Thanks to everyone for the reviews! They're especially helpful when the story is just getting started. And to those who already have this on their favorites, thank you so much! I hope it meets your expectations.

I know everyone is eager for Erik, but I need to set things up a bit first. I promise you will see him very soon, though, and I hope the first E/C meeting is worth the wait.

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"If I had a dollar for every time a guest left something in one of the rooms, I could retire a very wealthy man."

Christine glanced up and smiled as her boss of two years, Daniel Ford, came around the side of the front desk, disdainfully holding a pair of dirty blue socks and a green pacifier. He sighed and set them into a cart where forgotten items were kept until contact was established with the owners. At the moment, the bin contained a few articles of clothing, a radio, and several more interesting items that were the cause of many jokes among the desk clerks.

"So...Christine," said Daniel, shuffling some papers in the back room. "How has business been these past few weeks?"

"I guess about right for this time of year," she replied, looking up from her textbook again. "Not a lot of guests, but it's never empty either."

He nodded. "Yes. Business will pick up as soon as Thanksgiving gets here. Which reminds me, will you be available to work that week? A lot of the others are heading out of town."

Christine hesitated. She had been looking forward to having some free time during her vacation from school, both to help repair the apartment before winter set in and to simply have some hours to herself. Yet, she always needed the extra money, and she didn't have any real reason not to work. It wasn't like she ever left town. "Yeah, I'll be able to come in," she replied. "I'd like some time off around Christmas, though. My friend hasn't been feeling well, and I'd like to..."

"Say no more, Christine!" replied Daniel, adjusting his glasses. "You come in during Thanksgiving, and I'll make sure you have the first pick of days around Christmas."

"Thanks!" she said with a small smile, very grateful she didn't have one of those stereotypical bullheaded bosses. Though a bit of a nervous middle-aged man, Daniel was flexible and friendly, always willing to help his employees if they needed a hand.

"Not a problem," he replied, making his way out from behind the front desk again. "Just tell me what days you want off a little bit early. That time of the year is always hectic, especially with all the travelers that get stranded out here." He turned to go back into the hallway that led to the guestrooms. "Excuse me. I need to go check one of the broken heaters. Tell me if the maintenance guy calls."

"Okay. Thanks again." She wearily turned back to her book as he rushed off, rubbing her eyes and trying to focus on the tiny words on the page. The text was called The Psychology of Education, basically a study of the different methods used to teach others. All education majors were required to take the course, and so far she had found it tiresome and uninteresting. Each day music education seemed like another step in the wrong direction.

Her blue eyes wandered around the lounge and back to the skeleton that was still hanging limply upon the wall. It stared down at her with its hollowed eyes and its mouth in a toothy grin, as if it were mocking her frustration. "What are you looking at?" she asked it jokingly, setting her pen down and leaning back in defeat. There was no way she was going to get fifty pages about dealing with troubled children read by tomorrow morning.

"Huh?" asked Daniel, coming back around the corner with one hand full of electric cords.

Christine blushed. "No. I...I was talking to your friend on the wall over here."

"Oh!" said Daniel with a chuckle. "I got that down at Wal-mart for five bucks last year! Thought it gave the place a nice festive feel. You don't think it scares the guests away, do you?"

She was about to reply when the telephone rang. Daniel rushed over and grabbed the receiver, expecting the repair man. "Apollo Hotel," he mechanically answered.

"Huh? Oh. Yes. I'll get her." He handed her the phone with a slightly irritated look. "For you," he mouthed.

She looked at him puzzled before taking it. Only Meg and Mrs. Valerius knew to call her there, and they also knew only to do so when it was absolutely necessary. Her heart thumped quickly as she shakily spoke into the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi. Christine?" It was a woman's voice and was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put a face to it.

"This is she. Can I help you?"

"Yes, dear. This is your neighbor from downstairs, Mrs. Romero. I'm sorry to trouble you, but I have some bad news. Mrs. Valerius tripped coming down the stairs today and broke her leg. She's in the hospital right now, but I told her I would give you a call."

The news could have been worse, but it was still very troubling. Often she had witnessed her elderly guardian descending down the steep concrete steps with great difficulty. Perhaps the fall had been inevitable. "How bad is it?" she finally asked, attempting to keep calm.

"I really don't know, Christine. I can give you the room number, though, and you can see her. She also asked if you would go home first and get her purse for her. You know, a woman in her condition really shouldn't be on the second floor. I..."

"What's the room number?" interrupted Christine, not in the mood for a lecture. Mrs. Romero had a tendency to go on about things that were none of her business.

"Three seventy-six," she replied, slightly irked.

"Thanks," said Christine, jotting the number down on a notepad. "I'll get up there as soon as I can."

"All right then. Let me know how she is."

"I will."

"Goodbye, dear."

"Bye." Christine hung up the phone and let out a deep breath. Her boss continued to look at her expectantly. "My guardian broke her leg on the stairs. She's in the hospital."

Daniel nodded sympathetically. "It's a slow afternoon. I'll take over the last two hours of your shift."

"Thank you so much," she replied, quickly gathering up her items and stuffing them carelessly into her backpack. Pulling on a thick woolen coat over her sweater, she headed for the door.

The Iranian's mouth was fixed into a scowl as he sat in a cramped booth at Betty's Family Diner, once again finding himself in unexpected solitude. Mr. Buquet was supposed to have been there at three forty-five that afternoon, and the man was either fifteen minutes late or not coming. His excuse for not showing up the last time had been a sudden back injury, incurred while he was mowing the lawn. Now the Iranian wondered with exasperation what his newest reason would be.

If Mr. Buquet didn't show up this time, though, that would be it. He would completely abandon contact with the former FBI agent and move on to another area of interest. Supposedly there had been a couple of strange occurrences up near Detroit, though the details were very vague. Often he wondered if he should give up looking all together. He had already searched across half of Europe to no avail, and his venture through the United States was proving no more successful.

Finishing the last few bites of a bran muffin, he looked up to see that only a suited business man reading a newspaper and an elderly woman sat inside. Several of the cashiers were chatting over a plate of fries, waiting for the dinner crowd to show up. With a sigh he checked his cell phone again, making sure that there were no missed calls. As he looked back up, the front door jingled and an older man with a greying beard entered.

He was casually dressed in blue jeans and a Patriots sweatshirt and had a relaxed expression upon his wrinkled face as he looked around the diner. The Iranian stood up slightly in the booth to make his presence known, and the man immediately waved and strode over.

"Mr. Nadir Khan?" he questioned, reaching out a rough hand.

"Yes," he replied with relief. "Mr. Joseph Buquet, I presume."

"That would be me!" he replied in a friendly tone, taking a seat across from him. A young waitress began to walk toward him to take his order, but he held up a hand. "Nothing over here, ma'am." She nodded and turned back around. Mr. Buquet turned back to Nadir. "Sorry I was late. Had to take my granddaughter to her karate lessons." He laughed. "You should see her punches! I think she'll be ripe for the Bureau one of these days."

"That is fine," replied Nadir somewhat distractedly, quickly pulling out a notepad and pen. He had no time for chitchat that morning and was too peeved about the last meeting to care if he came off as rude. "I would like to hear anything you know. Any information you have would be wonderful."

Mr. Buquet ran a hand through his beard and nodded. "Right down to business, I see." He thought for a moment before speaking. "Well, we first heard of some strange things back in the mid-nineties. Just rumors, of course. Supposedly some guy had snuck over from Europe and had some connections with...well, you know, fairly hostile people back in your country. He had done some secretive work for them, you might say, though exactly what projects he was involved in remained unclear."

"Go on," said the Iranian, the paper still blank in front of him.

"We investigated it a little bit but found nothing of interest. There were sightings of a guy in a mask that matched the ones given to us by the French authorities but nothing solid. A couple of strange bank accounts opened up along the east coast, but they were closed up before we could take a closer look. Then it was rumored that—"

"Is this all you have?" interrupted Mr. Khan with exasperation. "Sightings and rumors? You have nothing else? Nothing substantial?"

Mr. Buquet frowned. "Sir, you have to understand that we get a ton of strange cases coming through every day. There's supposedly a guy from Russia that's been spying here since the seventies. Another guy supposedly has a suitcase with a nuclear bomb in it. Hell! We had a whole drawer devoted to people who thought they saw Hitler walking down the street. Most of these phantom people don't exist, and we don't have time to fully investigate everything."

Nadir Khan clenched his jaw. "I can fully assure you that this man does exist in the flesh and blood. He is more than a rumor, sir."

"Maybe he does," said the bearded man with a shrug. "You seem to know more about him than anyone else does. Why not take this to the police or the FBI if you're so concerned?"

Nadir sighed and began to put his pen and notepad away. "I don't wish to discuss my motives, sir. Do you have anything else of interest for me? If not, this meeting might as well be over."

Mr. Buquet was silent for a moment. "If I had access to a computer at headquarters, I could probably find you more. It seems, if I remember right, there was an archived interview with an Iranian figurehead that had some pretty strange stuff in it. Normally, it would be hell to get into the files, but I can pull some strings. No promises, though."

Nadir nodded and took his napkin out of his lap. "I would greatly appreciate that. I would also be willing to compensate you, if you find anything of use." He stood up. "Anyhow, it's time for me to move on. You know how to reach me if you uncover anything of interest."

The older man quickly stood up as well, obviously surprised by the Iranian's abruptness. He held out a hand, and Mr. Khan wearily shook it. "I'll take a look for you, sir. Usually I wouldn't bother, but you seem like you know something." He chuckled. "And I certainly wouldn't want to be responsible for some catastrophe that could have been prevented by helping you out."

Nadir Khan forced a smile and nodded. "Have a good day, sir." With another sigh, he opened the jingling door and made his way out into the autumn air. It seemed that this search was truly going to be fruitless.

Nothing would be able to pull his old masked friend out of hiding.

At least, nothing that he could think of.