Chapter One: Home Sweet Home...Or Not

I never thought it would come to this, Sonia Marinelli thought, staring through champagne-tinted sunglasses at the scenery gliding past on the side of the two lane road; a sprawling expanse of pale desert that rose with rugged hills and dunes, dotted with cacti, Joshua and palm trees, and piled formations of sun-bleached limestone. I never thought I'd end up in this situation.

Along the road, here and there, were old gas stations, lonely truck stops, and shops that looked ready to crumble. It was a dull, sad sight compared to the golden, majestic beauty of the Venturas desert and its renowned city of worldly casinos, loud neon lights and energetic nightlife; a place she had lived all her life. She'd already forgotten the name of this desert. Sahara? Sierra? Senora? Whatever it was called, there was a small town somewhere out here that she would be calling home now.

Sonia pulled her gaze away from the mostly barren landscape and looked upon her driver. U.S. Marshal Brian Schmidt was a handsome, gray-eyed, tawny-haired man in his early forties, was married to his high school sweetheart with whom he'd spawned two rugrats, played on a minor league baseball team for fun, and really knew how to wear a suit; an utterly boring individual who had been her only company for the past four months, but at least he was fun to look at.

"What's this town called again?" she asked, having forgotten that, too.

"Sandy Shores."

"Sandy Shores," Sonia echoed, tasting the name. "Puts images of beaches and men strutting around in speedos in my head, and yet all I see is just a lot of damn desert."

Schmidt chuckled. "I didn't think you were the type to like speedos."

"On the right man, I can like anything, but don't try to change the subject, Brian. I've lived my entire life in Las Venturas. Now you feds have the nerve to stick me in another desert, and an ugly one at that. Why couldn't you guys ship me off to Hawaii?" She reached down into the foot well for her purse, unzipped a pocket, and brought out her pack of Redwoods. She stuck a cigarette between her lips and proceeded to light it. Schmidt reached over and took the cancer stick away as she was drawing on it, tossing it out his open window.

Sonia scowled at him. "You inconsiderate asshole."

"I'm inconsiderate, when you're exposing me to your second-hand smoke?" he pointed out, then moved on. "Look, Sandy Shores may not be beaches and men in speedos, but it is an opportunity. You're getting a fresh start here, a second chance, and considering your past, I'd think that would be a good thing. Besides, your former mob associates have no ties here; they'll have never heard of this town before. It may be in a desert, but it's safe."

"What am I supposed to do here?"

The Marshal shrugged. "Work, get a hobby, make some friends, join a book club, or a recipe club, since you seem to be fond of cooking. You could even start one up if there isn't one. You can do whatever you want, Sonia, as long as you don't break WITSEC rules, or the law. Try to live a normal life for once."

She snorted. "Normal? If I wanted normal, I'd get married and have kids, like a certain Marshal I adore. Normal's boring."

"How would you know? You've never tried normal."

"I tried it when you guys hid me in San Fierro during the trial. I went stir crazy, I'm sure you remember."

"That was only for four months; it takes time to adjust to a stable lifestyle. Sandy Shores is permanent, or it can be if you give it a chance."

A heavy sigh dragged from her lips and she pulled another cigarette from her pack, sticking it in her mouth.

Schmidt sent her a peevish look. "I thought I just got through telling you-"

"Ease up. I ain't gonna light it, I'm just gonna suck on the filter. I need something."

"You should consider quitting. Those things are going to kill you."

"Ha! Wouldn't that be a laugh? Survived testifying at a mob boss' trial, only to get killed by a roll of tobacco. Please put that on my gravestone if the cigs kill me."

Schmidt shook his head. "Only you would find something like that funny."

They fell silent for some moments. Sonia eyed a coyote tearing into some roadkill on the road's shoulder as she sucked on the cigarette filter and wondered what this town was going to be like.

Schmidt looked at her and cleared his throat. "I never thanked you."

"For what?"

"Testifying. I realize no one thanked you, even though it put your life in danger - well, put it in more danger. And I know it couldn't have been easy for you, facing Salvatore Lupo when you were on the witness stand. I saw the way he looked at you, like you stabbed him in the back. And when he made that outburst, that death threat, I saw the way you looked at him. I know you feel guilty, but you did the right thing, Sonia."

She scoffed. "I don't give a rat's roasted ass whether it was the right thing to do or not. I would've gotten pinned for trying to kill a fed if I didn't take the stand. I wasn't going to prison because he fucked up." The slight quiver in her voice belied her show of anger. "It was his fault, not mine. He didn't trust me, he never did. I don't feel guilty."

"No," said Schmidt with a soft tone. "It certainly doesn't sound like it."

Sonia gave him an annoyed look. "You're lucky I like you, otherwise I'd punch you in the nose."

He smiled. "Anyway, thank you."

"So...what prison did they put him in?" She had missed the sentencing phase of the trial, as she hadn't been able to find it in herself to attend and she hadn't been required to once she'd given her testimony. She'd had enough of Lupo's face. And his eyes...those wounded, hate-filled eyes that promised retribution.

"They shipped him out of state to Pendlebrook Pen. Coincidentally, he's sharing a cell-block with Carlo Rizzuto."

That made her laugh. Shit-load of bad blood there. "Coincidental?" Sonia asked. "Or intentional? It happened before my time, but you feds must know about that little falling out they had."

Schmidt nodded. "I've heard the story. Carlo, Lupo's favorite and most-trusted capo, got too big for his boots and decided he was entitled to knock them with Lupo's daughter without the man's blessing. I understand that's a big offense in the mafia world. And supposedly Lupo set him up, had some cop he had in his pocket plant some evidence, and Carlo got arrested for a murder he never committed. Life in prison without parole. I never quite understood why Lupo didn't just have him iced."

"He was soft when it came to Carlo, or so I heard. They were close back before all this happened, real good friends, but Lupo ain't soft anymore and I hear Carlo's been cursing his name since he got thrown in the pen. I bet you a thousand bucks, by the end of the week, one of them's gonna get the shiv." She made a harsh stabbing motion with her cigarette, grinning. "Right in the fucking neck."

"You could be a little less enthusiastic about it. It's not like if Lupo gets killed in prison the hit on you gets called off."

"No," she said with a nasty smile. "But he dies, and that's cause for celebration."

"You know, I don't think you mean that."

"Then you don't know me very well, Brian. And when the hell are we gonna get to this town?"

Schmidt nodded ahead. "We're coming up on it now."

Sonia peered through the windshield and, discouraged by the sight, her face crumpled. This has gotta be a joke.

The town, situated along the shore of a sprawling lake, was a tiny mess of trailers, most weather-beaten, others just rusted, collapsed shells of long-abandoned metal. Cheerless houses had been thrown in, making for an even cruder mix, and there were a few sad shops, a convenience store, and a gas station that had seen better decades. As Schmidt pulled the Landstalker into town, Sonia saw a weathered blue sign on the side of the road that welcomed them to Sandy Shores.

"Welcome to Bumfuck, San Andreas," she remarked. "Where everybody's related." She looked at Brian, appalled. "You expect me to make a new life for myself in this rural nightmare?"

"I expect you to give it a chance. We set you up in a house with an Alamo Sea view - that's the lake there. The place is just up the road."

"And what a road it is. Look, Brian, it's paved. That must've set this town back a fortune."

Schmidt frowned, aggravated by her tart remarks. "WITSEC is voluntary, you know. You could always just drop out of the program and go home to Las Venturas. I'm sure you'll be welcomed back with open arms and not a hail of gunfire."

Sonia waved a dismissive hand at him. "Alright, Marshal Asshat. Just drive."

Schmidt pulled onto a road running along the lake dubbed the Alamo Sea. A piece down it, he eased the Landstalker to a stop in the dirt driveway of an aqua-hued house on stilt supports, though the stilts were mostly unseen by the crude walls of the garage that had been constructed underneath the home. The place was crammed between two double-wide trailers, looked so deteriorated that a gust of wind might bring it to the ground, and a section of fenced-in dirt was all the yard that was offered.

As Schmidt got out and retrieved Sonia's single item of luggage from the backseat, the woman opened the passenger door and sat there for a moment, staring at her new home as the hot, arid wind blasted her in the face. Okay, Sonia, look on the bright side. At least it's a house and not a tiny trailer.

She grabbed her purse, stepped out of the Landstalker, and got her first glimpse of her new neighbors. A man in dirty, worn clothes and a dusty baseball cap and a woman in a short, stained sundress, who Sonia assumed was the man's wife(although in a town like this, she might have been his wife and his sister) stood at the chainlink fence that separated the house from their trailer, watching curiously. Then the man rose up the beer can in his hand in a gesture of greeting. "Howdy, neighbor!"

Putting on her most polite face, Sonia waved to them. "Hi."

The couple stepped through the fence gate and approached, plastering on friendly smiles. The man wiped a hand down the leg of his faded work jeans, then held it out to her. "I'm Bert Hitchins. This here's my wife Ernaline, but most folks call her Ernie."

Bert and Ernie? Jesus God. Sonia shook hands with the couple as Schmidt carried her suitcase up the stairs to the front door of the house. "Nice to meet you. I'm Sonia Chase." It always felt good to be able to at least introduce herself with her real first name. When it had come time to choose a new identity for herself, Schmidt had told her she was allowed to keep her first name or at least her initials and suggested she do so, as it would make transitioning into her new life a bit easier. Her name was an anchor, holding her sense of self steady so she didn't lose it in the sea of lies she would spend the rest of her life telling everyone she ever met. That, and it was easier to respond to the name she'd been called all her life.

"Well, Mrs. Chase-"

"It's Miss, and please, call me Sonia."

The man nodded. "Well, where'd ya just get in from, Sonia?"

And now come the lies. "Rutland, Vermont."

The man got a surprised look. "Well, slap me cross-eyed! Ya came a long damn way, didn't ya?"

Sonia smiled, amused by the surprised verbal expression."That's where I'm originally from. I've actually been traveling all over the country. I'm kind of a wanderer, I guess, can never really find a place to call home." She shrugged. "Thought I'd give this town a try."

"Maybe you'll find home here," Ernaline said. "It may be small, but it's a close community and don't lack for interestin' characters." She nudged her husband with an elbow. "Ain't that right, Bert?"

He leaned over and kissed her graying brown hair. "That's right, sugarplum. Ya need help gettin' yer stuff moved in? Happy to lend a hand, if ya do."

"No, that's okay" said Sonia. "I traveled light and the house came furnished, but thanks for the offer."

"Well, ah'right. We'll get outta yer hair then. Ya need anything or just wanna shoot the shit, come on over. Our place's never lackin' for beer and my Ernie makes a mean pot roast."

Sonia smiled. "Thanks, I might just do that. See you around." She waved to the couple as she started up the stairs, where Schmidt stood on the stoop, waiting for her.

"Like your new neighbors?" he asked.

Sonia shrugged. "They're okay. Friendly. Is this street called Sesame by any chance?"

Schmidt produced the house key from a pocket and gave her a smile. "No, but wouldn't it be a hoot if it was?"

Her only response was to grin.

The Marshal stuck the key in the lock and, after a brief struggle with it, got the door open. He stood aside to let Sonia go in first. "Home sweet home."

Or not, Sonia thought the moment she stepped inside. What struck her first was the ugly sight, then the musty, mildew smell. The garish, floral wallpaper was stained yellow and peeling, and the dirty white carpet was worn, torn and missing in places. There were also numerous water stains on the ceiling and cobwebs in the corners. It was a hovel, but at least it was a furnished hovel, and there was a small, bulky TV if she got bored. As Schmidt had also told her, the house indeed had a view of the Alamo Sea, as well as the craggy peaks of Mount Chiliad towering majestically on the other side of the big lake. Wide, clouded and scratched bay windows and a sliding glass door opened out to the sight and to a large balcony. There were some canvas chairs sitting out there where one might enjoy the scenery in fresh air and slight comfort.

"Two bedrooms and one bathroom," Schmidt informed.

"Wow," was all Sonia could think to say as she eyed a rusty-red stain on the wall near a window. It wouldn't have surprised her if someone had died here before.

"I know, I know," the Marshal said. "It's not the fancy penthouse you were living in in Las Venturas. It needs some work, but the foundation, electrical wiring, and plumbing are sound. Seeing as how you're getting some financial assistance from the government and you got that job we lined up for you here, fixing this place up shouldn't be a problem, and it shouldn't be expensive out here. Think of it like your new life, a clump of clay you can shape into whatever you want."

Sonia sighed. "Thanks for housing me in a clump of clay, Brian."

"Believe it or not, this place is in good condition compared to all the other properties that're up for sale in this town."

"Actually, I do believe that. Still..." She left the rest unsaid and pulled her pack of Redwoods from her purse. She lit up and drew deeply on the cigarette, catching Schmidt's look and giving back one of her own. "Don't start. This is my house, I'm gonna fucking smoke in it." She hadn't had a cigarette since she'd left the safehouse she'd been staying at in San Fierro during the four-month-long trial, and after five hours on the plane sitting between a woman with a squalling infant and a hairy, sweaty man with potent body odor and a penchant for small talk, the three hour car ride from Los Santos International, and seeing this town and this house, she really needed a shot of nicotine. "So, I got a house and a job. What about a car? How am I supposed to get around this dump?"

"You have legs, don't you? Most of everything you need's within walking distance. If you don't like to walk, then buy yourself a car. The government isn't going to hand you everything." Ignoring her glare, Brian lifted her suitcase from the stoop and brought it inside. "You'll find all your documentation and IDs in a folder in your suitcase. We opened an account with Fleeca under your new identity, so you don't have to bother doing that. There's five thousand in it to get you started here and the government will assist you with sixty thousand over the course of the year. A portion of it will be transferred to your account at the end of every month."

She puffed again, letting the smoke stay in her lungs for a moment before releasing it through her nasal cavity. "What about this job you keep mentioning? What is it exactly?"

"You saw that convenience store on our way to the house?"

I don't like where this is headed. "Yeah..."

"You're going to be working there as a cashier."

She scowled. "What?"

"It was either that or working as a motel maid a town over. Those were the only two jobs available in the area, and the cashier position is close to home and it pays more. You're welcome."

"Bite me."

He laughed and shook his head. "You start on Monday. I already spoke with the manager, so just show up bright and early at eight and he'll get you settled into your new job. If you don't like the job, you can always quit, but just remember, you'll have to find a new one soon or financial assistance from the government will be terminated." He checked his watch. "Well, I better get to the local Sheriff's station and let them know about the protected criminal now living in the area...and don't give me that look, Sonia. It's procedure."

"Come on, they don't have to know. Things are gonna be hard enough. I really don't need the local bacon breathing down my neck."

"They're not going to be breathing down your neck unless you give them a reason to. If they start harassing you, call me and I'll get them off your back. This is just as much for your protection as it is for everyone else's. The local authorities need to be prepared if Lupo's men or any of his allies somehow find you; they can offer assistance until the Marshals can get here and take over. Besides, having the law enforcement here know about you will also keep you out of trouble. Hopefully."

She puffed out a breath, stirring the fringe of dark hair hanging over her forehead. "Fine."

"Oh, also, you're required to check in with me once a year. So, get yourself a phone. I don't think I'm forgetting anything, so...I guess this is it. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything or just want to talk. Any time, Sonia."

"Sure. Thanks." She knuckled his arm, lightly. "It's been fun, Brian."

The Marshal laughed. "That's one word for it." He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Good luck." He stepped through the door, paused on the stoop for a moment, then looked back at her. "And stay out of trouble."

Sonia grinned. "Not making any promises." Knowing me, trouble is the first thing I'm going to get into, willingly or not.

The Marshal shook his head and started down the stairs. Sonia came out onto the stoop and waved as the Landstalker pulled out of the driveway. She stood there at the top of the stairs, watching until the black SUV disappeared from her sight. Then a cold, sick feeling hit her in the pit of her stomach. She was in a shitty town out in the middle of fucking no where, she had no friends(not that she'd really had any before, but at least she had known people), barely had any money when she had once been one of the richest people in Las Venturas(unofficially, at least), barely had anything, and her future was shrouded in uncertainty.

What the fuck have I done?