Mr. and Mrs. Salle and their daughter lay dead on the floor, eyes open and vacant. Mr. Salle was still in his police uniform which was soaked in blood, shading it purple. The source of the blood was four gaping holes to his chest. Mrs. Salle's neck was twisted at an unnatural angle so that she was looking behind her; her body turned to the right and her head to the left. Blood trickled from her mouth. Kristine's face was smashed in. From the looks of things, they had been sneaked up on and killed only perhaps from half an hour to a few minutes ago—from when Azalel had gotten off the phone with Mrs. Salle to when they had pulled into the driveway.

And as Azalel stared at the bodies, she knew—the killer was still here.

"We have to go," she gasped. Chris and Dana couldn't tear their horrified gazes away from the terrifying spectacle. "Chris, Dana, please! We need to leave now!"

They snapped out of their reverie. In no place to argue—she had been right about there being something wrong, after all—they ran outside and into the car, but not before the adults paused to throw up in the front lawn.

Azalel was in too much shock to throw up. Pale and shaking, she sat in the back seat of the car as Dana called the police. Within minutes they were there, crawling all over the house.

"Victoria Routhe?" asked a deep voice. For a moment she ignored it, forgetting that that had been her former name. Then she pulled herself out of the mental trench she had been wallowing in and forced herself to focus. "Yes?"

A police officer crouched at her side. "My name is Officer Riley. Inspector Quinn over there wishes to speak to you," he said solemnly. He hesitated and then added, "Officer Salle was a friend of mine—and Mrs. Salle was always there to help. They're… they were good friends of all of us." He stopped himself from saying more… then seemed to decide what-the-hell. "Mr. Salle… he was part of the renegade group. There are sayings already that he was killed because they found out."

Azalel was slammed into sudden reality. The renegades. The group of hackers, synthetics, the cybernetically enhanced, tech-pirates, and criminals—in order to retain the peace and continue with Earth's United Powers League—colonize the outlying planets where they flourished, creating their own government and securing countless of planets beyond the Milky Way solar system before contacting with the Zerg and the Protoss.

This wasn't another dimension. This was the past.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

The officer nodded, then straightened. "Inspector Quinn is over there," he said, pointing to one of the cop cars. She thanked him and walked slowly over, where a pale, scarred young man with white-blonde hair looked up and smiled at her.

His smile was cold and distant, and although he tried to make himself look warm and inviting, she couldn't help but shy away from his icy blue chips for eyes. "Hello, Miss Routhe," he said coolly.

"Azalel," she said automatically.

"I beg pardon?"

"My name is Azalel. Not Victoria Routhe."

He studied her for a moment, then nodded abruptly. "Very well. Let's go for a walk, Miss Azalel."

She bit her lip and followed him as he strode away from the flashing lights and the Crime Scene—Do Not Cross tape. Azalel glanced back to see Dana and Chris standing near one of the other cars, leaning against it and drinking something hot. The officers were comforting them.

"Let's get to the point," Inspector Quinn said when they were nearly forty feet away from the bustle of activity, but Azalel interrupted him.

"You're not an inspector, are you?"

He turned to face her completely, gazing straight into her eyes. Suddenly she felt as if she were under some sort of scan; his eyes seemed to burn through her mind. He smiled thinly. "Quite the perceptive young girl, aren't you?"

She was about to speak but he silenced her. "Or are you a telepath?"

Azalel froze. Everything became cold. "You're—" She took a deep breath. "You're a Ghost."

"And how would you know that?"

"Cut the shit," she snapped, startling both herself and him. "You ordered those two murdered, if you didn't kill them yourself."

He studied her. "Perhaps."

"Oh, gods." It made sense. Telepathic Terrans had been around for thousands of years; they didn't just appear. Shamans, psychics, medicine men—they were all telepaths. And for thousands of years, the various governments had been training them to be assassins and weapons. "Why did you kill them?"

"They had to be killed. Mr. Salle knew too much about the alien phenomenon; as you told him about. He was also in league with the Renegades."

Her eyes widened. "How did you know about that? He said it was off the record!"

"Fortunately—well, unfortunately for him, there were other cameras and recorders in the room. We picked up everything up to and including a pin drop."

Azalel shuddered, backing away. She was the reason that Mr. Salle was dead. She was to blame.

"Quite right," The so-called "Inspector" said, and she realized he had been reading her mind. "You cause more trouble then you think, and more than you mean to."

Azalel slammed walls up in her mind, detaching herself completely from his questions and statements. The walls, designed, trained, and strengthened by Xarral, would stop almost everyone up to a powerful enough Protoss. He stepped back in surprise, his eyes widening, and she felt a surge of triumph.

"Interesting," was all he said, recovering quickly. "So your 'father' has taught you how to use your telepathy. Very interesting indeed. Perhaps he is telepathic himself? Or is he one of the aliens?"

"Protoss are telepathic at birth," she said coldly, then mentally kicked herself.

"So we know their name. Very good." The Ghost smiled thinly, his eyes still burning into her own. "I'll make a proposition to you. You tell me all you know about the Protoss, and come with me to the government to be trained as a Ghost—"

"Fat chance."

"—and we will spare your family."

Her distant mind became sheathed with ice.

She couldn't. She knew everything about… well, everything! This was her own history; she couldn't! They could not know what was going to happen; it would destroy the entire timeline!

But Dana! Chris and Doran! They weren't good parents, and Doran would probably grow up to be just like them, but she couldn't just leave them to be killed! "I…"

"Make up your mind quickly, Miss Azalel," the Ghost said, and she could feel his triumph at the victory. "Contact this number when you have made a decision. You have three hours." He passed her a small square piece of paper and she took it numbly, then turned and walked back to the remaining cop cars.

She returned to the adults' side, white and trembling. Still in shock by what they had just seen, they didn't notice her quietly standing by them, and the police thought she was just upset from the murders.

The sun was climbing to full noon when they were finally allowed to drive home in a tense silence. It had been an hour and forty-six minutes. Azalel clutched the card in her trembling fingers, trying to think. She couldn't put her family in danger, but she also couldn't allow herself to be turned into a Ghost; not with her knowledge. What was she to do?

"Dana," she said. "Chris."

Dana turned in the passenger seat, glancing back to look at her. Her voice was strained as she replied, "What is it?"

"The killer threatened to kill you too if I didn't comply with his wishes." She said it point-blank, unable to think of another way to explain it to them. "I'm not going to let them take me, but I also can't let them kill you. What do I do?"

Chris was about to completely disregard his daughter's claims, but seemed to remember that she had known Mr. and Mrs. Salle were dead before they even approached the house. "What do you want us to do?" he asked instead. "What can we do?"

Dana asked what they were really thinking. "Why were they murdered?"

"Because they knew the truth. They knew what really happened that night near the dock. They couldn't be allowed to live with the truth. Or so he said."

"Or so who said?"

"The murderer. Or the man who ordered them killed. Whichever he was, he's dangerous and he knows what he's doing. He's called a Ghost—a trained killer and secret operative."

Chris slowed and stopped at the side of the highway. He put on his emergency lights, pulled up the brake, and turned around. "How do we know what your saying is true?"

Azalel looked right into his eyes. "Because you were there, too. You know exactly what happened at the dock. You know there wasn't a boat with a man there who took me away. You know that." When they both started to speak, she raised her hand. "No. Stop. Everyone here should know that there are secret divisions of government which the population knows nothing about. This is the most powerful of them: the Ghost Project, named because that's exactly what they are—they kill and cut into places you wouldn't even think about without being seen."

"You're starting to sound like the renegades," Dana muttered.

Azalel took a deep breath. "I know. They can help you," she said, her words distant and numb.

"What?"

"They can help you. Go to your son. Pick him up from school early and tell him you're going to visit a relative or a friend or whatever—but drive straight to the nearest Renegade headquarters. Contact…" she thought a moment. "Officer… what's-his-name. Officer Riley. Ask him for information." The words seemed to be spilling from her mouth like water; she realized she was desperate to save her family.

The two adults were staring at her as if she had grown an extra head. "They're terrorists," Dana managed to say.

She nodded gravely. "They can also protect you. If you tell them the truth—that the Ghosts from the government were chasing you—they'll let you in. Or should."

"Is…" Chris licked his lips. "Is your father part of the Renegades?"

"No."

"Then how do you know all this?"

History lessons, she wanted to say, but instead replied, "Everyone knows that they hate the government. If you tell them that the government is out to kill you, they'll happily accept another family. It's just common sense."

When they made no reply she burst out, "Look, do you want to get Doran out of danger, or do you want to wait until he's lying on the floor with a hole in his chest?"

That got them moving. Chris turned back around and pulled onto the highway again, and they went the rest of the way in silence. They stopped and picked up Doran, who was ecstatic because he got to get out of school early, and went home.