"Florence! Where are you, stupid girl?" Florence races down the stairs, straightening her appearance at the bottom of the stairs before stepping into the living room.

"Right here, Mr. Aleksei. You summoned me?" The old man's eyes squint under his intimidating grey eyebrows, face wrinkling in its permanent scowl.

"Yes, I summoned you. Where is my dinner?" Florence's breath quicked. It's 5:02pm. Supper must be started at 5:00pm when Florence is cooking.

"As of this morning, you and Mrs. Aleksei had a date night planned for tonight. I was told not to fix dinner." Her voice shakes as she fears the consequences.

"The plan changed. Stupid girl, you should have known that. No supper for you tonight. What a shame you'd have to be such a failure." Mr. Aleksei rises to his feet and Florence quakes where she stands. She learned long ago it's better not to run. She tries her best to stand firm as his fists rain down on her. An intense blow to the stomach bends her in half and a blow to the back buckles her knees. A strong hand grabs her hair and yanks her to her feet, dragging her to her bedroom. She stumbles along behind him as best as she can. He throws her door open and shoves her inside. To Florence's dismay, the blind has been left open. The door slams behind her as she staggers to the window, catching a glimpse of a familiar face across the backyard before drawing the blinds with a shaky hand. She doesn't even make it to the bed before pain and exhaustion overwhelm her. Her vision fades to black and consciousness is gone before she hits the floor.

Freddie's brow furrows in concern. Why did Florence draw the blinds so quickly? Why was she limping and white as a sheet? Why did her shadow collapse before it disappeared from view? Freddie waits until it's dark before sneaking out of the house and stealthily crossing his backyard. He approaches the fence dividing the yard. A glance over tells him the lights are out at the Aleksei's and all are asleep. He nimbly propels himself over the fence and across the yard. He pauses, looking up at her window before stooping to the ground and picking up a handful of pebbles from the garden. He prays Florence is a light sleeper as he throws one, then another small rock up at her window. He's about to throw a third one when suddenly her shadow appears behind the curtain, quickly replaced with a weary looking face. Bruises stand out against her ghostly white skin. She holds a single finger to her mouth before disappearing from sight. The few seconds seem like hours to Freddie as he stands outside her window before she returns to view. Silently, she opens the window and throw out a rope, grounded to something inside. She climbs out onto the windowsill, crouching as she closes the window as far as she can from the outside. Her bruises become more visible to Freddie as she steadily makes her way down the rope. Soon she's standing before him, looking like a darkened angel of the night. Her black turtleneck and skirt from earlier contrast her unusually pale skin, her bare feet silent against the cool grass.

"What are you doing here?" Florence's soft voice breaks through the night as she stares up at him, the height difference accentuated with her lack of shoes. Freddie struggles for words as he takes in her contrasting appearance, feet spread apart, arms crossed, jaw set in determination, strength, and defiance, bruises forming and an innocence broken look behind the pain in her eyes. Gently, Freddie brushes a stray bit of hair from Florence's face. His hand quivers and a forefinger accidentally brushes a deep purple bruise. Florence flinches almost imperceptibly.

"I…" Freddie pauses and takes a breath. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm sorry I was too late." Florence offers a sad smile as she begins to comfort Freddie.

"No, Freddie, don't say that. I'm touched that you came. I'm sorry I was sharp with you. I was just…confused. What do you mean you were too late?"

"I couldn't stop him. I couldn't save you. I couldn't—" Florence cuts Freddie off with a gentle finger to his lips.

"No. There's nothing you could have done. Don't blame yourself for this. At all."

"Not even a little?"

"Not even a little. Come on. It's nice to have someone else up at this hour. Care for a walk?" She heads off towards the street, leaving Freddie standing in the yard.

"Florence, it's past midnight. Is it really safe?"

"It's alright, pretty boy, I'll keep you safe." Florence throws a grin over her shoulder and Freddie hurries to catch up.

"Pretty boy? Really?" Florence shrugs, her eyes dancing in the moonlight. "Fine. Whatever. Where exactly are we going?"

"I like to go to the old cable car station. It's a great place to think."

"Isn't it rumored to be…haunted there?" Florence notes how Freddie's voice jumped half a pitch and struggles to keep her face straight. So the pretty boy is scared of cable cars.

"Ghosts make nice company. I bet they'll be delighted I'm bringing a boy."

"Oh come on. Florence, ghosts aren't real."

"How do you know? Maybe one will just sneak up on you and—Gotcha!" Florence laughs as Freddie stifles a squeal, jumping a foot in the air when she grabbed his arm. "So ghosts and cable cars. Anything else I should know you're scared of?" Florence continues conversation and steers their direction away from the old cable cars.

"Pretty girls who can beat me at chess." Florence rolls her eyes. "Like you."

"Shut up Freddie. I may be able to whoop you at chess but I'm not pretty…My mother was beautiful. I never got to play her in chess though. I hear she was wonderful. She could even beat my father." Freddie watches Florence as she speaks of her mother. Her face softens and the corners of her lips creep up into a slight smile. What he'd give for such pleasant memories of his mother.

"Your father taught you how to play chess?"

"Yes. He gave me a chess set for my fourth birthday. Every day we would play before he left for work and again when he got home. Often we'd play all evening and well past my bedtime. I wouldn't trade a bit of it now."

"Did you go to London with your father? Chess championships would have been there around that time."

"No. I was born in Hungary. I haven't seen my father since I was five and a half years old." Hungary. 1956. Foster child. Freddie puts the pieces together.

"Florence…I'm so sorry." Florence looks at the ground, ashamed of her early morning revelation.

"Don't be. We may not be together any more, but I still have hope that he's out there somewhere. I'll find him again, someday."