Even safely inside the diner Mary kept glancing over her shoulder. She hadn't been above in decades. The world seemed louder, faster and more unfamiliar than ever. Underneath the tablecloth Denise was holding her hand. The aunt seemed kind and sincere, but secretly Mary hoped they could all return below very soon. Even Catherine looked nervous. She was sitting opposite of Mary, wearing a slim fit tweed jacket and skirt. Her hair was in a ponytail, which made her bright, blue eyes jump out even more. She tried to concentrate on the conversation, but kept looking out the window, as if she were searching for someone.
"I'm so glad I got to see you," the aunt told Denise. "I hope you will accept my proposal and stay with me. I never had any family before. I think it would be good for the both of us."
Denise squeezed Mary's hand.
"I'll think about it," she responded. "I'm … I'm glad to meet you too."
When they left the diner, Denise was still holding Mary's hand.
"I'm very grateful to you," the aunt said and gently brushed Mary's arm. "You obviously take great care of my niece."
"Oh …"
Mary twisted a lock of her thick, silver hair around her finger. She never wore her hair down, but since this was a day unlike any other, she had decided to try something different. Besides, it could diminish the chances of anyone from her old life recognizing her.
"… There is no need to thank me. Denise is a delight to be around."
Catherine forced a pale smile.
"I should be heading back to the office," she said.
"Of course," the aunt assented. "I'm so very grateful to you as well, miss Chandler."
"Please, call me Cathy."
The woman shook her hand, hugged Denise and walked to her car. As soon as she was out of sight, Catherine pulled Mary closer.
"Tell Vincent I need to talk to him," she whispered with an anxious tone in her voice. "Tonight. Eight o'clock. The basement."
Neither of them noticed that a well-dressed man in his thirties was vastly approaching them until his voice resonated through the air:
"Well, I'll be damned, if it isn't Mary! I thought you'd died years ago."
He had aged, obviously, but Mary instantly recognized him. A chill dug into her skin.
"Mike," she greeted him. "No, as you can see, I'm quite alive. I trust you've been well."
"I've always been able to take care of myself," Mike answered. A little rasp in his voice hinted of regret, sadness, melancholy perhaps.
Mary averted her eyes.
Catherine, who picked up on her unease intervened: "I don't mean to be rude, sir, but we have an appointment we can't miss."
The man looked straight through her. It chilled her to the bone.
"By all means, miss Chandler. Don't let me keep you."
"How do you know my name?"
"I know a lot more than just your name," the man smirked, "but I will have to tell you about that some other time. I too have an appointment to catch."
As soon as he started to walk away Catherine noticed that two bodyguards had been waiting for him by the side of the road.
"Are you alright?" she asked Mary.
"I was afraid of this," the older woman replied. "No matter how hard one hides from one's past life, somewhere beneath the surface it's always there."
Catherine escorted her and Denise to the subway entrance and stayed until they disappeared out of sight. When she turned around, the inspector, Miller, was standing in front of her.
"Miss Chandler," he started, "would you mind telling me what that little meeting with Mike Michaelson was about?"