Chapter Three: Parallel and Perpendicular

I go to the courthouse the following afternoon, still slightly exhausted from my late night at The Alibi Room. However, I was determined for some answers, and if Dr. Fairfax believed that the courthouse could help me, I was all for it. Driving downtown for the second day in a row wasn't something I minded, as my car was equipped with the beautiful sensation of an air conditioner, so the hot July day didn't sway me in the slightest.

I pulled off the freeway at the correct exit and made my way down the various streets, until an impressive brick building stood out among them, the sign proclaiming it the courthouse I'd been looking for. Parking in the lot and paying for a ticket, I journeyed inside the building and selected a number, once I'd found the correct waiting area. Sitting on these wooden chairs that clearly belonged in a trash heap or fire wood pile, I was tempted to bring my knees to my chest and go into full-on fetal position. I was not sure what I might find, but I was nearly positive that it wouldn't be so easy that I would immediately get the information.

I felt something along the lines of relief and anxiety when my number was called, and I got to my feet, making my way over to the window where a woman was sitting. I got out my ID and hesitated for a moment, knowing that it was now or never. "Hello, my name is Scarlett Davies," I tell her, and the lady fixes me with an expression, as if she is wondering why she should care. "I was born here, but I was adopted at three months by a couple who moved to Seattle. I'm back living here for work and I would like my adoption records and original birth certificate, please, if it's all the same to you."

"Honey, wouldn't we all," the woman replied, taking my ID and typing the information into her computer beside her. "Okay, I've submitted your request for a petition form, which will be mailed to your address by the end of the week. Once you send it in, you'll be notified within a week or two if your request has been approved. As for your birth certificate, you'll want to get a copy of the one from the hospital, not the one in your adoption records, which will also take time, I'm afraid. There's a fifteen-dollar charge for the cost of the certified copy and then a ten-dollar charge for the searching of state files."

I reach into my wallet and produce my credit card, plus bills. "I'll pay with cash or my credit card but I want the information. If it's that little, I don't mind paying for it."

"Cash is fine, honey," the woman said, looking slightly bewildered as I handed over the correct amounts for my mystery to be solved. "Okay. You've paid for your birth certificate and for its search, plus your petition to see your adoption records has been filed. Will that be all for today, Miss Davies?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you, Marsha. Call me Scarlett," I replied, catching a glimpse of her nametag.

"You're welcome," Marsha replied, putting the money into a safe as she handed me back my ID, and hesitated for a moment. "Good luck."

"What?" I asked, caught off-guard.

"Good luck, Scarlett. With everything."

I put out my hand for her and she shook it. "Thank you," I said, and, for once, I really meant it as I walked out of there and into the sun-splashed day.

. . .

The nights dragged on, but the days couldn't have been better, as Lip showed me all around the city whenever he had some free time. One afternoon, Lip told me just to drive for a while and, at the end of it, we ended up at a park down a quiet street. Perplexed, we got out of the car and walked towards it, where a woman was sitting at a picnic table and, as we approached, turned around and grinned at Lip, getting to her feet.

"Hey!" she said, going to him immediately and throwing her arms around him. "This is a surprise! What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, Fi, had to keep it a surprise," Lip replies, pulling back, and placing an arm around my waist, which made my skin tingle.

The woman turned her dark brown eyes to mine; she had dark, wavy hair to match, and looked at me expectantly. "You must be Scarlett—can't believe I'm finally meeting you," she said with a smile, putting out her hand. "I'm Fiona."

"Fiona!" I said, a little too loudly, and my face immediately bloomed with regret as I took her offered hand and shook it. "So nice to meet you."

"Lip says that you're something special," she says as we finish shaking hands. "He says you're a victim of bad parenting, too."

"Fi!" Lip said, his voice a hiss.

I laughed aloud then, leaning into Lip. "No, Lip, it's fine, really," I told him. "I always tell Lip that I wish I had an amazing big sister to help me out, but..." I shrugged. "Just wasn't in the cards for me, I guess."

"Lip says you pretty much raised yourself?" Fiona asks as we move to sit.

"Since I was about seven, yeah," I reply, feeling a rush of something as Lip places his hand upon my knee, unseen by Fiona, although I suspect she suspects something.

"Law textbooks helped, I assume?" she asks, smiling.

I laughed. "Yeah, I mean, my mom had three sons with her second husband so I pretty much slipped through the cracks on the whole parental loving department."

"But not in the educational one, I see!" Fiona says, grinning. "A Master's in Criminal Justice at twenty-one! That's impressive."

I lower my eyes to the table. "And a minor in psychology," I say with a grin.

"Shut up!" Fiona says, slapping the table, and my eyes dart to hers, but I see that she is grinning from ear to ear. "Lip is quite the intelligent one, too. I see you've found something in common with this one, little brother."

Lip sighed. "Yeah, well, most girls don't fall for the smart guys..."

I bite my lip, turning to look over at him. "I'm starting to," I replied.

Lip immediately turns to look at me, his eyes widening at my sudden declaration to him. "Wait, really?" he asks, seemingly shocked.

I laughed again then, attempting to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation as I bumped his shoulder with mine. "Well, yeah," I replied.

"You guys are so cute, I can't stand it," Fiona declared, smiling at the two of us. "Please tell me you're not crazy..."

Lip locks eyes with Fiona then, and Fiona immediately looks as if she regrets saying something to that affect. "Fi..." Lip whispers to her.

Fiona turns red and lowers her eyes. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have..."

I sighed, feeling my shoulders hunching forward as they often did when I felt even remotely self-conscious as I grew up. "Sorry to disappoint," I replied.

"Oh," Fiona said, obviously disappointed in herself, or in my answer.

"I'm not, like, certifiable or anything," I said, feeling insecure. "I mean, I'm not going to suddenly strip naked and run down the street or anything..."

"That's a relief," Lip put in.

"But there are days when I don't want to get out of bed in the morning," I say quietly, and Fiona quickly looks over at Lip, a bewildered expression on her face. "But I force myself to. I guess I'm wired a certain way, I don't know..." I shrug.

"What is it?" Fiona asked, her voice quiet. "What you've got?"

I place my hand on Lip's shoulder as he starts to protest. "It's fine, Lip," I said gently, before turning back to Fiona. "He told me about Monica, so you've got every right to be concerned." I sighed, wanting the dust to settle for a moment. "It's major depression and high anxiety," I replied, remembering the day in the therapists' office during the diagnosis. "I was twelve-years-old and in my sophomore year of high school. Of course something was going to happen to me psychologically one day..."

"You seem to work through it well," Fiona says softly. "I mean, two degrees, and you've got a high-paying job lined up. Not everyone can say that about themselves."

I nodded. "Work distracts me, I'll admit," I tell her. "I found the pressure of doing assignments throughout my school career was able to combat the symptoms of my illnesses in a positive way and so I kept up with the vigorous routine. I didn't really think about anything beyond school but when it came time to declare a major, I just went with what I knew. It wasn't too difficult; hell, I even got into trouble sometimes for correcting the professors..."

Fiona grins. "Bet they didn't like that very much."

I shook my head. "Fuck no," I replied, and Fiona's grin widened. "Thankfully, I don't think they believed I was doing it to be malicious. Plus, my stepfather donated a wing or something to the university, so they didn't want to piss off my family. Although I wouldn't know what would've happened to me if I supposedly did something wrong and was caught..."

A shadow was cast over Fiona's face then as she fully absorbed my meaning. "You don't... Do you think that your mother's husband would've... Hurt you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. He never was a predictable person. He basically just ignored me, and didn't seem to care when I moved into a dorm on campus. I had a handful of conversations with him throughout his marriage to my mother, and they all revolved around my education. He did present me with a list of acceptable career choices—doctor, lawyer, teacher, things like that—but he didn't have any parameters. He said that as long as I picked something from the list, I could choose the section myself."

"So, he approved of your desire to become a lawyer?"

I nodded. "Yes. Dr. Normal, my stepfather, gave a stiff nod when I told him, just a week after my senior year of high school began, what I wanted to do. He made some calls on my behalf and I got into the law program of the university close by."

"But you lived at home during college, some of it, at least?"

I scoffed. "Yeah. Dr. Normal and my mother agreed that it would be inappropriate for me to begin living on my own until I turned eighteen. I didn't mind—they gave me pretty much everything I needed. Food, an allowance, and a car when I turned sixteen, during my freshman year of college. I guess the only thing they didn't think to give me was love, and time, but it didn't matter. Not in the end, at least."

Fiona reached across the wooden table then, and, in an unexpected gesture, clasped my hand in hers, something that caught me momentarily off-guard. "I think you've got some loving to do here," she told me quietly. "Lip says you were from here?"

"Born and extracted, is more like it," I said ruefully, squeezing her hand back. "Adopted at three months and shipped off to Seattle."

"What about your adoptive father?"

"Martin," I replied, feeling strange at uttering his name. "Martin was a sought-after musician. I guess you could call him a rock star..."

"Really? He's in a band?" Lip asked, sounding interested.

I nodded. "Yeah—sent a check every month until I was eighteen, so he wasn't a complete deadbeat, although my adoptive mother would have me believe otherwise." I found myself smiling for a moment. "In the six months before she met Dr. Normal—up until now—they were the happiest in my life."

"Really?" Fiona asks.

I nodded again. "Yeah, because I wasn't intelligent yet—at least, not overtly so. And my mother only had me to worry about. I think she resented me..."

"Why?" Lip wants to know.

"Well, she had been told that children, for her at least, would be impossible to conceive naturally and so, after she married Dr. Normal, and had three sons with him, once a year, she began to see me as a set-back, I guess..."

"Bitch," Fiona muttered, and my eyes snapped to hers. "Sorry. She's still your mother. But she was acting like a bitch."

I shook my head. "She's not my mother," I told her firmly. "From where I'm sitting, you're more qualified to be a mother than she ever was, and you raised your siblings. Like I said, it would've been nice to go through hell with somebody else, instead of braving it solo."

"Well, you must've come for a reason, other than just for a job, or to find love," she said, casting a knowing glance Lip's way.

I nodded. "Yeah. Just waiting for the call from the courthouse to get my records to see what's what when it came to my birth."

Fiona sits back, crossing her arms. "Sounds like you have a mystery to solve."

I nodded. "Mystery of a lifetime, Fiona," I replied.

. . .

Dr. Fairfax called me into the office the following morning; I had to practically drag myself out of bed, I was so exhausted from my sets the night before. Kevin was even talking about hiring bouncers inside the bar, as the "groupies" were becoming a bit too enthusiastic, once they'd drunk their dinner and paychecks away. Kevin was always extremely patient with me, and all I had to do was just mention if some customers were giving me a hard time. He had a three-point warning system: Explain, Exaggerate, and Expel. If they didn't get the explanation, or the exaggeration of it, then they would be expelled from the bar for the rest of the night. After they committed the offense three times, then they were out of The Alibi for good.

I drove downtown again and got to the modern-looking doctor's office and surgery building, parking in the free lot next door and making my way over, already missing my car's air-conditioning. Trudging into the office, I took the elevator to the correct floor and made the receptionist aware that'd I'd arrived. After checking in, I perched in the chair, waiting ten minutes for someone to collect me to bring me in to see Dr. Fairfax.

It was a shock to me when Dr. Fairfax herself arrived, and collected me personally, bringing me back to her office with beautiful oak paneling. After briefly considering how many trees had to die to make her office possible, I perched in the offered seat and gripped on tightly to my purse, hands in my lap. She and I were officially branded innocent bystanders in the execution of trees and cows respectively, but this was an official occasion, and I had to do my best to at least attempt to remain somewhat professional.

"Scarlett, I thought it would be the personal thing to bring you here personally to give you the results of your physical," Dr. Fairfax said, once the pleasantries were out of the way.

I smiled, doing my best to straighten in my seat, anything for my doctor to be convinced that I was listening to her. "Thank you, Dr. Fairfax, that was very considerate of you" I replied. "I'm ready whenever you're ready, then."

"Wonderful," Dr. Fairfax said, pulling my file towards her, the name SCARLETT DAVIES appearing in bold on the lip of the folder. "It seems you are in excellent health. You mentioned you were worried about your weight, and while it falls on the higher end of the acceptable weight for your height on the BMI index, you are still in range, so there's nothing to worry about. When you get more information on your biological family, we will be able to tell you more. As of right now, however, we only have your own information to go on, so I'm unable to tell you what you are truly at-risk for, based on lifestyle choices alone. You mentioned you don't smoke?"

"Cigarettes, no," I replied. "Marijuana, yes."

Dr. Fairfax nodded. "That's nothing to worry about, then. And how's your drinking?"

"I'm a social drinker" I replied. "I mean, I'll have a drink or two after work a few times a week, but I'm not out there getting wasted all the time, and I always walk home and go straight to bed afterwards, so no heavy machinery."

"Oh, we always know our limits—it's an instinctual thing," Dr. Fairfax explained. "But most women can have three drinks and still be all right."

"I cap it at two, just to be safe," I said. "Who knows? Maybe one of my birth parents was an alcoholic or something. Don't want to test the waters..."

"Of course not," Dr. Fairfax said, looking over her report one more time. "Oh, and I wanted to ask you if you've begun taking birth control yet?"

I sighed, my shoulders falling—I knew there was a catch to all this face-to-face stuff. "No, Lip and I haven't slept together yet, and it's pretty much off the table for now, and I haven't had the time to fill the prescription yet."

"Lip?" Dr. Fairfax asked.

"Lip Gallagher," I replied. "I guess you could call him my boyfriend—I don't know. We haven't really established that either. But we're not sleeping together yet so I don't know what you would classify a person you're just hanging out with us..." I shrugged. "Search me, I mean, I've never been in a situation like this before."

"Hanging out with someone and not sleeping with them?"

I laughed. "No, I've done that, with pretty much everyone I've been in contact with throughout my life. I mean, hanging out with someone where there's feelings involved, an attraction, and you're not sleeping with them."

Dr. Fairfax nodded in understanding. "I guess you have to see where the road takes you, Scarlett, in this journey with Lip, is it?"

I nodded. "Yeah, well, we'll just have to wait and see."

I left Dr. Fairfax's office, her words of getting me to commit to getting on the pill weighing heavily on my mind as I head outside and into the parking lot. I unlock my car, deciding to just go home and crash for a while before my sets that night. My next day off was the following day, which was good, because I was expecting the call from the courthouse any day now. Driving back towards my apartment was a non-issue, and I parked in my designated spot in the lot before heading upstairs and climbing back into bed. I set my alarm for three-thirty, to ensure I'd have plenty of time to get ready and put my face on for the night.

Lip came to The Alibi that night, and was there to cheer me on. When he walked me home that night, we had the nearly-spontaneous heavy petting sesh that we always seemed to have whenever he said goodbye to me so late at night. I kissed him goodnight for the final time, prying myself away from him and making my way back upstairs. I took another shower, wanting to get the smell of cheap beer out of my skin, but disappointed that I would have to wash out Lip's scent as well. Pushing the thought from my mind, I headed to bed, deciding to have a wonderful nights' sleep that night and to forget everything.

I awoke with a start around noon the following day, shocked at the sound of my cell phone ringing, and immediately made a grab for it. I missed the call, and since I was unfamiliar with the number, decided to let it go to voicemail. No voicemail was left, however, which frustrated me deeply, so I decided it had to be a telemarketer. Getting out of bed, I threw on some jogging clothes and decided that a long run was what I needed on my day off.

I got out of my apartment and just ran, my jogging playlist on repeat if necessary; I just needed to get out of my place for a while and just not think. Some days had been like this—during my childhood and teenage years—when I just didn't want to think about anything. I knew it had to do with my illnesses, deep down, but it was so hard to explain to people that I just didn't bother doing so anymore. I was tired of people saying that everyone felt that way sometimes and all I wanted to do was be alone with my thoughts—or lack of thoughts—and I was sick and tired of people saying that I was selfish for feeling that way.

Fuck them, Scarlett, my mind told me.

Thank you, Mind, I replied.

Somehow, being so lost in my thoughts kept me out far longer than usual, because by the time I got back to my apartment, it was after five. I had to mentally remind myself that Kevin had given me the night off, so I didn't have cause to worry about that. Heading upstairs, I texted Lip, telling him about my day off and wondering if he wanted to hang out. I immediately plugged my phone in and headed to the shower, wanting to appear presentable regardless of what my plans were that evening. I came out a few moments later, a missed call from the same number greeting me, as well as a voicemail, and a text from Lip.

I listened to the voicemail, and swore aloud when I heard it was from the courthouse, informing me that my adoption records had been processed and that they were ready for me to pick them up at my earliest convenience. Rolling my eyes, I pressed the delete button, adding to my calendar that I needed to head downtown to pick them up tomorrow. Taking ahold of my text messaging icon, I pressed it, my heart skipping a beat at the notion of hearing from Lip.

Hey Scar—that's great that you get the night off! Sorry, but I'm pulling doubles again tonight, but I'm giving Ian's number to you, because he doesn't have plans tonight either. I think it would be good for you guys to hang out!

Rolling my eyes playfully, I accessed the number and texted tentatively, hoping that Lip hadn't given me the wrong number... Hey Ian, it's Scarlett. Lip gave me your number and told me that since you and I didn't have plans, we could hang out...

I placed the phone back on my nightstand, trekking in a towel towards my dresser and debating on what to change into. If I wasn't going out, it didn't matter, but if Ian didn't mind hanging out with me, then I had to wear something appropriate. Ian, thankfully, didn't keep me waiting, and my phone buzzed a moment later, during my inner debate about what to wear. I crossed back to my nightstand, picking up the phone.

Sure, Scarlett—would love to hang out! Want to come by the house in half an hour?

Hey Ian! Would love to! See you then!

I returned to my dresser, grabbing a pair of black capri jeans and a tank top, slipping them on before returning to the bathroom. I towel dried my hair, before putting in into a long, high ponytail that went to my middle back. With just a few minutes to spare, I brushed my teeth for good measure before grabbing my phone and my keys before heading out. Driving to the Gallagher house this time around seemed different—probably because I wasn't sneaking over in the semi-darkness for a booty call. I arrived just a few minutes after Ian told me was a good time to come by, and I got out of the car, locking it behind me.

My sneakers nearly silent on the pavement, I unlocked the main gate and went up the path and to the front door, knocking three times. I grinned automatically when Ian answered, and was pleased with the hug he offered me as I stepped inside. "So, how's your day?" I asked casually as I stepped into the living room, hearing him shut the door behind me.

"Fine," Ian replied. "Patients behaved themselves for the most part."

I sit down on the couch and Ian moves to sit next to me. "You sound like you have the easier job of the two of us—at least, until I can quit my night job," I joked.

Ian laughed. "How do you figure?"

I shrugged, sharing in his laughter. "I don't know. People don't try and grab you and make you uncomfortable..."

Ian laughed louder then. "Oh, I don't know. Some do. I mean, if we get there and they've OD'd on their medication, or other's medication, then, sure, they can get grabby..."

I pulled a face, envisioning that. "Ugh. Okay, I take it back—each of our jobs has its strong points and uncomfortable points."

"I'll take it," Ian replies, getting to his feet. "Want a beer?"

I shrugged. "Sure, thanks."

He nodded, heading to the kitchen which was just a yard away from the couch. "Kevin keeps the bad customers in line, though, doesn't he?"

I made a noise then, a combination of considering that and sarcasm. "Well, he tries. He uses the three E's rule on them."

Ian sticks his head into the fridge, getting our beer, his voice slightly muffled. "You mean: Explain, Exaggerate, and Expel?" he asks.

I laughed. "Yeah. But, then, of course, if they get expelled one night..."

"...they come back the next one," Ian and I say together, and look at each other for a moment, almost as if unsure how our minds worked.

Ian shakes his head after a moment, opening our beers and heading back over to me. "Lip didn't tell me much about you," he confessed then, sitting down and offering me one of the bottles. "I mean, I don't think he did it to be mean, he just figured..."

"That I wouldn't necessarily want people to know?" I asked, and Ian shook his head. "What?" I ask him, confused.

"It's weird—it's like you know what I'm going to say..."

"...and vice-versa?" we say together.

"Jesus," I whisper.

"Dammit," Ian says at the same time, but we share a smile. "But, seriously, Scar. All I really know about you is that you were born here, in the South Side, and that you were adopted at three months, and brought to live in Seattle. You're crazy smart, and you have that job lined up at the firm downtown; you graduated high school at fifteen, and got your Master's Degree at twenty-one. Am I way off-base here?"

I shake my head, lifting the beer bottle to my lips and drinking, put-off by the taste but forcing it down nevertheless. "No, you're not far-off. I mean, that's the abridged version of my life story, anyway..."

Ian smiled, drinking his beer. "Well, I mean, what else is there to know?"

I shrugged. "Well, my dad walked out when I was five, and he and my mom got divorced pretty quickly after that, but he still paid child support... Then my mom met Dr. Normal, my stepfather, six months after the divorce, and married him three months after that."

Ian considers that for a moment. "Why did your parents think about adoption? Were they die-hard humanitarians or something?"

I scoffed at that. "Hardly. My dad's a rock musician who tours the country—I think they did a show in Tokyo last month, so now the world—and my mom is a linguistics professor."

"And how did Dr. Normal come into play?" Ian asks.

"My mom had to get her gallbladder removed," I reply. "Infection or something—I was only five and I didn't know then and I never asked. Dr. Normal performed the surgery and by the time she was awake, he was half in love with her already. I heard my mom telling her girlfriends later that she dreamt of Dr. Normal the whole time she was in surgery."

"Do you believe that?"

I shook my head, taking another sip of beer. "Fuck no. I had my wisdom teeth out at sixteen and jaw-corrective surgery at seventeen, just before my eighteenth birthday. Those drugs they give you? Please. They wipe you out and you only remember counting backwards from ten until they try to wake you up afterwards. No way in hell she dreamt of Dr. Normal, unless they gave her some weird cocktail or something..."

Ian laughed aloud at that, sipping his beer. "Man, you're funnier than Trevor," he said, and then his eyes flashed to mine, almost as if he was scared of my reaction.

"Your boyfriend?" I asked him, knowing that the phrase 'Friend of yours?' was so overused that it was enough now.

Ian's mouth resembled a hard line then. "Did Lip tell you?" he asked me, his voice soft. "Did Lip tell you that I'm gay?"

I smiled at Ian, letting him know that I didn't have a problem with it. "He didn't have to tell me, Ian, really..."

"What? You expect me to believe that you just knew?"

I scoffed at that. "Yeah, pretty much."

Ian sighed, taking another swig of his beer. "What gave it away?"

I laughed aloud at that. "Well, other than the fact that you didn't have a hard-on when we first met, that was something. And I wasn't uncomfortable when you saw me without my top on that time when you walked in on me and Lip..."

"How do you know I didn't have a hard-on when we met?!" Ian demanded, trying so hard to stay mad but he was very nearly close to laughing.

I pursed my lips, giving him an, Are you fucking kidding me?! expression. "I may have looked at the outline of your jeans," I confessed, not really embarrassed by it now. "Besides, there was the notion that I was in a strapless crop top and mini-skirt to consider. Please, if you were straight, we both know one thing..."

"What's that?" Ian asked.

I grinned. "Like it or not, you and Lip are pretty similar when it comes to people you like," I replied, still trying not to laugh. "Please. If you were straight, and I was dressed like I was the night we met right now, what would you do?"

Ian sighed, mulling it over as he drank another sip of beer. "Probably what you were doing when I walked in on you and Lip," he replied.

I nodded. "Great," I said, squeezing his arm, which he didn't seem to mind. "You're quite a gentleman, Ian Gallagher. Remember that," I tell him, and we clink our beer bottles together and share another laugh.

. . .

I head to the courthouse the following morning, greeting Marsha and relieved that she seems to remember me. She hands over the paperwork I'd requested, and I thank her profusely before heading back to my car. Getting in and locking the doors behind me, I just sit there for a moment, the folder on my lap, my hands nearly trembling at what lay within.

Thinking it best just to rip off the band-aid, I opened up the folder and let out a groan of exasperation at what I saw. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" I screamed, looking down at the paperwork within.

It was a stack of paperwork, to be sure, but everything was blocked out with black Sharpie—well, nearly everything. The only thing that wasn't blurred out was my year of birth, the location of the hospital where I was born, my new name, and my adoptive parents' name. All of this was information I already knew, so I was officially back to square one. I leaned down then, placing my head upon my steering wheel and letting out a frustrated scream, which was only interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing.

Clearing my throat, I looked at the number, and saw that it belonged to the firm. I swiped the green phone icon and placed the phone up to my ear. "Hello, Scarlett Davies speaking," I said politely into the receiver, feeling like such a fraud for using that name, now that I knew it was never truly mine.

"Good afternoon, Miss Davies, this is Hugo Blomqvist," said the voice.

"Oh, Mr. Blomqvist, hello," I said, doing my best to pull back the excitement. "I hope your day is going well, sir."

"Quite well, Miss Davies, quite well. Especially now that Timothy, Alice, and I have gotten the results of your physical examination," he informed me, and I sensed that he had a jovial nature about him, which would certainly make him easier to work with. "It seems as though you've passed the physical examination process, and now that your contractual agreement pre-job has been completed, we would all very much appreciate it if you could come in at nine o'clock tomorrow to begin your job at our firm."

"Tomorrow at nine o'clock is perfect, Mr. Blomqvist," I replied.

"That's fantastic news," he said. "Your office is in its final stages of getting ready. Is there anything we need to know about you? Any allergies?"

I laughed. "I don't drink much, and I don't like coffee. Oh, and I'm lactose intolerant and allergic to penicillin."

"Oh, yes, of course, those allergies were noted in your medical file, but thank you for reiterating them to me, Miss Davies."

"Oh, and please call me Scarlett, Mr. Blomqvist."

"You got it, Scarlett," he replied. "You can call me 'Hugo', and I know that Tim and Allie wouldn't mind if you called them by their nicknames."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Hugo, but I really should head that from them."

"Of course, Scarlett. So, we'll see you at nine o'clock tomorrow for your introduction into the firm, as it were?"

I nodded. "Yes, Hugo. See you then."

"Have a good evening, Scarlett."

"You too, Hugo," I replied, ending the phone call. I knew what I had to do now, and I didn't know if it would be easy or difficult. I opened my texting conversation with Kevin, and sent the following message: Kevin, any chance we can start the set an hour early tonight, so that I can go home early? I will show up early, as we need to discuss some things.

I waited for his reply, and his, You got it, kid, response immediately put me at ease. Perhaps my last night singing at The Alibi Room wouldn't be so bad. As I sat there, the file folder filled with information that I could not see on my lap, I felt some of my frustration ebbing away, wondering if my mystery would ever be solved.