Note: For clarification's sake, the historic and literary figure H.G. Wells does not exist in this AU.

Trigger Warning: Graphic depictions of injury.

"Hello, H.G. It has certainly been a long time."

It took a moment for H.G. to come to her senses, but the stranger was patient. Unusually patient. H.G. rose from the picnic table, but approached the woman no further. "How are you here?" she asked breathlessly. The shock of the woman's presence must have caused a jump in her heart rate. Adrenaline, fear, outrage… those were the things rushing through H.G.'s veins in that moment. "Why are you here?"

"It is time you come out from under your rock, Miss Wells. Much has happened and although you may not want to accept it the world has gone on without you, around you."

The strange woman in a pink skirt and matching sweater dating to the 1950s certainly didn't look like a threat (more like the leader of the Ladies' Vintage Knitting Society). She held herself with authority, though, standing ramrod straight and possessing an eerie serenity. Myka trained herself to be on the defensive when approached by shady characters like that. And when they were on a deserted hill in the dead of night in Chicago Myka cursed herself for not packing her handgun (a weapon she never had to use in the past, thank god).

"Excuse me," Myka held up a hand and kept a protective stance next to H.G. "Who are you?"

The woman turned her head, eyes following. "My name is Frederic," she replied with little fanfare.

"W-well," Myka stuttered but recovered with square shoulders, "I'm Myka Bering."

"Myka is an associate professor at the university," H.G. explained, much more lucid with the reminder that her friend was by her side. "She specializes in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt."

"Really?"

To the perceptive Myka the woman did not look surprised by the information. She just clasped the handles of her purse in front of her body as if to ward off wary spirits. Myka had a feeling this stranger knew more about her than she was letting on.

"Yes, I'm up for tenure come next year."

The woman gazed at Myka with an odd sort of look, head tipped and eyes narrowed. Myka almost seemed a piece of meat under the eyes of a butcher (there was probably some serious muscle underneath that sweater anyway). Fidgeting through the examination, Myka opened her mouth to ask what her problem was but thankfully she didn't have to.

"Congratulations," Mrs. Frederic supplied without as much as a smile. "Miss Wells?"

"I assume you wish to speak about my coming out of retirement," H.G. said, nodding. "Well, you can do so in the presence of Myka. I will not allow you to dismiss her."

"I had no intention of doing so. She may stay as it concerns her, too." Mrs. Frederic's voice leveled up in enthusiasm, though about as restrained as usual. "Miss Bering, this is your lucky day. How would you like to go on an adventure?"

"Like… now?"

"Of course we could go next month, but adventure is about spontaneity. The sooner we leave the more fun it will be."

Something in Mrs. Frederic's tone told Myka that this adventure she spoke of was going to be anything but fun. Myka cast a suspicious glance at H.G. who was doing wonders avoiding it. Something was not right here, and there were about a dozen questions she already had lined up for her friend. Like why in the hell this woman was calling her H.G. Wells?

"Mrs. Frederic," H.G. began firmly, "you never struck me as a woman who forgets easily. Yet wasn't it you who once told me I could never leave Chicago? I could live and work anywhere in the area and take care of my daughter as I please, but it had to be here. Your words. Now you show up seven years later with this bombshell of a directive and ask me to go gallivanting on some adventure to god knows where." H.G. took a daring step towards the impassive Mrs. Frederic. Speaking in dangerous tones, H.G. settled for a ruse weathered by dust and time. "I know what you really do and you are not some recruitment officer for Adventure Land." Her threat sliced through the air, chilling Myka even. "It is one thing to approach me but another thing entirely to bring Myka into this. She is off limits."

"Resorting to age old artifices, I see. When cornered I do have to say, Miss Wells, you are a formidable opponent. Protecting those close to you has always been your strength," she cocked her head as if H.G. would understand why she did so, "and your weakness."

"Then you know not to test me. Whatever your intentions in coming here I can assure you they will not include Myka or my daughter. Now say what you came here to say and leave."

"Motherhood has certainly hardened you. Alright," she conceded. Staring unflinchingly into the dark eyes of her acquaintance, Mrs. Frederic began her story. "The condition that led to your disappearance has risen from the ashes, so to speak. My people are on the case and are closing in on the target. However, I am afraid to say, they have reached an impasse. Because of your association to the case we require your assistance. But that is not the only reason you will be leaving Chicago. The same people who sought your destruction are on to you. They have been sniffing around of late, acquiring tips and breaking into top secret documents. Soon they will reach the end of the line and find you. I cannot be certain what they will do when you are captured, but I'm sure you know what they are capable of."

"You were supposed to keep them off my trail! That was the whole reason I put up with this charade to begin with!"

H.G. came down on the woman like a ton of bricks. Myka had never seen H.G. so untethered. Since they had met Myka knew the school teacher to be a reserved and patient woman. It was hard to accept H.G. as enraged and scorned much less her as a wanted woman. Her passion was one of the qualities Myka admired most, but her eyes were wider than normal and blazing to extreme temperatures. Myka was sure steam would roll off her skin if it were to come in contact with water. And beneath the surface her blood boiled with anger.

H.G.'s shouts carried in the wind, attracting the attention of strolling lovers. Pulling her chin down to conceal the emotions scraping to get out, she continued at a lower volume. "I have spent years living a lie, not trusting anyone for fear they were the ones responsible for my suppression, not allowing myself a minute to breathe without looking over my shoulder. Do you have any idea what that is like? And at the same time raise a daughter all on your own? Christina doesn't even know who I really am. She doesn't know what kind of man her father is."

"All will be revealed to her now."

"Because she will be ripped away from the only home she's ever known!" she cried, throwing her hands up. "No child can take that and be expected to forgive and move on like nothing happened, like her whole life was a fabrication."

"So living as you are now," Mrs. Frederic said, "under an assumed name is more acceptable?"

"I have no choice in the matter. I never did. And again you are giving me no other choice but to run away." And just like that H.G. felt the weight of an eight year burden on her shoulders. It came down on her all at once; the abandonment and loneliness, the lies and the threats, the what ifs, the could haves and should haves. It was an encumbrance she wouldn't wish upon her worst enemy. "I must do so yet again because mine and my daughter's lives depend upon it."

"Which brings us to my proposition of adventure. Now, from your extensive and vivacious speech I would presume you will accept wherever your relocation is. You are thinking of your daughter's safety, of course, and Chicago is no longer a safe haven."

H.G. swallowed over her pride, accepting reason for Christina's sake. "You are correct in your conjecture."

"Miss Bering, you are an expert in the field of Hellenistic and Roman Egyptian history. My agents could use your knowledge in furthering their case. To retract Miss Wells' claws and ease her mind I assure you this is strictly a voluntary arrangement. Compliance is entirely up to you and at no cost."

A sidelong glance from H.G. told Myka she was giving her freedom to choose as well. The way H.G. stiffened at Mrs. Frederic's offer, though, gave up the woman's defiance. She seemed to know something about the people who were hunting her, leading Myka to believe they were not the kindest of souls. Which meant this relocation would be dangerous, despite its supposed safe location. Yet Myka was given a choice, something H.G. was rarely presented, apparently. If it were up to H.G. she probably would leave Myka behind in Chicago for her protection. The thought made Myka feel uncomfortably numb.

Myka tried to imagine what it would be like without H.G. and Christina. There would be no more midday lunches to distract her from the job she hated. Frank would cease to make presumptions because H.G. would not be present to enable them. No more philosophical debates, no dashing flip of her flowing hair or regal arm thrown around the back of her chair. The professor would no longer be outed by her students after spending half the period texting H.G. (which was, admittedly, worth the embarrassment). Myka would have to cook dessert knowing no challenge would present itself in a gaze that left her head in the clouds. Frozen yogurt for party of one, La Traviata for only a pair of hears, and cooking lessons for no one.

It didn't seem like a life worth living. There was nothing thrilling about it. No anticipation, no tingling sensation or breathless tranquility. That was the life she lived before that day she spilled Americano on one copy of Candida. Myka couldn't remember how she spent her days earlier. H.G. and Christina overshadowed that past like a warm blanket. All she knew now was joy. They were her present. They could be her future.

Sucking in a breath Myka became aware of Mrs. Frederic's unerring patience. H.G. remained beside her, yet emotionally elsewhere. It was then that Myka made her decision.

"Where will this adventure be taking us?" she asked with a wary raise of her brow.

Whoever said Univille, South Dakota would be full of adventure was a bullshitter. That being said, Mrs. Frederic was a bullshitter, and somehow it seemed impertinent to reveal such a thing to a blank wall much less the woman in question. Holding a breath, Myka looked over her shoulder just in case.

Myka and H.G. were settled in the backseat of an unmarked SUV with Christina asleep between them. For her part, Myka couldn't sleep, so she was left to look out the window at the very boring town called Univille. Compared to Chicago, the area was the opposite of lively. There were no townspeople rushing to work and no bustling traffic. One didn't feel as if they were packed in like sardines; buildings and apartments actually had more than an arm span of space between them. It was so quiet and sparse Myka felt uneasy. She felt like an unwanted visitor bringing with her problems this peaceful town had no need of.

H.G. lacked the will to sleep, too, and had done as Myka in looking out her own window. The vacant streets were just as disconcerting for H.G. She had spent years in the same city, having never left for even a day for fear her identity would be known. Though miles from the perilous place she used to call home, there was still a prickling of fear at the back of her neck. She felt no safer in this vehicle which was taking them to an undisclosed location. Every once and a while her hand would find Christina's as if to reassure her that they were still there. Myka did the same with the girl's other hand, squeezing for life and for relief. H.G. noticed this, but made nothing of it.

The two women hadn't spoken a word to one another since the start of their journey, but not for a lack of conversation. They had plenty to share; it just wasn't the right time.

Following Mrs. Frederic's eerie departure into the mist of night, H.G. and Myka were left to their vacant knoll and the sound of jazz.

"You should not have done that, Myka," H.G. rasped. The volume of her shouts suddenly caught up with her, deepening her voice and stripping its resolve. The cold night air numbed her cords sufficiently. "You do not know what you are getting into."

"Then I think it's time you told me, don't you?"

Myka returned to the picnic table, straddling the bench and waiting for H.G. to join her.

"There will be no adventure, whatever Mrs. Frederic infers. There is no guarantee you will return home."

Dull pats sounded as a hand gestured to the table.

"Just come sit down."

H.G. sat in her usual place, facing out towards the stage beyond. Her gaze reverted to her lap where hands worked themselves into an anxious frenzy. "I don't know where to start."

"This coming from a writer," Myka teased with a smile. For a moment she forgot how this friend had lied and concealed her true identity for months. Now it seemed she was waking from a dream, disoriented by the frightening reality of the life she had been living with this woman and her child.

Was it all really a lie?

Did H.G. not have a choice despite how far we've come, despite all we feel for each other?

Myka swallowed down the bitter taste. "The beginning," she suggested before her throat closed unexpectedly. "I hear that's always a good place to start."

H.G. quirked a smile and shook her head. Myka had that effect on her. Inspiration came in many forms, and, it would seem, was directed towards the lowest of intellects. Leave it to H.G. to forget simple notions a mere child could understand. The small bit of elation expired just as soon as the memories came pouring through the sieve she had spent years stoppering. It took a great deal of strength to allow past poisons into her system again, but H.G. couldn't imagine the fortitude it would take for Myka to take it all in. She had been lied to for months, after all, and if H.G. were in the woman's position tolerance would have been in short supply. She just hoped by the end of the story Myka wouldn't change her mind about South Dakota, and more importantly about their friendship.

"The beginning," murmured H.G. Her palms ran together, creating heat or courage or perhaps just time itself. Fingers interlaced and her clasped hands were wedged between her knees to prevent further dwelling. "It was 2005, just days after my 28th birthday and I was given a gift that would set me free and subsequently keep me from the world. My husband, Lewis Webb, and I had been married for 2 years – unhappily, though, it had not always been so horrid. When I first met Lewis I was just starting out on my own, having graduated from university and renting a flat far from my parent's ever watchful eyes. To spare you the details of four somewhat blissful months I can say that once he proposed there was not a doubt in my mind of a refusal. I wish I could have known what I know now…"

"Do you mean to say you wouldn't have married him?"

"We are skipping chapters, Dr. Bering. Have patience," H.G. scolded lightly, the darkness in her eyes lightening a bit. "After the wedding I started noticing things, things about Lewis, secrets about his occupation. He was not the charming gentleman who had whisked me away from a lonely, constricting life. His kindness was a front, my status as his wife nothing more than that, a status. I was his."

There was a laugh. Myka shivered at the lack of joy in it.

"Now that I'm saying this out loud for the first time I realize how Victorian it all sounds. I was trapped in a loveless marriage and bound to a man who lied for a living. Our house – his house was one of secrets and abomination. When I found a man bloodied, beaten, and tied to a chair in one of the guest bedrooms it all became reality for me."

H.G.'s heart leapt up in her throat, stopping any exclamation from making it known. She had already been spotted by the man, so there was no reason to run. H.G. took a step further into one of the guest bedrooms, the place that had called to her in screams of agony. The roaring fireplace bathed her face in its golden light, revealing the lines of fright etched in.

"My god."

Her hand flew to her mouth after realizing she had spoken.

The man was covered in sweat, his chin stained in blood as rivers of red slid from his mouth. Sans shirt his chest was visibly burned from what H.G. would assume was a fire iron. He was panting, eyes deliriously wide as if the devil himself had entered. The pit of his mouth opened and let out a pained groan, bubbles of blood popping between dry, cracked lips. He murmured something that H.G. could only assume was "Help me."

Eyes glued to the horror, H.G.'s head moved left then right, an unconscious refusal to acknowledge what she was witnessing. She couldn't help him if she tried. She was the wife of a lawyer, not a physician.

The man groaned again to reiterate his plea. He resorted to these grunts and nonverbal sounds because by then H.G. figured he lacked a tongue to speak.

"I…" she stuttered, set on giving this man some kind of closure as to whether or not he would receive aid from her.

"Helena, what a surprise." A man clad in brown trousers, suspenders, and a loose white shirt rolled up to the elbows walked in from the en suite. His blonde hair slicked back perfectly without a single hair out of place, like he was on his way to an important court hearing. A dimpled chin and spreading cheeks to a smile were still as roguishly endearing as when his wife first met him. "We were not expecting you."

Terror and rage had never been experienced simultaneously by H.G. up until that moment. The competing sensations of hot fury and a cold shiver encased her completely, sustaining her inability at reply. H.G.'s mouth opened, but her eyes were transfixed by the rag between his tainted hands. The red of the rag was the same color as the river of blood seeping from the victim's mouth.

Lewis strolled in until he reached the chair and the mangled body in it. He smiled most arrogantly. "I suppose we all know now why I'm late to dinner every night."

"Probability became truth. Clues and hints of his peculiar behavior turned into a bloodstained man on the edge of death and all because he split his share with a penniless brother in America."

H.G. finally made eye contact with Myka. "My husband was a crook, you see. Black market antiquities. Every treasure from Shang Dynasty to the Gilded Age. Millionaire art dealers, the Italian mob, rare book collectors, they all sought out my husband's… business – if one could call it that. As a lawyer Lewis had the connections, the resources to acquire the rarest of treasures. He would hire tomb raiders of any level of integrity in hunting down what was in demand at the time. Collectors will pay a heavy price for the smallest of trinkets no matter how much sand and time it has suffered. It is what paid for my livelihood; clothes, the finest food, excursions to Venice and Milan, lavish house décor that made the neighbors jealous. I received everything a woman could ever want…" H.G. looked away with creases of fury on her face as she sneered. "All bought and paid for by blood and treasure.

"That is when I realized my life was a lie. But it was too late to rectify my mistake. Two years into our marriage I was expecting and tied to him for the foreseeable future. A blessing and a curse – that is what I received for my 28th birthday. For a brief moment I allowed myself to feel happiness. I thought maybe Christina would be the key to bringing us together. Maybe the idea of fatherhood would have changed the error of his ways, stem the thirst for wealth. I thought he could be an honest man, if not for me at least then for our child. I was so very wrong. 'We have a family to think about now,' he reasoned. The bastard," H.G. sneered.

"We have a family to think about, Helena! This is no time to engage in selfish behavior! Do you really want the child to grow up without a father? Without a proper home? All just so you can punish me?"

"Don't you dare imply my lack of feeling!" H.G. shouted, scaring off the last housekeeper within a half mile. "I AM thinking of my son or daughter. I am thinking of them this very minute. It is you who is the selfish one. You think more of your work than you do of me. How will it be any different with a child? Or do you plan on taking them behind the closed doors in this house so as to explain the screams that I and the housekeepers pretend not to hear?"

Lewis raised a finger in accusation. "You may not appreciate the lavish things afforded by my work, but my child will."

"That is an awfully weighty assumption, Lewis," remarked H.G. Hands drew to her hips with a defiance accrued over the months since stumbling upon a tongue-less man tied to a chair. Her chin went out. "Just whom do you think you will be fooling? If this child is anything like me it won't be long before they see right through you."

"Then tell me, Helena, if I am such a monster why haven't you left yet? What has kept you from the fresh air of freedom, hm?"

"Do not ask questions you already know the answers to. I will not bring a child into this kind of world."

Lewis surged forward and grabbed H.G.'s arm. Though not a painful grasp it was firm enough to make a point. "You forget yourself," he hissed through clenched teeth. His eyes indicated to the slight bump under H.G.'s clothing. "That is mine and you will see to its protection. You so much as miss a meal –"

Arm ripped from her husband's clutch, H.G. retreated a step, frown deepening. "If you think I intend to harm my unborn baby then you never did know me. When I said I wouldn't bring a child into this kind of world I meant THIS HOUSE with YOU."

"We shall see how firm you stand on the subject when the child is born and in need of expensive care."

"There is nothing I do not have that can be used to provide for this child. I can give it the love and security, the education and morals... all devoid of hidden disadvantages. It is you, Lewis, who has nothing of value."

"Christina would have been the shackles that kept me prisoner there. He intended to use his own flesh and blood, not even born yet, in keeping me in that lie of a marriage. Any last scrape of affection I had for that man was dashed that night. But no matter how those two years dried up my emotion I had some left for the child growing inside me. I burned my regrets and cut loose the burdens of my past and faced forwards, towards a future I could provide for Christina.

"I remained in England and in the clutches of Lewis Webb for nine months. It was not safe to travel in my condition, no matter how keen I was on leaving. I would not put my child at risk just because I couldn't put up with the bastard."

Myka's skin crawled at the thought of H.G. alone with that sack of shit. Anger boiled within her and threatened to unleash itself on the one responsible. "He didn't hurt you or Christina, did he?" Myka swallowed in wait for the reply.

"I assure you, Lewis was never abusive." From the easing frown H.G. knew she had just saved the woman some sort of pain. The relief in her emerald eyes caused H.G. to feel like a worthy treasure in her own right and for once in those many years to feel truly secure. Though a victim of deceit herself, Myka felt a need to protect her and Christina. Maybe that was why she made the decision to leave Chicago with them. "He never laid a hand on me or caused harm to our unborn child, but ever since we married he had been neglectful, cheating, and prejudiced."

The pages crinkled and flapped like the wings of a dove as they were waved in midair.

"This is folly! This is scribbles and garbage! Quit these fantastical children's tales and do some real work. Something that benefits society."

"I will not submit to this childishness." She leapt from the chair in her home study and stalked towards the papers hovering dangerously close to the fireplace. H.G.'s eyes moved furiously as they were fixed on the manhandled manuscript. "Give it to me! Lewis! This is my work!" Her life's work. "Do I take your things and parade them around with ineptitude?"

"I live in the real world! Not in those dreamed up fantasies you tote on about." Lewis strode away from the fire, easing the tension in his wife's shoulders. "You exhaust me every night at the dinner table. Talk of invading Martians, time travel, a sleeping man who wakes up after 200 years… You write about the future like it's just around the corner."

"And you are a jealous man who never had a natural talent to bestow on those that would pay for it."

"You are so full of yourself, Helena."

"Scoff all you like. Take my work and pass it off as your own – I don't care. But know this: this… folly as you call it WILL be on a shelf in every bookstore and it WILL be taken seriously."

"This foolishness will not earn you one red cent."

"Even if my work is criticized I would still feel successful. I would still feel the accomplishment of creating something on my own. You could never understand that. And I will not take literary advice from the likes of you." H.G. chuckled darkly, shaking her head. "You… my husband who refuses to support me after the blind eye I have turned for you."

Lewis whirled. Eyes narrowed threateningly. "Just what do you speak of?"

"Oh, what do I know? I'm just the wife of a lawyer." At the man's insistent growl H.G. turned from coy to grave in five seconds flat and explained, "The queer fellows whom you exchange bills with, the guest bedrooms that double as a prison for one or two turncoat business partners," steering closer with deadliness that rivaled a serpent H.G. added coolly, "the countless paramours."

"Who is the jealous party now?" Lewis recovered with a chortle. "But I forgot, you are not the type. Like your work you have too much integrity to get greedy."

"I'll take that as poorly delivered sarcasm. You always were frightful at it," H.G. claimed, not missing a beat. "Unlike me you are the jealous type. Perhaps I will covet your things as you do mine." A fine brow rose for effect.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

The papers were snatched from his immobile grasp. Before departing, H.G. replied with a simple, "Make of it what you will."

"Lewis did not support my campaign to become a writer as he held to the tradition that women should not be as successful as their husbands. He knew I had a knack for the written word and begrudged my right to make a living on pure talent rather than his mode of deception. Later, I toiled through those nine months with the only expectation being the reward to bring my child into the world."

H.G. smiled then. It was the most genuine expression of contentment Myka had ever witnessed from the woman.

"She was the most magnificent thing I ever saw. Any pain I was suffering then was cast out as soon as she opened her eyes. With her I had hope. With Christina we had a chance. She was nothing if not apt in timing. When I was in labor Lewis' corruption was discovered by the U.S. authorities and he dashed. I found out later that he got mixed up in a deal gone bad. One of the looters he hired to steal an artifact from a dig in Egypt went rogue. Lewis' buyers wanted payment and when they didn't get it they hunted me down, thinking my capture would coax him from the shadows." A chuckle emitted, dry and callous as her feelings for Lewis. "How wrong they would have been. The looter was American, and therefore wanted by the FBI. That is how I became indebted to the U.S. government and under the protection of the ever-impenetrable Mrs. Frederic you met this night. Once Christina was born we escaped that wretched life for the freedom I desired since I was a girl, the freedom my daughter deserved."

"So your parents had nothing to do with your moving to America?" Myka asked. "You weren't banished?"

"Oh, I was banished," H.G. replied, resentfully. "They did not approve of my leaving Lewis, especially with a child on the way. It is true that they were not privy to his black market dealings, but then I couldn't tell them, could I? I couldn't tell anyone. Lewis and his acquaintances would not think twice about getting rid of me – all for their precious baubles. No, my father and mother were not sympathetic to my plight. They gave me an ultimatum: stand beside my husband like the property I am or set off never to see a pence. It was no choice. I left for America with the help of the U.S. government, and Mrs. Frederic set me up with a new identity and a place in Chicago. There, I interleaved myself in society as Emily Lake and raised Christina as a single mother. I never saw Lewis again. And my parents refused to speak to me, not that I attempted correspondence. I later found out after my divorce was final that I had been ousted from my family's will. It would seem that my not receiving a red cent was meant quite literally."

"Here is your new license and registration. I hope you are not unfavorable to the name of 'Emily.'"

"If I am, may I request a change?"

"Of course not," Mrs. Frederic replied without looking up. She put the items in the manila envelope and handed them over.

With a fussing toddler in one arm H.G. took the envelope with her other. "And what if I should need to contact you?"

"The need shall not arise, I assure you."

"You say that quite a bit, Mrs. Frederic."

"Does it comfort you?"

"No."

"Then perhaps this new apartment will." The woman's heels clicked across the hard wood floors, between boxes both empty and brimming with possessions (mostly books and children's toys), around a charming coffee table, and before a humming refrigerator. She peeked into the master bedroom to find all the essential furniture including a crib set up not far from the bed. "I see you have made progress in making yourself at home."

"I make an attempt," the new mother admitted. A shadow of weariness seemed to grow darker over her expression. "It is not easy to adorn a flat and search for a job while going on two hours of sleep."

The child's cry was nothing if not on cue. Christina's little fists clubbed the air as she wailed and squirmed in her mother's arms to some unknowable complaint. The woman's heart broke at her child's every displeasure. She wanted so much to be what Christina needed and at the same time not be the parents she herself was raised by. She tried so hard. She read every book in reach, sung every lullaby her badly tuned voice could muster, and changed diapers hourly when it, apparently, wasn't necessary. Yet Christina was never satisfied. A confused H.G. shifted her hold on the toddler and tried bouncing her on her hip.

"At least now you don't have to waste time looking for a job," Mrs. Frederic said over the rising cries.

"What do you mean?"

She gestured to the envelope getting gnawed on by a now content little infant. "That phone number I gave you belongs to a well-respected superintendent of the Chicago Public School System. You should expect to be hired immediately."

"How are you so sure they will accept my qualifications?" Christina wailed when her chew toy was taken away. H.G. winced and quickly gave it back to her. "The school might not have need of a single working mother who just arrived from a foreign country."

"In my line of work it is best not to answer questions of that nature. Just smile and exemplify your passion for the position available." Satisfied with her walk-thru, Mrs. Frederic rounded to meet H.G. face to face. "Do I need to go over the rules again?"

Clearly past the lure of the envelope Christina's stewing turned to full on bawling.

"No," H.G. replied, overwhelmed by her new responsibilities, "you have explained them quite exhaustively."

"I'm glad we understand each other." Mrs. Frederic finished with a curt nod and turned for the door. Hand on the knob, she paused, melding into the shadow of the hallway. "Good luck with your new life, Emily Lake. I recommend you start it by investing in several pacifiers."

"In a way," H.G. mused, "the change was welcome. A new identity was just what I needed as I was number two on some wealthy secret society's hit list. After settling in Chicago I filed for divorce immediately. Lewis contested, at first, but then he had himself to think about. One of the deals I made in order to leave England was to give Lewis up to the authorities. For the first time in a long time I could shed light on the lies I had been kept prisoner by. It was liberating. I denied him custody of Christina in every sense of the word. I would not accept money or birthday gifts or Christmas cards. I broke all ties with Lewis; I did it to give my Christina her best chance. Not that he wanted her. He had more important things to deal with, namely his trial.

"And here Christina and I have been living. I got a job as a high school physics teacher – easily perhaps because of my proper British diction…"

"Right," Myka joked, having heard plenty of expletives from that British mouth.

"… and I had Christina enrolled in the best school my salary could afford. Witness protection was not without its hindrances. We could not leave the city or speak to family or past friends. I got over it quickly, while Christina grew up wonderfully ignorant of the father and grandparents who deserted her."

H.G. sighed at the end of her speech. She was pale in the moonlight, paler than her complexion usually allowed. Myka noticed deeper lines and sagging skin. The story took a toll on the woman, yet Myka discerned a lightness in her frame. She breathed easier in the air cleared with words kept from the world and the people she cared about. Myka couldn't imagine the sheer relief of that. H.G. had unloaded a weight of truth disclosed to only two people in the world: Mrs. Frederic and now Myka. It was an honor to be that special in H.G.'s eyes, knowing that H.G. didn't have to tell her no matter if their friendship was at stake. It was also a burden to hold such dangerous truths, which brought to mind H.G.'s insistence that there upcoming adventure would be anything but. H.G. may be protected by the FBI, but she was still being hunted. And, therefore, Myka was a target now.

Of the two women, Myka was least skilled in art of the written word. She was struck speechless at the end of H.G.'s story, but not for lack of clemency. Words would not come, so Myka laid her hand on H.G.'s, bringing the clasped bundle from hiding and into the open air. There on the picnic bench their hands embraced, a slow trumpet playing in the background. There in the darkness of their knoll emerald and brown looked out towards the stage, shining with hope. There, without words just the support of a sincere, warm hand, H.G. knew she had been forgiven.

Warm welcome came in the form of a sign entitled, "Leena's Bed and Breakfast." The quaint Victorian-era home's 3.5 story tower could be seen from afar. Its Romanesque Revival style sparked a glint in Myka's eye. The mansard roofing and festooned iron railings were taken note of as well. For however grand it seemed, though, the bed and breakfast was still just a homestead, a beautiful reconstruction established in the middle of nowhere.

Their government plated SUV rolled to a halt before its steps. Christina was first to jump out, clearly the less groggy of the three passengers. H.G. and Myka followed sluggishly, cracking their backs and biting back the gripes of a four hour drive from Sioux Falls Regional Airport. Once their baggage was out of the car their suited government escorts drove off. The three strangers were left at the stairs of the B&B with nothing but questions and growling stomachs.

"Mummy," Christina groaned, "I'm hungry."

H.G. placed a hand on her squirming daughter's shoulder and brought her closer for protection. This town of Univille was the only destination they had visited since arriving in the United States eight years ago. They were miles from a home that was home no longer and Mrs. Frederic – a woman who did not seem to age and who knew more about H.G.'s predicament than H.G. herself – insisted that this B&B was their safe haven. H.G. would not take a stranger's word over it and had no plans on staying one night in a commune. Christina would just have to bite the bullet until they could get their hands on uncorrupted food.

The screen door opened then to a tall, muscular man in jeans and an Ohio State t-shirt. "Omph, Aaareee!" He dragged the half-eaten cookie from his mouth and shouted more clearly, "Artie, they're here!"

Sneakers slapping the porch, he jumped down the flight of steps with ease and stuck out his cookie free hand.

"Hey," he smiled brilliantly around the crumbs, "I'm Pete."

Myka gave a side-long glance at H.G. but before mother could hold back child Christina took the initiative.

"Hello, my name is Christina."

"Nice to meet you."

They shook hands cordially. It was a long hand shake for Christina was sizing this new stranger up like a science experiment while Pete was taking it all in stride. It was not every day that he was thrown off by the gentlewomanly behavior of a little girl.

"Which one is Mom?" He looked back and forth at the two women with a lascivious glint in his eye and a boyish grin.

"Helena Wells," the older of the two replied.

Pete's brows rose as he flashed his signature grin. "Pleasure."

She took his hand with a firm grip. H.G. held it long enough for the message to get across.

Hit on me or hurt my daughter and you won't get this hand back.

There was a twitch in his smile and he retrieved his hand, flexing it subtly. He finally turned to Myka. After giving her a once over his eyes widened slightly and head inclined back in astonishment. "You must be the professor," he said.

She bit the inside of her cheek. "Myka Bering," she introduced herself.

"Meeka?"

"Myka."

"Mika?"

"My-ka," she stressed, a single brow arched.

"Glad we got that out of the way. Now if you ladies will follow me… on to the tour!"

Pete traveled up the steps with as much if not more enthusiasm as when he came down them, popped the last of the cookie in his mouth and raised the door open. He motioned them to enter with a flourish of his arm.

Myka cast an exasperated look at H.G. who was less set on sharing it. Unlike Myka, H.G. could tell when someone was kidding around and was able to transform the childish behavior into more worthwhile sport besides exasperation. Like amusement. H.G. quirked a smile at her friend and led the way into the B&B with Christina on her heels. Myka let out a sigh. It seemed she would have to loosen up for this little adventure. She rolled her shoulders and then her eyes before stalking past Pete without returning his high five.

Kierkegaard once said, 'To venture causes anxiety, but not to venture is to lose one's self.' Ever since leaving Chicago Myka felt herself muttering the phrase over and over again in her head. It seemed from the sprightliness of their new host and the growing unease in the pit of her stomach she would need to remember the words to her last.