London - April 27, 2004 - 1352 hours

Amanda paced back and forth in the bathroom of her apartment anxiously waiting for the test to produce a result. She checked her watch about every thirty seconds in her anticipation. All the signs were there, so she had to be right in her suspicions. Finally, she looked down to her watch and her fifteen-minute wait came to an end.

Picking up the small device from the clump of toilet paper on the counter, she took a deep breath and read the result. A smile pulled at her cheeks and tears of joy rolled down the sides of her nose. She couldn't wait to tell Hans the good news—the fantastic news—the good, fantastic, wonderful, unbelievable news! Unfortunately, at the moment, Hans was stationed in Denmark and was scheduled to return tomorrow. The way Amanda was feeling right now made a day seem like a year.

Later that evening, around 1800, Amanda sat on the couch in her living area reading as rain pattered on the windows and thunder resounded overhead. It was very relaxing until a man burst through the front door. It took a moment for Amanda to realize it was Hans.

"Amanda! We have to go, now!" Hans exclaimed as he pushed his way to the bedroom. Amanda tossed her book on the coffee table and followed him.

"Hans! What happened?! You weren't supposed to be back from Denmark until tomorrow! Why are you covered in blood?!" Amanda asked over Hans' panic, feeling her heart quicken its pace. Hans' shirt was splotched with blood, but she didn't see any wounds, which meant that it wasn't all his, which both relieved and frightened her. His hair was in mats and tangles and his hands trembled with adrenaline as he threw clothes into a suitcase frantically.

When he wouldn't answer her, she impatiently grabbed his arm to turn him around, but in his hysterical frenzy to pack, Hans didn't realize how hard he'd pushed her away and she fell to the ground. He turned to her at the sound of the thud with wide eyes.

"Amanda! I'm sorry! I—"

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Answer me, Hans!" Amanda demanded, getting to her feet with her hands clenched in fists.

Hans took a deep, staggered breath to calm himself, even though it was ineffective. "Amanda, something has happened in Denmark. We have to disappear," he told her.

"Hans, tell me what happened or so help me I will go to the police!" Amanda commanded.

"No!" Hans reacted without thinking it through, backhanding her in the face with excessive force. "You will not go to the police! Do you hear me, Amanda?!"

Amanda remained on the ground where she fell when he hit her, holding her temple in her hand and fighting back tears. Her mouth hung agape as she shook her head in disbelief and pushed herself away from him in fear.

Hans' outraged expression softened into incredulity. "Amanda, I-I'm sorry, I . . ." His voice trailed off and he left the room to go out on the terrace.

Amanda put her hand to her stomach. She hoped to God that she was the only one who got hurt. She couldn't tell him now. Getting to her feet, she grabbed her purse and jacket off her dresser and looked out to make sure Hans was still on the terrace. When she confirmed it was safe, she quietly shuffled across the room and slipped through the open door.

Her feet carried her down the four flights of stairs, taking them by twos, and moved so fast through the lobby her feet seemed to barely touch the floor. Along the way, she struggled to pull on her jacket, first putting it on upside down, and then putting her right arm in the left sleeve, and finally pulling it on correctly. When she pushed through the revolving door, she looked up to see if her husband was still on the terrace.

But Hans wasn't there. Amanda turned and looked back in the lobby, where Hans had just stepped out of the elevator and saw her. Amanda took off down the sidewalk. After running to the end of the block and turning left, she turned into an alley and ducked behind a dumpster.

She took deep breaths to try to compose herself and braced herself against the dumpster to try to let her light-headedness subside. It wasn't long before she heard the pounding of Hans' footsteps along with the sound of his voice calling her name. The sound grew until she heard it just outside of the alley. Then it faded as he moved down the block.

After waiting a moment to see if he'd double back and letting her breathing return to its normal pace, she cautiously straightened herself and stepped forward into a puddle. Looking down into her reflection in the water, she let out a gasp at the sight. The place where Hans had hit her had already started to bruise—a bruise that encircled her entire right eye, hugged her temple, and touched just the top of her upper cheekbone. Amanda took her index finger and gently traced around the edge of it as it began to throb with pain. Hans had never hit her before. In fact, he'd even told her that domestic violence was something he would never tolerate under any circumstances. What could possibly have happened to change that? Whatever it was, it was obviously something heinous, most likely even illegal—and Amanda didn't want any part of it. Who had she married?

Amanda pulled her hood over her head to cover her face and peeked around the side of the buildings that made the alley. There was no sign of Hans, so Amanda continued into the sidewalk, pulling out her cell phone and taking the battery from it so Hans wouldn't be able to trace it. Instead, she found a phone booth and stepped inside, shivering in her soaked clothes. Thunder resounded hard overhead as she slipped the fifty pence coin into the slot and punched in the number with shaking fingers. After a few rings, there was an answer.

"Hey, Sherri. Yeah, it's me, Amanda. Remember that favor you owe me? I'm afraid that day has come. Look, I can't talk right now. Where can I meet you? Okay, I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

Amanda hung the phone back on the hook and left the booth, pulling her hood tighter around her head and making her way to Sherri's apartment seven blocks away.

— § —

Amanda knocked on the door and Sherri answered a few moments later.

"Oh my goodness! Amanda! You are soaking wet! Come in!" she said in shock with her thick Spanish accent, gently taking her by the forearm and leading her inside. Sherri was about Amanda's height with brown hair and eyes and lightly tanned skin. Sherri pulled Amanda's jacket off and gasped at the bruise on her face.

"Amanda! Your eye! Tell me what happened! No, wait, first we must get you into some dry clothes. Come," she insisted, pulling her into her bedroom.

After sorting through some drawers, she pulled out some dry clothes and a towel and laid it across the bed.

"After you change, you can set your wet clothes on the curtain rod rack in the bathroom and I will tend to them shortly," Sherri told her. Amanda forced a small smile and nodded. Sherri left her to change.

About ten minutes later, Amanda emerged from the room in the dry clothes with the towel wrapped around her head and Sherri led her to a chair she'd set next to the radiator, wrapped a blanket around her, and set her down. Then she gave her some warm soup.

"Here, let me do something about that bruise," Sherri offered. After she applied some bromelain ointment, she gave Amanda an ice pack to hold to her face. "There. After you've finished eating, we'll talk about what happened. ¿Sí?"

Amanda nodded and gently pressed the ice pack to her eye as she spooned the soup into her mouth with her other hand. In the silence, she started to think about her last pregnancy.

It was about a year ago. She and Hans were so thrilled to hear the news. About four months in, they were able to hear the baby's heartbeat clearly. There were times when they'd just sit on the couch and Amanda would listen to the baby with her stethoscope, and Hans would lay across the couch with his head resting against her stomach. They would sit in silence all evening sometimes, listening to their unborn child's heart beating softly. But sadly, nearing the end of her second trimester, Amanda miscarried. She and Hans were devastated. Over the course of this past year, they'd tried to get pregnant again. Amanda only wished it hadn't happened now.

Once she'd finished eating, Sherri asked once again what had happened to her. Amanda sighed.

"Sherri, I don't know what's going on. I don't want to put your life in danger, nor do I want Hans to hurt you, too. It's bad enough that I'm coming to you for help. All I need is a place to stay and someone I can trust until I can figure out some answers. Once I figure out what I'm going to do, I'll leave. That shouldn't take more than a couple of weeks. Is that okay?" Amanda pleaded.

"Of course. You saved my sister's life. I owe you everything," Sherri answered. "Just tell me what you need."

— § —

That night, when Sherri retired, Amanda crept to her laptop and accessed the internet. After typing 'recent news in Denmark' into the search inquiry and hitting the Enter button, she narrowed her eyes at the first result: GENERAL CROFT MURDERED ON DENMARK MILITARY GROUNDS.

"Oh, Hans," Amanda whispered to herself. "What did you get yourself into?"

Sherri's Apartment, London - May 8, 2004 - 1457 hours

Amanda stood in front of the mirror, looking herself over. She'd bought green contact lenses and brown hair dye, so instead of a blue-eyed blonde, she was now a green-eyed brunette. Would Hans see right through it? She turned to Sherri.

"Are you sure no one will recognize me?" Amanda asked.

"Of course, mi amiga. I barely recognize you myself, and we've been friends since we were hired as nurses six years ago. If I can't recognize you, no one will," Sherri assured her.

"Oh, but Hans would if he got close enough. That's why I've changed my name and I'm moving to America," Amanda told her.

"Buena, you need to tell me what happened. This is ridiculous. This past week you've been acting really strange and you haven't told me anything. What did Hans do to make you like this?" Sherri asked sternly.

Amanda sighed. "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you involved in this more than you are now, but I suppose you'll find out eventually anyway. Especially if anyone identifies Hans here in London, if someone hasn't already."

Amanda reached into her bag and pulled out the news article she'd read the night she ran away from Hans and handed it to Sherri. The main headline read:

GENERAL CROFT MURDERED ON DENMARK MILITARY GROUNDS

Underneath that, there were two pictures: one was of Hans with his name in bold letters beneath it, and the other was a picture of another man with the name Alexander Fahlcon. Sherri continued to read the article.

General Croft was found dead on a military base in Copenhagen, Denmark. Sergeant Alexander Fahlcon was found at the scene of the crime and was tried and found guilty of first-degree murder and assault of a superior officer. He was sentenced to death the following morning. After being placed under high security, Sergeant Hans Gruber broke Fahlcon out and fled the country with him. It is a mystery to where they are now, and there is a 54,000 DKK ($10,000 or €7000) bounty on both of their heads.

"Oh, miel, I'm so sorry. I wish there was something more I could do," Sherri responded.

"No, Sherri, you've done more than enough. Thank you for being so good to me, but I need to go. I already have my fake ID and passport. Thank you again, Sherri," Amanda replied, grabbing her bag.

"You're welcome. Be careful out there, Amanda," Sherri said, giving her a hug before she headed for the door.

"I will. Goodbye, Sherri," Amanda said.

"Goodbye and good luck, Amanda," Sherri replied.

With that, Amanda was gone.

— § —

Elizabeth Shields looked out of the window of the plane as it started its departure from London. What was she doing? What would happen if he found her? What would he do to her?—or their child? Surely he wouldn't harm his own flesh and blood, right? Elizabeth wasn't sure she even knew who he was anymore.

She looked down at her stomach and gently flattened her hand against it, vowing to always protect her child, no matter the cost. This child would be raised by her, and her only. When he grew up and asked questions about his or her father, she would tell him or her that their father died honorably, saving someone in a fire, or from drowning or something. She wouldn't dare tell her child that its father was a fugitive in Denmark and possibly a murderer. She wouldn't put those kinds of thoughts in her child's mind. Yes, she would protect her child from anything and anyone, even if it cost her own life.

Although, she didn't anticipate the possibility of it costing someone else's.