wasn't getting the practical information I so badly wanted. What I was seeing, in frustratingly small snippets, was a burgeoning bond between the spider and her helper. By the end of the first week, I knew this meant something similarly obstinate as seeing the spider for the first time. It meant her helper was important, not a footnote, but more. Heedless of what I wanted to see, I was seeing what I needed to - an irreversible connection forming between the two, one that even they may not be aware of. What or how this was happening was beyond my understanding but it wasn't to be taken lightly. The subconscious is more discerning than is fathomable; it felt similar to being guided by an external force. It was something I'd learned to trust.

I relaxed into the personal scenes, expecting practical information to present itself eventually, and they became lengthier, more intricate entering the second week. The spider was doing well, but this rested solely on the fact she'd found this particular woman. It could easily have swung the other way with a busybody, someone who demanded answers and threatened consequences. Their interactions hinted at attraction, even love - guiltily, I was becoming hooked on seeing them. My interest in the helper heightened equal to that of the spider herself. She could be the key, the most efficient method to finding them.

I consider myself a good judge of character; I have to be. My observations of the helper both scared and reassured me.

She nursed the empath back to health, knew and accepted her abilities in a way that seemed too easy.

She was a striking woman. Watching her, I realized, it wasn't so much her looks that did it, but the way she used them; the way she held herself, the way she moved. She oozed confidence and charm, qualities which had always baffled me. A woman like her could be dangerous. The spider was falling in love.

It came as small surprise then to learn she was an actress; that kind of charisma was rare and didn't come from nowhere.

I developed an understanding of why she was the way she was. She'd grown into her beauty slowly and had taken a lot of abuse before it - she wasn't entirely aware of the power she held over people. She still carried the deep-set belief that it was only a part of her act, that underneath her mask, she was still that little girl who was told too many times she was nothing. I liked her for that; it inspired a form of deference, respect. Her charisma wasn't a lavish gift to be squandered, it had been earned and she didn't use it lightly.

Both women were using temporary names with each other, I ignored them. The empath became the spider and the helper, the pretender, their positions in my consciousness solidifying as such.

Although I suspected if the spider were to have a place in my future, the pretender would invariably have one too, the fact of it did not take full form until I witnessed her learn the truth to the spiders past and, to my shock, kill a man in defense of her ward.

It was only two days before these events unfolded that I finally managed to learn their whereabouts. Such a domestic scene in which they were dinner guests with an older couple, friends of the pretenders. I saw, with excitement, the map the spider stood studying, and the doctor fortuitously point out precisely where they were - a small town called Savage Falls deep in the mountains of south western Montana. After I saw, I booked flights that would deliver me to the closest airport terminal in two days' time.

But the wreckage had been discovered and a man had come. The spider was forced to tell the pretender the truth, her method for doing so leaving no room for doubt in the pretender's mind. My awe at the potential for the spider's abilities was renewed. With fear and impotence, I watched the man with the gun attempt to overpower her and the pretender subsequently shoot him in the face.

It was Tuesday, 22nd of October. In three large chunks I caught a substantial amount of this day - the encounter and the events that immediately followed. Although in a state of significant agitation at my own incapacity to intervene, I was moved by the way they handled the situation. They could easily have panicked and left the body and the car where they were. It may not have been perfect but their efforts to clean up their mess to extend the amount of time they had were creditable. They were using their heads and working together.

But they were leaving, and I was not gifted the benefit of insight to which direction. They needed help more now and the disquiet building in me made further delay impossible. I cancelled my flight, packed a bag, and drove west.

I stayed off interstates where ever possible to allow ease of pulling over if and when a new vision presented itself; if I were to find them with any speed, I needed constant updates.

What I was heading into reached a level of the unknown I'd never dared approach before. My dealings with people who could only be described as criminals, held danger but they never touched the real darkness within my past, the past I'd struggled so long to separate myself from. My motives were more than simply extending an arm to help another person like myself - with the spider I saw a chance to turn the tables on our oppressors. While I may not have been capable of doing it alone, limited by both fear and lack of knowledge, the spider was new, she would be hunted for a significant amount of time, a situation which could be used to gather information. But it wasn't just her I would be opening myself up to, there would be another, one who did not share our pasts. They were a package deal, I knew that before anything else.

As I crossed Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, the visions slowed and were shorter, their potency much diminished from the past two weeks. The bonus was, I was seeing practical things now - short but detailed fragments indicating info I actually needed. Town names, motel names, the pretenders process of transforming the spiders looks, and, as I closed in on them, a daring but less detailed confrontation with a man putting up wanted flyers of the spider. In Iowa, I switched direction and travelled down toward Kansas.

It was in Missouri, where they overstayed their usual time, that I finally caught up to them and my nerves caught up to me.

I had myself fairly convinced the pretender was not going to be a threat. Her allegiance rested with the spider, she had proved herself in that regard. And she was necessary; she buffered the spiders emotions in a way few other people would be capable of, gave them direction. Without her, the spider would likely have self-destructed quickly after her escape, even if she had managed to pull through her walk in the woods on her own. The pretender understood her, could make her see herself more objectively, and was able to control her to a degree - in this regard she was crucial. She knew it too; despite their obvious dedication to each other, without that control, their relationship would crumble. But I only had an outside view, I couldn't fully understand their connection, effortlessly exchanging emotions the way they did. It made them far more powerful as a unit and inspired sizeable fear about meeting them in person.

I donned my disguise as Laura - there was, after all, always the possibility they would not want anything to do with me, in which case, Bea needed to remain unknown.

They'd spent two days in Quilter when I cornered them, huddled together in a diner booth. When I saw them for the first time, through the front windows, my feelings were difficult to categorize. I think a part of me had retained the miniscule belief they may not be real at all and my mind was playing tricks on me.

Yet here they were. With no clue someone had been watching them all this time.

They wore dark clothing with pale make-up, heavy eye-liner and facial piercings, emphasizing their appearance Gothic. Although she wasn't wanted yet, the pretender had matched the spider's style to make them fit together.

They made a very attractive pair; equal in height, perhaps an inch taller than me, and while the pretender had curves to die for, the continuous energy of the spider's movements made her insubstantiality less noticeable. They complimented each other.

A pinch of envy ran through me as I observed; a sensation I'd never felt before, never considered myself human enough. The spider had been blessed with a different kind of luck than myself. Their demeanors indicated blatantly the reason they had overstayed in Quilter, holed up in a motel, consumed with each other - the circumstances that had allowed me to catch up to them. I felt my cheeks pink from the realization. I never blushed; it had to strike right when I needed to keep my cool most. Luckily I had not witnessed their amour first-hand or the situation would be worse; I may not have been able to approach them at all.

They looked so happy, and in such an openly public place. It made me uneasy, they would draw too much attention to themselves. There was one positive in their behavior - they certainly were not acting shifty or suspicious, like they had something to hide. So many things to hide; seeing them this way, it was hard to believe.

I wasn't just nervous, I was downright scared of intruding on such a scene of perfection. I could almost share in their happiness just watching them. But I recollected why I was here, took the time to think, no matter how they looked, they were in trouble. They needed me.

I remembered the thick foundation on my face would hide any indication of embarrassment, swallowed back images that were way past my business and pushed the door open.

They didn't look up when I slipped through and approached.

They knew I was in disguise, at least the pretender did; almost as soon as I sat down, she stared at my nose like she was tempted to lean over and give it a tug. When I offered the spider my hand, it was a gesture given in trust, my need for them too great to close myself off. I don't know how much she saw by taking it, but it affected her deeply, that was obvious.

She pulled my solitude from me, my hidden life, and my anger. While I received nothing from her.

By the close to the conversation, I had the pretender, she knew my worth and would do anything to keep the spider safe. The spider herself was reticent in a way I couldn't grasp; she required encouragement.

When they made their way toward me in the parking lot after less than fifteen minutes alone, I knew the pretender had worked her magic. Their expressions were guarded but curious, their pace gradual as I leaned against the driver's door of my rental.

They stopped a few feet away and, like they had inside the diner, stared for a few moments, studying me. Given the state of my nerves during the brief encounter, I thought it odd that it was me who needed to speak first.

"What do you think?" I asked, hoping to minimize my words.

"We will meet you on the coast," the pretender said with confidence defying the anxiety in how the spider fidgeted beside her. "You have a time and place?"

I admired her for reducing her own words; how talented she was at reflecting others' attitudes. A rare smile crept onto my face which both seemed startled by. I repressed the temptation to wipe it away and spieled off the address I'd rehearsed so methodically.

"It's in Westchester, there's a parking lot next to a restaurant called La grenouille, it's right on the harbor. Can you remember without writing it down?"

The pretender nodded and studied me with unpracticed hesitation.

"Should we introduce ourselves or something?"

"That can wait, you'll have to come up with different names. Pick something you can adjust to easily. If... When we meet again, we'll meet for real." I bustled into the car, not wanting to hang around now the immediate business had been settled to my satisfaction. I rolled the window down and frowned at the pretender. "From here on, no more contact anyone from your old life. Can you do that?"

"I wouldn't be here if I couldn't." Recognizing our exchange was over, she tugged the spider backward.

"I'll see you both in four days," I said and started the engine.

"Wait a second," the spider called as they stepped to the curb, "what if we run into trouble?"

"You'll deal with it." I had confidence they would too, they didn't need my help with any random flyer poster's, which was probably the height of any trouble they could encounter in four days. If anything more drastic occurred, I would find them again. "Just get to New York." I gave them a last look before I backed up and revved out of the lot.

It took a long time for my chest to calm down as I left Quilter and started back east. As limited as it was, the shock of not just a conversation, but a promise, a deal, with people who were acquainted with my deepest secrets, was profound. Easily, the worst was yet to come. Talking to them as Laura was one thing; when they reached New York, I would have to really expose myself.

**A full copy of Oculi **(the sequel) **can be downloaded free here.**

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For questions and comments email mccallumsasha@gmail.com

Other titles by Sasha McCallum

Tinderbox

Pretty Ugly Place

Oculi

Daughter of Night

The Arrangement

The Lake

There Will Be Blood

The Reader & The Writer

Bathrooms & Psychiatric Offices

