November, 1981

Marigold always seemed to be running out of time.

Alexia had exploded onto the Umbrella stage as the youngest prodigy they had ever seen, a ten-year-old virologist who was already making major inroads. When the calls began coming in, Marigold affected a saddened air. "Oh, I haven't heard from them in years. Alexander hasn't returned my calls in ages - I'm not even sure the girl knows I exist..."

Any observations of a young girl visiting the quiet Ashford manor during her academic studies at Oxford went unremarked upon. If the locals saw the pair walking out in the gardens during the girl's Reading Week holiday periods, no one from outside the community ever heard of it.

The caller would always quickly change the subject from there. Well, most of the time. She had anticipated that Spencer would be more difficult to shake off. She'd told the story enough that it had surely gotten around by the time the telephone rang, and his voice came through the other end.

By the end of the conversation...he's been eager to confirm that she had fallen out with Alexander. One more little prodigy to peel off and bring into the fold.

This was always supposed to be the most dangerous part. A decade of near silence from Alexander and suddenly he had a ten-year-old daughter with the intelligence of a Cambridge professor? Everyone had questions. She could cite her bouts of illness for the lack of contact, but Spencer's reaction seemed nearly delighted.

Something was off.

Or, she had been playing the invalid for so long that the isolation had warped her. She had become prone to paranoia over the last few years. Every time she ventured out to one of the main offices seemed like it would be the day she was caught.

More and more, she wished she had listened, and retired to 'convalesce' on Rockfort Island.

Sitting down at her desk, Marigold pulled out the stationary she had brought back from her last visit to Rockfort Island, and three manilla envelopes.

Deep into the night, the exhausted woman plucked a card from her Rolodex and dialed. The call lasted less than ten minutes; her quarry had moved to London since they had first become acquainted and enjoyed a healthy retirement and a deep suspicion of his original employers. The surprise in the man's voice faded quickly. A sum was suggested, haggled, and settled.

The car arrived just before dawn, with one former Colonol Connors at the wheel. She'd kept her distance all this time - she owed the man that much. He still took on a slight daze look as he approached the door.

Marigold had piled several boxes at the head of the driveway, and handed him the three envelopes. A kerchief was coiled in a loose wrap around her head, obscuring her face in shadow. "I'm sorry to have had to wake you", she apologies wearily when he got out of the car.

The years were clear upon his face and in the stiffness of his gait. "Sorry about your da."

"Me too."

He took the envelopes from her, hefting them slightly. "Was worried the old bastard had gotten you for good, for a while. The little shit working for him acted like a whipped cur for the rest of the trip, his boss seemed barely ruffled though."

She sighed. "It took much too long for me to see it." Marcus was sidelined, yet the work had only expanded. There was only one answer for that, and she had spent most of a decade refusing to look too close.

That would have to end.

"Gonna raise hell? You hadda look like you'd cut someone down back then." The older man gave her a challenging grin.

"Can't afford to have a temper these days. It's been a long time since I could afford that." The monster card - god, it truly would be that, wouldn't it? - was something that could only likely be played once, and it would take down everything and everyone she cared about if played carelessly. "There's plenty of ways to go about that, though." She held up the Rolodex card. "I'm going to burn this. You were never here. If I don't check in by Christmas, send those envelopes. The boxes can get shipped the one on the top."

"The island one?"

"That's the one. I need them far away from here. They'll get stuck in freight for a while, but the letters will arrive sooner. There..." she faltered. "there are people I might not get to say goodbye to."

The trip was to be routine, on its surface.

The Umbrella jet landed in La Guardia International late in the cool November evening. She'd stay for a week at a hotel, attend Alexia's conference (keeping her distance of course, but she would ensure the girl spotted her), and go to 'appointments' in the city. Heavy woolen dresses and a pair of reading glasses were the order of the day in maintaining a slightly older appearance.

Then, to Arklay. Racoon City had continued to grow. The little frontier-style town had noticed the influx from Umbrella. Jobs, service industries, and homes followed in their wake at an accelerated pace. The sleepy town would be a full-fledged city before long, at this rate. Kate Everett, the local executive who had taken point during her last visit three years earlier, had taken her on a tour of the local nightlife following that eventful board meeting back then. It was always a risk. It didn't make her craving for human connection any less. The concept of skin starvation wouldn't enter the cultural lexicon for decades, but not having a word for it didn't make the feeling any less acute.

Some of the others on the board had invited her on a hunting trip a few days later in order to get a feel for the tourism draws within the region. A trip to Kendo's gun shop had taught her the basics of handling the rifle then. Since that trip, she had found a local range and made it a point to get more familiar with how to use a weapon. The dart board in the basement, nor a small, increasingly shattered collection of throwing knives, no longer seemed a matter of during her long spells of boredom. Nor, it seemed, would they be enough if things went all the way bad.

Everett had been one of those calling her when Alexia had made her debut. "It was such a shock to hear the news! The researchers, in particular, were in conniptions - you know how competitive they get. I believe your niece might have taken one of their records over for the youngest genius onboard."

"Believe me, that part was a shock," Marigold lied through the receiver. "They've been cloistered away for ages. I do wish she'd had a bit more time to grow up." That last part at least was the truth. Both she and Alexander were barely past thirty. It seemed positively elderly next to this new crop Spencer was trying to sow.

Still - they were making progress. Marcus' incompetence had been quietly exposed following her last visit here, and the facility that had bloomed out of that decision was stabilizing. A young genius (another one) had been rumored to be making breakthrough after breakthrough on the back of Marcus' work. Everett, breathless with excitement (and a touch of something else), had invited her to tour the new facility now that 'her old nemesis' had departed.

Four years had passed since making her promise to Alexander. Alexia had made her debut, to much fanfare. She could disappear now, and few would be the wiser. After all, she had been a very busy girl at that time.

Most of her records had already been shipped to Rockfort Island. There was little she could do about the condition of her staff, or the population of much of the outlying village. It had taken time to realize that her pheromones interacted with those in her surroundings. Each spiking advancement in her condition showed little obvious change. Yet...if Ms Everett was still somewhat giddy after three years of distance, it paled in comparison to what had happened to them. For the most part, they seemed normal. When she closed the servants' quarters, and moved them into cottages built near the edge of the manor grounds, they seemed saddened, yet understanding.

And yet...there had been intruders on the grounds recently. Someone had been attempting to get into the house last summer, while she was out shooting. They had had an Umbrella ID card, but had never said anything. This was very likely due to the horrifying violence visited upon the man when he was discovered by three of the kitchen staff. The young men had been shaken by the experience, and the blood caking their hands when they seemed to snap out of a near trance. They had still insisted on cleaning up and hiding the murder scene to keep her out of trouble.

No one had followed up. No police had come. If Arklay was ready to present where Marcus' work had lead them, she could re-secure her family's legacy, and help guide the little ones through the coming storm from the shadows. If she ran now...Alexander and the children would be under scrutiny. They would investigate her home. And she would have no notion of what Spencer's intentions were for the next stage of Umbrella.

With that in mind, the invitation had been accepted. She was back in America.

Heaven and all the circles of hell awaiting help her now.