N/A: Here it is, the moment when the action starts to pick up a bit! From here on, the pace and the timeline will begin moving more quickly (although there will still be plenty of slow-building character development, because this story literally doesn't work without that).

A huge thanks to everyone reading and enjoying this story, and a particular shout-out to the handful of you that have stuck around from the beginning (oh so long ago) and continued to provide encouragement along the way! You all are the best!

EDIT 11/27: Having formatting issues with the upload ... it looks normal on a browser, but shows up in all-bold on a mobile. Not sure why, but hopefully this fixes it.

Chapter 11
Skirmish

"Oh my lover, my lover, my love
We can never go back
We can only do our best to recreate
So don't turn over, turn over the page
We should rip it straight out
Then let's try our very best to fake it."

- Bastille, "Fake It"

"Tea?"

Jessie extended her cup for the waitress to refill. The hot liquid was perfect after hours spent wandering the city in the cold. Chilled though she was, an easy smile crossed her lips as she sipped at the peppermint tea, relaxing back into her chair as Jonny and Hadji argued across from her about a homework assignment they had yet to complete.

It was their second day in Prague and after their anxious parents had kept them close to quarters for the entire first day, they finally relented to allowing the teens some freedom. Jessie suspected this was largely due to their frustration with Jonny's incessant requests to leave, but her friend's irritating tenacity had paid off yet again. Race, Estella, and Dr. Quest had spent all of the first day and well into the night locked in one of their two rooms, each focused on some different piece of research, and they had quickly realized that expecting their kids to sit around idly was not realistic.

Race had kept his promise that they would not be free to get into "shenanigans," requesting a soldier to accompany them as a tour guide and body guard. Ironically, the soldier who met them at the entrance that morning was the same blonde young man who had been instructed to search Jessie the day before. Jessie's cheeks had reddened instantly when she recognized him, but it immediately became clear that he felt even more uncomfortable than she did, which slowly helped to put her at ease. For the first hour, he wouldn't look her in the eye, acting like an embarrassed child caught breaking a rule.

His name was Anders Vesely, a nineteen-year-old that had recently finished boot camp and been assigned to the presidential guard. The early part of their day had been awkward on both sides – the kids unsure what to make of him after their last interaction, and he seemingly stuck between acting the part of the aloof soldier he was supposed to be and actually talking to them like people.

Jonny had gotten Anders talking with him about video games and it wasn't long after that the air cleared. It made sense why Anders had been given this assignment instead of someone else – he was about as green as a soldier could be, seeming despite his uniform no more than a big goofy kid who loved talking about science fiction and had a habit of accidentally misspeaking in a way that made things humorously awkward. His face would redden deeply every time it happened, and Jessie realized after the first incident that his embarrassment over their interaction the day before was probably not unusual for him.

From there, the day felt perfect. They walked along cobblestone streets, over bridges, and beside the meandering Vltava river as it wound its way through the city, detouring to visit a museum and several cathedrals. They had no plan and no urgency, and although none of them said it, there was a mutual relief at being free to explore and engage with the world again in a way they hadn't been allowed to do in far too long.

For the first time since showing up on her own doorstep like a stranger, Jessie found herself smiling and laughing with complete ease. It was as though she had been walking around with barbells pushing down on her and someone had finally lifted them off. Even her most basic physical reactions felt simpler – breathing, walking, talking.

Yet again, she found herself amazed by the deep affection she had for the two boys walking beside her – Jonny with his eternal lopsided grin and childish enthusiasm, Hadji with his aura of perpetual calm and wisdom beyond his years, neither of them hovering over her or expecting more than she could give.

She had known she was growing frustrated with her parents, but she didn't realize just how bad it had gotten until that day. Being around them felt like trying to breathe through a straw – tiny bits of relief surrounded by a growing desperation. Even when they weren't directly watching her or questioning her or reaching out to touch her, they were observing from the corners of their eyes and hoping she wouldn't notice, like scientists attempting to give their subject the illusion of autonomy. She tried to be patient with it, knew it all came from love, knew that losing her must have destroyed them, but it was rapidly pushing her toward a breaking point.

The worst was the sadness she saw in their eyes when they looked at her. It was a subtle flash, entirely subconscious, betraying how the sight of her made them remember the doctor's report, the descriptive litany of abuses she had suffered but couldn't remember. They swore they didn't see her differently, but she knew that sometimes all they pictured was Sampson's hands on her. In those moments, she wished they would never look at her again.

But not the boys. Even when they drew close to conversational territory they didn't know how to handle, they never looked at her the way her parents did, never treated her like she might break at any second. Their interactions throughout the day had felt as close to normal as she could have hoped for. Jonny cracked bad jokes, instigated playful arguments, and attacked them with snowballs when they weren't expecting it. Hadji had talked a lot with Anders about the Prague attacks, and later grew fascinated with the museums and architecture. They both glanced at her a lot more often than normal, but it was always with a smile, as though reassuring themselves she was still there.

Jessie drained her second cup of tea and glanced out the window of the café where night had fully fallen despite the early hour. Their parents wanted them back for dinner, which meant their carefree day was close to over. As the waitress brought their check and the boys began counting out currency, Jessie excused herself to find the bathroom, hoping to delay the inevitable just a little bit longer.

She took her time, admiring the artwork on the walls and allowing the warm water to run over her hands for far longer than she needed to. When she could put it off no longer, she made her way back down the long hallway toward the table. This time, something caught her eye, freezing her where she stood – a flash of her own face coming from the adjacent room.

The main dining area was noisy, crowded, and stiflingly warm from the combination of two blazing fires and the body heat of too many people in too small a space. On the far side of the room, behind the bar, a single muted television screen showed her yearbook photo from ninth grade – taken only weeks before their trip to South America. Her younger self smiled out at the packed room, genuine laughter in her eyes, her longer hair styled into gentle ringlets that dangled down past her shoulders and outside the frame of the photo. It was the image she expected to see every time she looked in a mirror, now forever lost to time.

Before she could process what she was seeing, the screen changed to show a young reporter sitting in a studio. His mouth moved as he talked about the story – about her – but there was no sound and the closed captioning that flashed along the bottom was all in Czech, which she understood only the simplest words of.

Without thinking, she jumped into motion, making her way to the bar, pushing through the clump of tipsy people crowded around awaiting drinks. People hurled curt words in her direction, but her tunnel vision was too great to notice or care. Leaning over the counter of the bar, she tried hurriedly to catch the bartender's attention.

He was a grizzled older man who scowled at her urgency. Something in her demeanor caused him to wander over to her despite his frown, but he barked words at her sharply in Czech.

"English? Do you speak English?" Jessie asked hurriedly, glancing at the TV again. The reporter was still talking, but the story was bound to end soon.

"What you want?" he snapped in heavily accented English.

"TV – do you have a remote?" She mimed the motion of clicking something toward the TV.

The man's scowl deepened and he shook his head and moved to turn away.

"Please!" she insisted, pointing again at the screen where her picture had reappeared, this time alongside the reporter's. "Just for a minute!"

The man looked ready to yell at her, but when his eyes moved to the TV again, he hesitated. His brow scrunched together and then raised as he looked between Jessie and the screen, making the connection. Jessie noticed the nearby bar patrons following suit, could hear the whispers increasing in her vicinity. She was beginning to regret her curiosity.

A moment later, the reporter faded away to pictures of a soccer game and Jessie realized it was too late. She had humiliated herself and received nothing in return.

She turned away from the bar, wanting nothing more than to escape the looks and whispers that suddenly surrounded her, but the bartender's gruff voice stopped her. "Wait!"

When she looked back at him, she noticed his frown had a new and more concerned quality. He bent down and reached beneath the bar, feeling around for something. After a long moment, he set something down and slid it toward her. "You take."

Jessie picked up the offering – a copy of the London Daily Mail, dated a few days prior. The front page featured a story on the Prague bombings, as expected, but she had to guess that somewhere in that paper – in English! – was a story about her.

She thanked him gratefully, offering him a tenuous smile before spinning away from the packed bar and making her way toward the door. The heat was so oppressive she felt like she was choking on it.

The darkness outside had with it a brutal cold, but even the sting that accompanied each breath felt better than the sweltering suffocation inside the restaurant. She took a seat on the small wooden bench outside the door and began flipping through the newspaper urgently.

The story on the Prague bombing was one of many – the central piece followed by opinion editorials, security updates, economic impact alerts. She flipped through the paper section by section, tossing aside movie reviews, sports stories, and comic strips. When she got to the end, she flipped back to the beginning and looked at it more studiously.

And there it was – a small article, buried at the bottom of the back page of the World News section. A miniscule version of her same yearbook photo smiled up from the page, giving the casual scanner the impression that the article might be some happy human-interest story. A simple headline declared:

ABDUCTED NIECE OF SCIENTIST BENTON QUEST FOUND ALIVE

The story contained little more than the headline: a brief synopsis on her kidnapping, the futile search that resulted, and an update that Dr. Quest's "niece" had been found. It explained that the scientist had since gone on record declining comment and asking for any information regarding her abductor.

It only got interesting at the end, when it began talking about her captor himself – Thomas Sampson, age 47, previously convicted and imprisoned for illegal arms trafficking and released early as the result of a government plea deal and "good behavior." Now wanted internationally for her kidnapping.

And below the generic blurb, one more photo. It was black and white and grainy, an old mug shot, but the eyes that stared up felt so clear and alive that they might actually have been able to see her where she sat. In the photo he appeared uncharacteristically disheveled, his normally close-cut hair sticking out at all angles, a shadow of peppered stubble across his jaw, the collar of his shirt bent askance. But his eyes bore into her as they always did – cold and calculating and deeply intelligent, masking the undercurrent of madness that only rarely rose to the surface. The Prague street faded away and she remembered.

He stared down at her where she lay, studying her as a scientist would a subject, as a hunter would its prey, his hands resting calmly in the pockets of his tailored jacket, his eyes visibly engaged in working out the problem that was her: her resistance and her rebellion, her existence in this place and his intentions for her, because he would get his way no matter how long it took – she could sense that in his every move and his easily maintained calm. His determination was a match for hers. He pulled his hand from his pocket and reached for her -

A pat on her shoulder and she jumped, lashing out instinctually with her fist, feeling it blocked a moment later by a firm grip on her wrist.

"Jess?"

Only Jonny. His confused concern staring down at her from where he stood alongside Hadji and Anders – the one who was now gently releasing her wrist, the one she'd come very close to striking in the gut.

Only Jonny. Not him.

Not this time.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. You just startled me."

She didn't want to tell them about her memory. Not yet - maybe not ever. It wasn't like it was helpful anyway.

"What's that?" Jonny snatched the paper before she could even think to stop him, and he found her picture at the bottom of the page much faster than she had found it herself, his eyebrows raising with surprise and then narrowing with anger.

"Did you know?" she managed to ask, trying hard to focus on the people in front of her instead of the face that had finally transformed from ghost to human in her mind, leering at her eternally behind her eyelids.

"That you're in the news? No. I mean, I'm not really surprised, it was big news when you disappeared. But I haven't been paying any attention since you came home."

"Hadji?"

The older boy offered her a sad smile. "Dr. Quest thought it better that you have some time to center yourself before dealing with so much external pressure."

Her face, her name, her story – in British newspapers and on Prague's nightly news alongside terrorist bombings. Her existence was suddenly world news. How much coverage had there been in the US, then? What were the odds that she could ever slip back into her life anonymously now?

Jessie noticed Anders and his lack of reaction to this information. He did not appear uncomfortable or surprised or sheepish, which was surprising for the awkward young man. Instead, his eyes were fixed beyond the three of them, out into the dark street that was being buried ever deeper by the falling snow, his jaw set. When she followed his gaze, she saw nothing.

"Let us get going," he said finally, still looking beyond them. "It is growing late."

They were quiet as they headed back down the street, each lost in thoughts of their own. Jessie pushed unwanted images from her mind by forcing herself to study every detail of the present, the most interesting of which continued to be Anders's demeanor. He was far from the calm and goofy guy that had spent the day leading them around the city like a professional tour guide; now he was stoic and alert, every bit a soldier, and he found every chance he could to surreptitiously glance behind them when he thought they would not notice.

She gave it another few minutes before she was sure, before she asked quietly, "How long has he been following us?"

Anders looked startled and the boys immediately looked behind them. He grabbed each of them by their shoulders and forced them to look forward again. "I don't know what you mean."

"The man back there in the gray jacket, the one that's been 'window-shopping' behind us for eight blocks."

The soldier set his jaw. "Just keep walking. We are nearing the police station, I will confront him when you are safe."

At that moment something loud struck the stop sign on the corner in front of them, a jarring metallic crack, a jagged hole appearing in the red.

"Get down!" Anders yelled, pushing them to the pavement as he drew his own weapon. Another shot was fired, noticeable only by the metallic noise it made as it ricocheted off a nearby sedan. The gunshot itself made no sound - the weapon had a silencer.

Anders returned fire, his gunshots explosive and deafening by comparison. From where they lay belly-down on the icy ground, the kids watched as their assailant fired one more shot in their direction and then bolted away, turning down a brick pedestrian alley and vanishing from sight. There was a long moment of silence as Anders kept his gun pointed down the street, but the stillness continued, the gunman gone.

And then Jonny was pushing himself up, crying, "Let's go!" over his shoulder as he took off down the street after their assailant.

"Get back here! What are you doing?" Anders yelled after him, momentarily stunned by the boy's impulsive pursuit.

But as Jessie pushed herself to her feet to follow him, it felt all too familiar. "You can come or not, but he's not going to stop," she yelled to the soldier as she chased Jonny down the street, Hadji at her side.

"Unfortunately," Hadji muttered so only she could hear.

She heard Anders curse loudly, but his footsteps picked up a moment later. In the distance, she saw people huddled together near the entrances of restaurants, muttering about the gunshots and the foreigners running into the alley. She rounded the corner and could see Jonny some distance ahead, pausing at an intersection and looking at his options, finally turning left and disappearing again.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

Reaching the corner, she skidded left in the wet snow and made herself run faster. Her lungs were burning in the cold, but her mind was blissfully quiet for once and she felt strangely calm given the circumstances. She heard Hadji yelling for Jonny to wait, Anders yelling for all of them to stop, but she felt distanced from the reality of it all, even as she felt the adrenaline pulsing through her body. She focused on the back of Jonny's head, chasing her companion into danger as she had so many times, imagining dully that instead of running toward a gunman, she was instead running away from the face that still stared up from the newspaper she had left on the restaurant bench.

Ahead of her, Jonny ducked to the ground, his momentum forcing him into a sideways barrel roll. She heard another dull echo – a bullet striking the brick wall and sending stone shrapnel flying, followed by another that hit the snow mere inches from Jonny with an explosion of white powder.

And then she and Hadji were with him, pulling him behind the corner of the nearby building as a third shot hit the ground near their feet.

The explosive fire of Anders's gun split the night – once, twice, three times. He yelled authoritatively in Czech, firing down the side street again.

And then his body bucked sideways, his gun arm going limp as he cried out in mixed pain and anger. Hadji and Jonny called his name in unison, but the soldier didn't look at them, shifting the weapon to his other side, wincing as he raised it. His reactions were slowed and before he could fire again, a bullet struck a nearby window and sent glass raining down, forcing him to drop the weapon and cover his head.

Jessie risked a glance around the corner and there he was – the gray-hooded man, his face still marred by shadow, standing daringly on the open sidewalk, his gun pointed straight toward Anders. She watched him pull the trigger again and ducked her head, but no sound followed. She looked up and shared his moment of realization, the discovery of the end of his ammo. He began to fumble in his pocket for a new clip.

And then Jonny was moving again, bolting around the corner directly toward the man, realizing it was the only opportunity they would have. Someone screamed his name – Jessie wasn't sure who, wasn't even sure whether or not it had been her – as the man slammed a new cartridge into the gun and prepared to raise the weapon. Jonny leaped through the air, moving to tackle him. Before she could see what would happen next, before she could watch him gunned down before her eyes, Jessie was running too.

She saw the man step out of the way, saw Jonny belly-flop into the snow and heard his pained grunt as the air was knocked from his lungs, saw him struggle to turn and face the man. The orange glow of the streetlight glinted off gray steel as the man slowly fixed his aim on Jonny.

And then she was on him, the snow having muffled her movements just enough to give her the advantage of surprise. She angled to his side, knowing that his hood cut off his peripheral vision, and lashed out with a high kick directly to his wrists. His arms rocked sideways and she was close enough now to hear the soft noise that the silencer made as the gun fired. The bullet was knocked off course and shot harmlessly out into the sickly orange shadows.

Before he could recover, she brought one of her hands down on top of his, using the other to twist the gun out of his grasp. It dropped into the snow and she kicked it out of reach.

His surprise was short-lived and her proximity was no longer an advantage. He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her toward him until their bodies were pressed together, trying to hold her still.

Instinctively, she twisted her wrists out of his grasp and used one hand to strike him firmly in the neck while simultaneously bringing her knee up into his groin. He groaned deeply and bent over from the pain. She kneed him again, this time in the gut. Twisting her body so that her back was to him, she kicked one leg backward and heard a snapping sound as she connected with his knee. Gripping his limp arm tightly, she bent forward while simultaneously pulling at him, sending him flying over her and into the snow where he lay groaning. He didn't even try to get up.

The familiar click of the gun's safety snapped her back into conscious thought. Jonny was standing again, holding the gun she had kicked away.

"Jess, are you okay?" he asked, never taking his eyes off the man.

Jessie nodded even though he couldn't see her, watching as the scene around her changed. Anders reached them, yelling more Czech commands at the prostrate attacker. The sirens had grown deafening, and moments later the police cars pulled into view, armed officers leaping out and joining them. Everyone was yelling except for her, Jonny, Hadji, and the man whose hood had finally fallen to reveal his true visage: a lanky, older face with matted blonde hair dangling and darkened eyes set back into his skull, pupils spinning wildly and mouth moving soundlessly. He didn't look sober or even particularly sane. His arms were wrenched violently behind him and his hands were secured in metal cuffs before he was shoved into the back of a police car.

Jessie watched it all dully, the noise fading in and out like a bad TV, only slowly beginning to notice that her wrist ached from where he had twisted it and her throat stung from the cold exertion. She felt more distant that she should, numb in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, like she was in some kind of lucid dream.

The officers began asking them questions and she could hear herself answering them, her own voice sounding for a moment like a stranger's. She could see the boys glancing at her repeatedly, watching her with concern.

Then all three of them were climbing into the back of a police car, and Anders was getting in the passenger seat despite everyone's objections, insisting on accompanying them despite the gunshot wound in his shoulder and the bloody cloth he held to it, refusing to leave the kids he'd been charged to protect until they were back in their parents' sight. He turned the heater all the way up and Jessie noticed for the first time that she was cold.

"Jess? Jess!" Jonny was frowning at her deeply.

"I'm fine," she insisted, her voice feeling slightly less foreign now, her body beginning to feel like her own as she rubbed her frozen fingers together.

"What was that back there?" he asked, sounding both concerned and amazed. "Those were some killer moves. How did you learn to fight like that?"

Jessie frowned. Had it been impressive somehow? She had simply reacted, moving when she needed to. It had been instinct.

The boys glanced at each other across her, and although she noticed the worried look on their faces, she said nothing more. As the cruiser pulled down the street, she stared through the front window and remembered the fight, remembered watching as she sent the man flying over her head and onto the ground, his hood pulling back to reveal his face at last - and in her memory, it was no longer the disturbed man muttering in a language not her own, but a familiar clean-cut, cold-eyed American leering back at her.