"Miss Kingston, are you all right?"
The words penetrated her consciousness through the haze of pain. It turned Elena's thoughts away from the memory of Mark Haskell and the agony slowly subsided. Finally she was able to straighten up and look at the man who showed her the pictures. He was kneeling beside her, a worried look on his face. She smiled wanly at him as she tried to get up. He took her elbow and helped her.
"I'm sorry I unnerved you. It seems that memories of that man are so traumatic, I get terrible headaches when one surfaces."
"You said he told you your parents and brother were dead. Do you mean to say that he killed them?"
She sat down in the chair once again and he returned to his, behind the desk. Resting one elbow on the arm of the chair, she lowered her head into her hand, so she could rub her forehead. Sighing deeply, she answered, "I don't know. I don't have any memory of seeing them killed. I don't think I was with them at that time." She looked over at the picture of her father on the desk. "But I am sure that George Stewart was my father. I remember that face. I remember him picking me up, reading to me, taking me in to see my baby brother . . ." Her face grew sad as she went through the few memories of him that had surfaced. "And someone deprived me of more."
"I'm sorry, Miss Kingston. Your father was an intelligent, well-liked man, by all accounts. I wish I'd known him, but I didn't come to work here until several years after his death. Is there anything I can do for you now?"
Elena hesitated. "Well, you don't have any real proof that what I said is true, and I don't have any way of giving you any. So I appreciate the offer. Is there anything in my father's file that I can see, or know about?"
"Let me look." He opened the file and went through it. "Ah. Here's something you might be interested in. There was a memorial service for him and your mother. It was in the newspapers. Someone clipped it out and put it in here." He removed it and handed it to her.
It was dated ten days after they had died, and there was information about both of them, as well as excerpts from the service, of people who had stood up and told about one or the other. She looked up at him. "Would it be possible to get a copy of this"
"Take that one. We don't need to keep it. And you can take the picture, if you wish. But not of Haskell. I don't think you'd want to, anyway."
"N-no, I wouldn't. But thank you for this one," she replied, reaching for the picture. He reached into his desk and pulled out a folder for her to put them into and she smiled at him. "You've been very kind to a stranger. I appreciate this more than I can tell you. And this is all I'll ask for at this time. But I may find I need to return and see the information in the other file."
"That isn't possible, Miss Kingston. All the data in his file has been marked 'Highly Classified'. All I can say is that it could be extremely dangerous for many people, if this information should get out to the public."
"I understand, but I should tell you that it may be that it already has. I suspect that what's in there may explain what happened to me during the time I can't remember and certain things that have happened to me since."
"What things?"
"Well, let's just call it unusual behavior on my part and leave it at that for now." She stood up and held her hand out. "I've taken more than enough of your time. Once again, I must thank you for this information."
He took her hand in his. "It was my pleasure. I've enjoyed your books, and look forward to the next one. Please, if there's anything else I can do, don't hesitate to give me a call." He reached down to a card holder on his desk and handed her one. "Here's my number."
"Thank you," she replied as she put it in the folder. "It may be a while, since I may need to find a way to mitigate these headaches whenever I have memories of Mark Haskell before go any further in that area. But I will hang on to this."
He escorted her to the elevator and said goodbye as she entered the car that took her back down to the lobby.
Back in the Tunnels, Vincent was telling some of the children a story, as Jacob toddled among them, when he suddenly stopped and frowned.
"What's the matter, Vincent?" one little boy asked. "What's wrong?"
He looked at the boy and replied, "It's okay. There's no danger here in the Tunnels."
"Is it that lady who was here yesterday?"
"How do you know about her?"
"Everybody knows about her. I even heard that you two are related."
Vincent smiled slightly. "It is a possibility, but we aren't sure. Her name is Elena. And yes, I'm sensing her right now. She is trying to find out more information to help us know for certain, and I sense she found out something. But back to the story. Where was I?"
An hour later, he was in Father's library chamber, telling him what he sensed. "I could feel her headache, then later, a feeling that she had gotten some answers. I want to go to her, to find out what she learned. But she's exhausted and has gone to the apartment."
"Curb your impatience, Vincent. I'm sure she'll let you know when she's able. Give her time. Give yourself time. You both are going to have to make some hard decisions in the near future, and you need to think about what you are going to do."
"I know, Father. But to know more about who I am, who my biological parents were, maybe even how she and I came to be the way we are, and after all this time . . ."
"Slowly, Vincent. Slowly. I doubt she was able to find all that out in one day."
"Still, I'm eager to find out whatever she's learned. I'll try to wait, but it will be difficult."