A/N: Once again, I remind you that I do not own the canon characters from the TV series, but the original characters are from my own fertile imagination, and should not be used without my express, written permission. The same goes for my story, all or part of it. It is not to be reprinted, hotlinked or copied in any way without my written permission, and credit given. (Sorry, but some of my stories have been.)

The taxi deposited Elena in front of her apartment building. As she handed the driver the fare, plus a hefty tip, he asked her, "Are you sure you're okay? You still look pretty wiped out."

"I'm not okay, but I'm a lot better, thanks. And I will be okay once I've had time alone in my apartment. I can get settled and calm there – and think."

"Okay, lady, if you're sure." He took the money and, seeing the size of the tip, grinned at her. "Hey, anytime you need to go someplace in this city, just call and ask for Julio. For a tip like this, I'll even get you there by the shortest route."

In spite of herself, Elena laughed. "I'll remember that, Julio. Thanks." She got out of the car and walked to the door, turned and waved at him, then disappeared inside.

Julio shook his head, thinking, Strange lady. But she's sure a great tipper. A moment later, he drove away.

When Elena got to her apartment, she breathed a sigh of relief. But an hour later, she found herself pacing restlessly through the rooms. She was becoming more and more frustrated. I need confirmation of what I remembered. And I can't find it here in New York. She looked at the clock. Oh, good. It's not as late as I thought.

She went to the phone, and dialed a number she knew well. When someone answered, she said, "Celia, it's Elena." There was a pause and she continued. "I'm fine, finding out all kinds of things here in the Big Apple. But I need a favor. Would you check the back records of the newspapers there about twenty three years ago, in the late spring, and see if there's any reports of a fire destroying a building in a remote area, north of Kingston?"

Apparently there was an assent, for she said, "Yes, I'll hold." She kept saying under her breath, "Please let there be reports, please let there be reports," until several minutes later, the other woman came back on the line. "There are? That's fantastic. Can you read them to me?"

She cradled the receiver between her ear and shoulder and began writing quickly on a notepad. "Yes, I've got it. What about the next one?" She wrote some more, then said, "Celia, I can't thank you enough. Would you make copies of those reports, and note the names of the newspapers and the dates of the articles, then mail them to me?"

Another pause, and she replied, "Great. I'll send you a check to cover the cost. You've done me a big favor and I owe you a big one for this. I'll be in touch."

When she hung up, she went to her word processor, and proceeded to type up, first what she'd learned at Richland Industries, then what she'd written. Once she finished, she read it over, slowly. Finally she printed it out. Then she read it again.

This confirms what I remembered in the taxi. But will Father and Vincent believe what I have to tell them, even with this to back me up? I'm finding it hard to believe, myself, and I was there! And this raises even more questions. I wonder if I'll remember more and be able to answer them.

She was suddenly hungry, and glanced at the clock. She decided to fix herself something to eat, and go down into the tunnels afterward. She headed into the kitchen.

Vincent walked into the library where Father was usually to be found. Today was no different, and the older man was sitting in his favorite chair, reading, as usual. He looked up and frowned in concern. "Vincent, you look tired. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Father. It seems that sometimes Elena's emotions can be very powerful. Today was one of those days."

"What kinds of emotions?"

"Shock, rage, frustration, and fear, not necessarily in that order. I suspect she learned something at that place she went back to. And I think another memory surfaced, but not a good one, this time."

"Can you tell what she is feeling now?"

There was a pause. "Still some frustration, and uncertainty, but. . ." he gave a quiet laugh, ". . . mostly hunger right now."

Father chuckled. "I suppose she'll come down for a visit later."

Vincent smiled. "If she doesn't, I'll go see her. I want to know what she learned."

"All right, but whatever you two do, please be careful."

"I will." Vincent turned and went to his quarters to rest and wait.