Author's Note: I had a different user name and have not written here in ages. I've missed this.

Disclaimer: I do not intend to gain any profit from use of these characters.

Chapter One

My entire body limp except the hand wrapped around delicate six-year-old fingers, we stood in an abrasive cloud of cigar smoke and deafened by the walls surrounding us. I was frozen, agreeing to terms and words I was hearing for the first time with no pretense, no warning, in a decrepit basement of a motel in South Boston with a man who claimed to be my biological father.

Right now, it's hard to believe that at this time exactly two days ago I was standing in scrubs with a face-mask and rib separator, performing my fifth autopsy of the day in the morgue of the CCPD Headquarters in Chicago. Two days ago I was a medical examiner for the city. Two days ago I was an only child with a very private and closed adoption when I was only weeks old. I never had any reason to search for my biological parents as I was simply told they died in a fire, or car accident, or whichever story my adoptive parents fed to me. I never asked for much as a child and I was fortunate enough to live a very privileged, albeit lonely life. I was given everything I could possibly want, though never once having to ask for such things. As soon as I was able to compose full sentences, I sent in for boarding school brochures in France. I can remember leaving the catalogue in my father's study one evening after a very silent dinner in which my mother and father each sat on opposite ends of the table. I also remember waking up the next morning and seeing an envelope on my desk next to the same brochure I left for my father with a check that had enough for fours years' tuition as well as a blank check made out to the school. For, I surmised, in case I felt like staying longer. I was never sure how to feel about that gesture. Instead of allowing myself to ever try and really reach out to them, I decided that I would bury myself in school for the next twenty years, and then bury myself in work for whatever was left. I made time for me, to travel, and to become a bigger and bigger leader in forensic pathology. Two days was now a lifetime ago.

"Dr. Isles, do you understand?" His voice was gruff, raw with tobacco, but he spoke calmly. Too calm. As if all the syllables where drawn out with puffs of smoke.

I thought of his voice, I thought of the hand I was holding; I tried to imagine myself any place but here in this moment. "If you could please, explain it to me one more time?" I had comprehended in full what he had told me, what I had learned. But I still could not make sense of any of it. "I apologize. Certainly you can understand as we are strangers this is simply a lot to process, no matter how adept I may be." I tired to sound strong, assured.

"Your lawyer reached out to you two days ago regarding a sister you never knew you had who left something for you in her will."

He watched me nod, "yes, and I after I met with him, he was very brief and said we must leave for Boston tomorrow. This was yesterday."

His body never moved with his words, he was eerily stoic and very measured with his movements. "Let's just cut to the chase, Maura, shall we?" As he spoke I felt those little fingers squeeze mine tightly. I must have agreed with him as he kept on going. "My daughter, my other daughter, was taken suddenly from us," he said this with a wicked tone, conveying something I was not able to pick up on, "and she didn't have any money to her name, she had nothing but her daughter here. We were not close. She was smart and wanted nothing to do with me or my..." he paused on thin air, "lifestyle, as it seems. And she thought it would be in her best interest if she lived with you, as her new guardian, her Aunt Maura."

My brows rose, knit tightly with questions draped in fear, "how did she know about me, but I nothing of her?" I needed to know.

It was distressing to watch his dark features lighten up. I could even feel her tense up from the look on his face. Wanting to take a risk I looked to this little girl, clad in jeans, dirty Converse, a plain grey sweater, and her messy auburn hair pulled back into a pony tail, "honey," I crouched down next to her, "how do you feel about this? You don't even know me, do you really want to live with a stranger?"

She looked down and from the short breaths and sporadic blinking I could tell she was doing her best to hold back tears, "mommy said you are family so you're never a stranger. She said you used to go to her work all the time and you would be nice to her." Her focus remained lost in the filth on the carpet, "she said she knew you were her sister because you have the same, uh," she looked up searching for the word, "it's a spot, and you have it from when you're a baby…" finally she made eye contact.

I gasped at the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the frame of her jaw, a full view of this child and I can see so many similarities I almost lost my balance even though I had already lowered my center of gravity by crouching down next to her. "Is what you mean a birthmark?" I warmed my smile toward her.

She beamed back and dropped my hand, "yes! A birthmark! She said she saw it last summertime."

I thought back to when, where, how, could I have already met this woman and never have known. That we had had interactions before, a rapport… "you want to see mine? I have one too!" She bent down and rolled up her left pant leg, "see." All of the oxygen was gone in the room. Though not scientifically possible, I could feel my skin going pale. Before I had to chance to worsen, "can I see yours?" she asked.

I took a deep breath. And then another. Then slowly started to pull up my pant leg from the squatting position I was in and pivoted to show her. "This one is mine…" I dared to see her wide-eyed expression in reaction to the exact same shape, size, color, placement of this birthmark. Pure hope painted across her tiny features. Though, for only a fraction of second, it was certainly there. Somehow the situation began to weigh heavier and heavier in the room.

"You. And me. And mommy." I watched her deflate immediately and turn and face forward, then drop her shoulders and head. The tears looked harder to fight off this time.

Before I had a chance to interject and show some compassion for this poor child who, based on data I have collected from this whole experience, mother was more than likely murdered, a frustrated voice started to rumble us away from each other, "she worked at the Chicago Diner. Wicker Park."

I stood slowly, not having to think for too long. I knew exactly who he was talking about. We had had many brief interactions until recently. The last month I believe. I would go there once a week after a hot yoga work out across the street and indulge in a vegan burger. It was my guilty pleasure and I was lonely. She always had a hat on, perhaps due to the work environment and integrity to health code, and wore large glasses. Her hair was always something new with jagged edges and colorful bangs. I felt sick to my stomach. I can't believe I didn't see any of the resemblance before. It was getting harder to hold on, "oh my God," is all I could muster as I placed a clammy palm against my forehead and spun around to face my father.

I could hear my heart beat in my ears and was promptly silenced as soon as Mr. Doyle began speaking again, "Maura, it would be in both of your best interest to stay here, in Boston. I can keep an eye out."

My mouth was moving before I had a chance to figure out what I was saying, I can't ever recall a time feeling so out of control of my emotions, my brain, my mind, "Mr. Doyle, I still feel very apprehensive about all of this and frankly, am still in shock. I need time to think about this, this… this is a major life change."

"What should make you apprehensive, Maura, is what could happen to both of you if do not sign that document. I know it's a lot to take in. But there is no time. It's now. Just now." He seemed to be growing impatient.

I was directly between them, I looked at this poor motherless child, then back Mr. Doyle several times and was just at a loss. I closed my eyes, took three deep breaths, take a moment, gather yourself. "Under a few conditions."

He nodded as if he knew this was coming, "you will not make contact with us. We will live our lives, there will be absolutely zero interaction with you as soon as this is all done. You will not 'send your men' to watch over us. I do not want that kind of life, Mr. Doyle. "

"Rest assured Dr. Isles, there will be no contact unless absolutely necessary. I may be a lot of things, but I am always loyal to my word." I felt strangely comforted by this, but was conflicted in warming up to the feeling. "But, this will all be over soon. As soon as you sign this I am going to put both of you up in a hotel so that I can get a couple more things in order."

I must have been nodding, agreeing, right before the click of the pen roared like thunder. I signed it. This was reality now.

He stood and motioned for us to follow him, "come with me." His voice was softer and we followed down a narrow hallway and out to a parking lot. "You'll be staying at the Commonwealth Hotel," we emerged into the light and it had already felt like days had gone by. "We will see you in front of the hotel Thursday morning." As he was saying this, a car drove up and I tried to recall what day it was. Monday. It was a Monday.

"Three nights?" My voice constricted, making me sound vulnerable, entirely high-pitched and shrill.

"Yes," he barked, "take this time to get to know one another." We both somehow climbed in the car without our limbs having to do much work. Two of his lackeys nearly picked up us and placed us in sitting position in the back of this black SUV. He approached my side of the vehicle and addressed only me. I saw a slight softening in his features as he began to speak. He removed an old flip phone from his pocket, "take this, it is programmed to only call me. It's a precautionary measure. And I like to be prepared. I hope you never have to use it. This will be the last time I'll ever see you, Maura."

We had a battle of eye contact and silent conversation. "Thank you," he finally said as the car drove off.