Henry put the unwrapped gift from Mr. Griffin to the side for the moment, giving it a final glance before having Zosime sit down while he gathered his medical equipment.

"I'm going to just run some tests to see if we might see what is going on with your muscles, all right?" He smiled at her.

Zosime swallowed and gave a quick nod.

"I'll start with your blood pressure." Zosime eyed the device in Henry's hand with suspicion. "Don't worry," Henry gave her a reassuring smile. "It won't hurt."

He reached for her right sleeve and started to lift it up. Zosime's left hand shot over to cover the sleeve. "What—are you dong?"

"I just need to wrap this around your upper arm to take measure your blood pressure." Henry looked at her arm and scrunched his eyebrows. He'd caught a glimpse of a scar when he'd lifted the sleeve. "What is it, were you hurt? Did someone hurt your arm?"

"It—it's nothing. Not related to muscle problem." She looked down at her knees, her black hair falling over her eyes.

"Maybe I can help—"

"You can't."

Henry exchanged a worried glance with Abraham. Abe got up and offered, "I'll go make some tea for us all." Go easy, he mouthed to Henry.

"How about we hold off on the exam until we have some tea then," Henry said in a light tone. "If you would just give me a moment, I'm going to make a quick phone call. Why don't you…take a look around the shop while we wait for the refreshments?" He gave her an encouraging nod and she slowly slid off the chair.

Once she was engrossed in the antiques, Henry headed over to the phone and picked up the receiver. He dialed the first three numbers, then his hand hovered for a moment before dialing the rest. It rang. And rang…and rang again. On the fourth ring, Henry was about to give up—no sense in letting it reach voicemail—when someone picked up.

"Hello?" answered a man's voice with a thick New York accent.

"Hanson, sorry to bother you on the weekend. I'm calling because...I happened to come across evidence that may be useful in your case about the historian murders."

"Oh….really?" Hanson then added quickly in a low voice, "To be honest Henry, we're kind of stuck on the case and could really use a lead."

"Great! Shall I come down to the precinct tomorrow morning then?" He said, straightening up.

There was a pause on the other end. "Why don't you start by sharing what you have over the phone, and then we can go from there?"

"All right." Henry's shoulders dropped. "Well, there's this Greek restaurant owner," Henry began.

"Okay, tell me about him. What did you see?"

"I overheard him on the phone with someone, speaking in Greek, asking questions about where to find an expert of some sort."

"Okay, what else you got?"

"He started…" Henry glanced up at Zosime who was studying one of the lamps — not actually one of the antiques, funny enough. I didn't appear that she was following the conversation, but he lowered his voice anyway. "Hanson, the owner was yelling at one of his employees and fired her on he spot. He was quite aggressive."

"Okay, but what evidence do you have that's relevant to the case?"

"Don't you see? The owner is your suspect. He speaks Greek, he's looking for experts, he has a temper. And I heard another witness say he mentioned ancient Greek artifacts. This is your guy, I can feel it!"

"I hate to say this Henry, but we're gonna need more to go on then that. Now that you're not, well...We just need more concrete evidence to justify an arrest."

"If you could just look into—"

"I'm sorry, Henry. Really, I am. If you get any more information though, don't hesitate to let us know."

Henry sighed. "All right. Good day then."

"Take care, Henry."

Henry hung up and pressed his lips together. He glanced over at Zosime again, who was now seemingly enthralled with the grandfather clock. Seeing she was sufficiently occupied, he picked up the phone again and dialed Lucas, who would hopefully be at home and not at the morgue, because it was Sunday after all.

"Hello?" Lucas greeted on the other end.

"Lucas! It's Doctor Morgan."

"Hey doc!" Lucas sounded positively delighted to receive a call from Henry on the weekend. Henry really needed to remind himself how lucky he was to have Lucas as an assistant.

"I have a favor to ask."

"Anything you need, doc!"

"You see, Lucas, I'm trying to gather evidence for the Greek historian case. Have you been following it?"

"From the papers, a bit."

"Great! So I think I may have found the suspect, a restaurant owner, but I need your help in gathering enough evidence to warrant an arrest. The problem is that the suspect has already seen me, so I can't go back in there. I was wondering if you—"

"Could go track him down?"

"Yes now I think the best way would be to—"

"Hey, I could go apply for a job at the restaurant. That would be—"

"Just what I had in mind, Lucas! You see," Henry whispered, "He just fired someone, so I'm sure he'll need a replacement. Just—I don't suspect they pay much, so your going to need to look like you really need the job."

"Got it, doc. You can count on me."

"Wonderful! Meet me outside of Athanasia Restaurant in one hour then? Can you—"Google" the address?" Henry bounced on his feet.

"No problem, partner!"

Henry rolled his eyes as he hung up the phone, just as Abe popped back in the room with a tray of steaming mugs and biscuits.

"Tea time!" Abe set it down on one of the tables and waved Zosime over. "Hungry?" He gave her a warm smile. She looked down at the tray and allowed a small smile to show.

"Go on," Abe nudged a plate near her. She looked up at Henry for confirmation.

"Go ahead, of course!" He tilted his head and smiled.

Zosime finally reached for a biscuit and Henry realized how hungry she must have been because she didn't take long to finish a few of them.

"So, Zosime," Henry said, taking a more comfortable position in one of the chairs. "You were saying, on the train, that your family's from Athens?

"Yes, but I born in Roma."

"Ah, parli italiano."

Zosime surprised Henry by letting out a light laugh. "Everybody say that! 'Italiano' popular here?"

Henry gave Zosime a puzzled look, wondering why she didn't seem interested in speaking Italian—or Greek—with him when it sounded like English was still a struggle for her. Trying to sound conversational, Henry commented, "There's quite a strong Italian community in NY—though not everyone is fluent in Italian. What language are you most comfortable speaking?"

Zosime tilted her head to one side. "So you—Italiano?" Did she not understand the question or avoid it intentionally?

"No, no," Henry chuckled. "I just enjoy learning lots of languages!" Deciding to set the language question aside for the moment, Henry thought Zosime might be at ease enough to answer some questions about her health. "So, did anything happen three months ago that might have caused this problem with your muscles?"

Zosime set down her mug and gazed across the room, watching the people passing by outside the window. "Something happened…my life, very different before three month. Then my family were attacked." She frowned. "But I don't see how it connect."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Henry said. "Is that why you're in a shelter—did, did something happen to your parents?"

She took a deep breath and nodded, narrowing her eyes.

"Was it the restaurant owner? Did he attack your family?"

"What? Mr. Petralia? No, I just started work there last week. Only one week I made it there, before fired! Just like always, fired again and again!"

Henry understood her frustration but tried to keep the conversation on track. "Hmm, so tell us, what did happen three months ago?" Henry probed gently as Abe poured her some more tea.

"A bad man—very powerful—attack my mother. Me and my father try to stop him, but he hurt us. I was too hurt to see what happen next, fell asleep? My father had very bad injury. Probably he died... My mother, I don't know...I don't know where they are or if they survived!"

"I'm so sorry. Maybe we can help you locate them. But first, tell us, what kind of injury did you get, Zosime? That could very well be related to your muscles."

"I was stab, here," she wrapped her hand around to indicate her back.

"Can I see it?" Henry asked softly. She looked at him for a moment and gave a quick nod. Walking around to her back, he lifted up her shirt to reveal a thick, long scar. Depending upon how deep it went, it could have been nearly fatal.

"This doesn't look like a usual knife wound. What sort of weapon were you stabbed with?"

"We call it a pugio."

Henry gave Abe a wary glance. Three months ago was when they discovered the pugio used to kill Julius Caesar. He looked at the scar again. Strangely, it didn't show the same inflammation he saw on the museum curator's finger wound. "Zosime, why do you use the word pugio to describe the weapon. Did it look ancient to you?"

"Ancient? I dunno, it look normal, but it happen so fast."

Henry walked around to face her, looking at her intently. "The man that stabbed you, what was his name?"

Zosime shook her head. "He's too much power. Danger. Can't say his name."

"We can protect you."

Zosime remained silent.

"His name, Zosime. What's his name?" Henry said with fierce eyes.

Zosime just shook her head. She was clearly terrified of this man, so Henry tried a different approach. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"The attack — that was the last time."

So it could have been Adam. But he needed to get more information to be sure. Henry then had an idea. "The scar on your arm, is that related?"

She just looked at him, holding her breath.

"May I?" Henry asked.

After a moment she reached over and lifted her sleeve, eyes fixed on the floor. Underneath revealed four letters roughly carved into her upper arm: SGIC.

"What does it mean?"

"It means I belong to him." she muttered.

"What do you mean, belong?" Henry said in a furious tone.

She looked off in the distance and pursed her lips. "I'm a serva."

Where would she have learned the Latin word for slave, as well as dagger? He looked at the scar again. S—Serva. GIC… How dare he, that Adam!

"The man, did he call himself Gaius Iulius Caesar?"

Her eyes widened. "You—you heard of him?"

"I've actually met him, unfortunately." Henry narrowed his eyes. "However, I can promise you one thing, Zosime. That man will never hurt you or another person again!"

"How can you know?"

"I can prove it. And I will, rest assured." He looked at the clock on the wall. "But right now I have to meet my assistant. We have some business to attend to that will hopefully end well for all of us. Will you stay here in the shop until I get back?"

Zosime nodded and Abe offered, "I'll see that Zosime's looked after in the meantime."

"Thank you, Abraham." Henry nodded to them both. "Zosime." With one sad smile, he tied his scarf and headed out the shop.

AMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAM

Once Henry was out the door, Abe turned to Zosime. "So….what do you like to do for fun?"

She gave him a puzzled look.

Abe looked around the store for inspiration. "Hmm, well, have you ever played chess before?" He brought over the chess set and started arranging the pieces.

"Ah, a game?" she asked.

"Yes, it's quite fun! I'll teach you."

HMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHM

That evening...

Henry entered the antique shop, finding it dark and vacant. "Abraham, you won't believe it. Lucas found concrete evidence against the owner—and I brought back dinner!"

When he received no reply, Henry couldn't help his heart racing. "Abe?"

"In here," he heard Abe's voice sounded far away as it travelled from the living room. Something about it didn't sound right, so Henry rushed over, only to find Abe intently looking through a book and Zosime asleep on the couch.

In a voice Henry could barely hear, Abe whispered "He really was like an angel…"

"Abraham?" Henry set down the bag carrying dinner and their new piece of evidence to give Abe his full attention.

"I finally know why I survived the camps," he said a bit louder, looking up at Henry.

"What? How?"

"The gift Mr. Griffen gave you. It was Joseph Mengele's diary! I—I'm sorry, I just had to open the package. I wanted to make sure Griffin didn't have bad intentions toward you." Abe opened the ledger up to a page of writing. "It's all here, in Mengele's notes. He had taken me from my parents when they died and kept me in his lab for some reason." Abe's voice was thick with emotion and he cleared his throat. "But someone had rescued me, from the lab, and hid me somewhere safe. Mengele was furious and managed to find me and punish the culprit, but I was rescued again and again…"

"Stop, wait." Henry put a hand on Abe's shoulder. "How can you be sure it was you? You were just a baby." Henry didn't wan't to break Abe's heart, knowing how many years Abe had wondered how he'd survived the camps unharmed.

"By my number. It's written down right here. See?" Abe pointed to a section of the page. "Pops…That man—he didn't have to do it, rescue me. Mengele says here that he could've escaped the camp each time he was reborn. I—" Abe closed his mouth.

Henry remained silent for a moment. He wasn't sure if Abe knew yet who "he" was, and didn't want to bear the bad news. "Abraham…"

"I know who it was, pops. The notes say he was the only immortal Mengele came across."

Henry closed his eyes. "Why?"

"I don't know, dad."

Henry sat down, shaking his head in wonder, and gave the ledger a sidelong glance. How can this be? He reached for the ledger and slowly pulled it toward himself. Flipping through the pages, he stopped on the same twisted drawings he saw in Mr. Griffin's office. Letting out a shuddering breath, he turned to the last page, and saw that Mengele apparently had the same questions they had, and ended his notes with one question: Why would a man who has enough knowledge and skill to conquer the world give up everything for a nameless baby?

Henry snapped the book shut and stood up again. "It doesn't erase what he did to me. It doesn't erase the threats he made against Jo. And it doesn't erase the fact that he hurt Zosime and her family."

"Listen, pops. What if…what if Adam isn't who you think he is? The two just don't add up. It's like they're different people entirely."

"Adam," Henry's face darkened, "was the dictator formerly known as Julius Caesar. There is no other explanation. He was stabbed with the pugio that killed Caesar in 44 BC!"

"But what if, pops?"

"Abraham, I am so sorry that monster had to be the one who… Look, I don't know why he would have saved you at the camps, but if either story were to have an alternative explanation, I'm afraid it's likely that one."

"Let's...not talk about this now," Abe suggested. "I heard you say you brought dinner? I imagine Zosime might be hungry."

Agreeing that they needed a break from this conversation, Henry went over to Zosime and gently nudged her awake. "Zosime…"

She flew into a seated position. "Nai?"

So she did speak Greek… "I brought dinner," Henry said. "Would you like to join us in the kitchen."

"You are too generous, both of you! I should go back to the shelter. You don't need give me so much."

"It's our pleasure," Abe said. "Besides, my lady friend invited me out to dinner so Henry will need help finishing all of the food." He winked at Zosime, who returned a small smile.

"Oh, well then," Henry said, a bit of surprise coming through in his voice. "Do you mind if it's just us?" He turned to Zosime.

"I guess that okay - if there enough food."

"Definitely!"

"Okay, well, I'm off then." Abe smiled and waved goodbye.

"All right then…" Henry waved back.

AMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAM

Abraham got off the metro and walked by a rather fancy restaurant, and kept going. And he kept on walking until he reached a hospital. Striding through the front door, he went up to the reception.

"May I help you, sir?"

Abe replied, "Yes, I'm here to see a patient by the name of Lewis Farber."

Thank you for reading and again, your feedback and thoughts are greatly appreciated! (I'd like to acknowledge Viskey-HeroMouse for correcting my Latin. Thank you!)