Sorry this took so long. It took me a long time to get it going-I must have re-written things like five times. ~II

Upon waking the next morning, Reese panicked a little because he couldn't remember where he was. It took a moment to remember the event of the evening before. He hadn't really felt safe in a hotel suite that someone else had rented, but his desire to pick up and stay elsewhere was contradicted by a bone-deep exhaustion that had to have come from being Raised from three realms down to return to the Light Realm. Besides, he had no money to get another room. So he'd stayed where he was and in spite of feeling insecure, he'd slept better than he had in over a year. He'd had a sleep without nightmares for once.

As he stood by the window watching the sun rise, appreciating the color in the Light realm, there was a knock on the door. Instinctively he tensed for a fight before a voice called, "Room service!"

"I didn't order room service," Reese answered through the door.

"A gentleman last night left us instructions to bring it to you," responded the hotel worker. "He was short, walked with a limp, wore glasses." Reese hesitated for moment before drawing the door open enough to see the young man on the other side. Finally, Reese opened the door all the way to admit the bellhop and his trolley. There was also a bag draped over the boy's arm.

Once he had removed the lids from the dishes on the cart, he turned and held out the bag to Reese with a smile. "This was left for you as well," he said. Reese took it and thanked him. "Have a good day, sir." He turned and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Reese unzipped the bag and found what looked to be a rather expensive suit hung pristinely on a hanger. Reese wasn't quite sure how he felt about that, but he didn't have any money to buy clothes for himself right now, so he let it go.

The smell of the food on the trolley made his stomach rumble and he remembered that he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal. The breakfast was simple—scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage links and pancakes—but for someone who had only eaten the bland food of the Grey Realm for a year, it tasted like it had been made by the most talented chef in the world.

He later showered and shaved off the straggly beard he had grown in the suite's massive bathroom. In the mirror, he examined the mark embossed on his chest. As Finch had said it would, it had stopped glowing and now merely looked like an oddly shaped scar. He ran his fingers over it thoughtfully before pulling his shirt on.

By eight thirty he was dressed and looking at a reflection of himself that he hadn't seen in a long while. Experimentally, he spread his wings a little bit to look over his neglected feathers. They could have used some grooming themselves, but that would have to wait. He folded them back into his Soul and left the hotel.

The address on Finch's card was within easy walking distance. It was a bit cold out, but Reese enjoyed the feel of the sunlight on his shoulders. Even the nippy breeze ruffling his hair felt good.

Finch was sitting on a bench near their meeting place, a sleek black town car parked nearby. He turned toward John as he approached. "Good Morning, Mister Reese." He appraised Reese's new attire with a raised eyebrow. "I'm glad to see the suit fits. I had to make some guesses at a couple of the measurements."

"It fits very well, thank you," replied Reese, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Finch stood up and they began walking, Reese adjusting his long stride to accommodate the shorter man's limp. They were headed towards a large stone building on the corner, surrounded by orange construction fencing. They entered from a door that was off the street and not visible to passers-by. Inside, books were strewn all over the tiled floor. It was dark but for the sunlight poking through the high windows. The whole place smelled of dust and had a distinctly lonely, abandoned feel to it.

"What is this place?" Reese asked.

"The decline of our civilization," answered Finch with a sardonic look over his shoulder. "The city started closing many of its libraries because they no longer had the money to fund them. The building was sold to a bank I control which subsequently announced bankruptcy. The property's in a sort of limbo now…Officially, it doesn't exist."

"A bit like you?" asked Reese as they climbed a large marble staircase. Part of Reese's Talent was reading people's lives—history, emotions, and memories—from their Soul emanations. Usually, the emanations worked sort of like an aura, surrounding the person from the outside. Finch's emanations were so internalized, though, that Reese hadn't been able to pick up more than a couple tiny scraps of emotion.

Finch turned and gave him a suspicious look. If he really did know "exactly everything" about Reese then he would know about Reese's Talent. "Mister Reese, I realize that there is a disparity between how much I know about you and how much you know about me," he hesitantly answered. "I know that you will be trying to close that gap as soon as possible, but I should warn you, I'm a really private person."

Reese almost smirked. Oh, this was going to be fun, wasn't it?

Finch unlocked a gate at the top of the stairs and led the way into a room that felt much less abandoned than the rest of the building. Past a cloudy glass partition sat a work station covered with computer monitors and papers. The wall to the right was covered with a bookshelf protected by metal latticework. The far wall was obscured by several bulletin boards covered with all kinds of pictures, articles, and other information. Strands of scarlet thread connected people and series of events together.

Reese wandered over to the boards to study them closer. Nearly all the threads ended with some sort of violent crime. He shook his head in amazement. "This is the list? The List?" Finch nodded.

"How do you get your information?" Reese asked curiously. Immediately, Finch's expression closed off.

"It's not important," was the clipped answer. Reese thought it probably was, but he decided not to push—at least for now.

Finch picked up a photograph and handed it to him. It was a young blonde girl with an easy smile on her face. "Her name is Theresa Whitaker," stated Finch. "Two years ago, her entire family was murdered. Though her body was never recovered, she was also presumed dead. Apparently, that was not a correct assumption."

"So she got away somehow? Do you think the people that killed her family found out and are after her again?"

Finch shook his head as he taped the photo to the glass partition. "The people that were responsible were caught. A Tracker on the police force was able to hunt down the hit man that killed them, and from there they were able to find out that he was hired by a real estate company that Mister Whitaker and his brother were involved with. They're all in jail now."

"That doesn't necessarily mean they aren't still after her."

Finch shook his head. "I don't think it's them." He handed over another photograph. "This was taken about two weeks ago from security footage at a bank. The bank was robbed shortly thereafter. All the security measures in the bank had been rendered useless and all the guards' and tellers' Talents and Powers had been temporarily disabled."

Reese looked at the photo, seeing the same blonde from the other picture, but older and lacking the spark of happiness in her eyes. She was standing at a counter working on a checkbook—or at least she appeared to be working on it. A man with dark hair several years her senior stood next to her, looking around cautiously.

"She probably has the Talent," Reese said, "And this guy with her is probably her partner and he provides the Power for her to do what she does."

Finch nodded agreement. "The gang that does the robberies seems to be all ex-military. From what I've been able to tell, they've successfully pulled off at least half a dozen robberies—possibly more—with Theresa's help."

"Try to find out who her partner is. I've got the feeling he'll be a lot easier to locate than Theresa. There's also a good chance that if we find him, we'll have found her since they're partners."

Reese threw his jacket over his shoulder and walked toward the exit.

"Mister Reese, where are you going in the meantime?" Finch called after him.

Reese gave a predatory smile over his shoulder. "I'm going to go make a friend on the police force."