I'm sorry for the delay. Another idea demanded attention, resulting in Unhappy After. I of course noted the reviews on that, asking for another chapter on this work, which of course I always intended to keep working on. Now that I have finished Unhappy After, this story is my number one FF priority, but taking precedent over that is a movie screenplay I am co-writing with my husband for preteens. We just finished a draft and now comes all the revising.

For those of you who are wondering what is going on with my daughter, E., my husband finally put his foot down on continuing to serve as her guardian. We had a hearing to determine whether E. would be released from guardianship or continue with guardianship with the state being appointed her guardian. All three experts recommended that she remain on guardianship; we have a hearing this week to officially turn over her guardianship to the state. We still want to be E.'s parents but can't handle the ongoing stress of trying to save her from herself with no relief in sight. We are trying to be at peace with this decision.

This weekend, E. is off visiting her birth sister. She skipped out on going to see the nurse practitioner that prescribed her depression meds, kept her paycheck instead of depositing it as she is supposed to, and just took off without a care in the world, leaving me to pay her rent out of her account. On FB she just posted a picture, bragging about the tattoo she got in honor of her birth Dad. It says "Dad" with a heart and has the date he died.

This birth dad is the same sicko who molested her and would spend his money buying the birth mom drugs, sometimes leaving the kids without food, water, etc. My husband said seeing the picture of the tattoo was like a punch to his gut and he is so ready to be done. E. lives in a fantasy world where somehow she can ignore whatever she doesn't like from the past, dress it up, and pretend that it is different from how it is.

21.

I was shocked, completely shocked upon reading Jane Bennet's letter about what Chuck Bingley had done to her, but was somehow even more shocked about what she wanted from me. My first impulse was to deny Jane's request by simply doing nothing. I had escaped from the Caroline Bingley, from any association with the Bingley family, had just learned that Chuck was worse than I could have ever thought, and now Jane was trying to make me enter back into a world of insanity.

But I felt the emotion, the hope, the trust behind Jane's plea. Somehow, she thought I could help her in a way that the people who had not been through all the crazy with this family could not.

I could not ignore her plea, her plight, not if I wanted to have any respect for myself. I knew I needed to help her if I could.

My hands were trembling as I input Jane's number into my contact list and saved it. I knew I should text right then, for I had just gone to the bathroom upon returning home from work and had nothing else that required my attention just then. I should just get it over with. But I didn't feel prepared to be confronted with her pain over the phone, and that was a phone call I could not imagine accepting just then.

I told myself that Jane did not know that I had received the letter yet, that tomorrow evening would be soon enough to contact her. I tried to go about the rest of my evening as I normally would, even shut the letter away in a drawer so it would not keep "looking at me" but it didn't seem to help. It was like I could still see the envelope on my table, still feel the memory of sitting there and reading it, the shadow of what had transpired there. I was almost certain it would bring on the nightmares more than my sister's continued absence had.

It tormented me enough that by 9 o'clock I'd had enough. I made my preparation for bed early, using the bathroom, brushing my teeth, putting on some comfortable sleep pants and a t-shirt, and then settled myself on a couch with the TV turned down low and the captions on. That low buzz of sound made my home feel less empty.

My fingers didn't shake as much then as I called up a text message to her and typed in This is Bill Darcy. I got your letter. I am willing to talk if you haven't thought the better of it between now and then. My finger hovered over the send button, hesitating. I didn't have to hit "send." I could just delete or let the message save as a draft and she would never be the wiser. But that would be cowardly.

I pressed the button, saw that it was sending and then sent, and waited. Nothing happened. For several long minutes I kept my phone in my hand expecting it to ring. It did not.

Finally I received an alert. Jane had texted back. Thank you for replying. I do want to talk but I am not up for it tonight. Could we meet tomorrow?

Tomorrow? Tomorrow! and meet, as in, in person? This was worse, somehow. And, yet, I still wanted to help if I could. I understood how much of a lifeline it was to be able to confide in someone.

I replied I'm at work all day, but could meet in the evening at six or later. Where?

I could see that she was typing, then pausing, then typing again, but nothing appeared on my end. I wondered if she was writing texts and then erasing them. Finally, a new text appeared. Could you meet me at Charlotte's apartment at 7pm?

When I replied that I could, she texted me the address.

I sent a thumbs up and she responded with one of her own.

Of course I tossed and turned that night, finally drifting off a couple of hours before my alarm was set to go off. It was hard to get up when the alarm blared at me, but my hot shower and coffee helped.

One of the things that caused my insomnia was the worry that Charlotte might have overheard something of the aftermath of my attempt to speak with the police in Meryton. I did not like being vulnerable in front of people. Then I started thinking about Jane and Charlotte talking about me; that would be the worst!

The work day was interminable. The completion of tasks that would have once given me satisfaction, felt meaningless. All I was doing was trying to fill time before facing something far worse than a colonoscopy.

If it were not for the meeting, I would have left early, but there was no point as I had Googled it and my workplace was closer to Charlotte's than my home. I pondered having dinner sent in, but my stomach felt in knots and I concluded it was probably better not to eat before the meeting.

About half an hour before I was set to leave, my phone rang. It was Rick. After we exchanged greetings, he told me "I received an email today, from someone claiming to be G.G. It was addressed to you, also. Check your spam folder."

I pulled up my email and that folder and began skimming through all the offers and advertisements. "What's the account? When did you get it?"

"It came in last night at 11 something, but I just saw it now. It is from GeorgesGalGWxGG4life."

I located the message with the subject line "This is G.G." I clicked on the message and saw it was just a few lines long. It read in full.

Dear Bill and Rick,

I'm okay. I'm where I want to be, with the man that loves me. I hope you can understand and accept that. George doesn't want me to contact you, but we really need some money. Buy me a Visa gift card and then send me the numbers, front and back. I don't like what he makes me do when we are running low on money. Stop trying to look for me, and let me be happy.

G.G.

I felt bile rise to my throat from my stomach, feared just then that I would be sick. I found myself spitting into my garbage can. When I got myself under control, I asked Rick "Did you reply to her?"

"No, I called you first thing."

Normally, I am the one making decisions, but in that moment I just couldn't even think coherently, with speculations of what George might be making G.G. do when they didn't have enough money running around in my head. So I asked him "What should we do?"

Rick replied without hesitation "We need to contact the police first thing tomorrow. I think there is a way to trace what device she sent the email from, and hopefully a way to then track it through the provider."

"Okay." I responded. "But I really want to write her back right now."

"I don't think we should. Please trust me on this."

I tried to be rational, even as I was putting her new email address in as a contact and reading the message once again. "But what if he is about to make her do the bad thing if we don't send some money right away?"

"Bill, it won't be our fault. That may not even be true; it may just be a way of trying to get us to immediately send her money. And given how long she's been missing, it will just be more of the same about what she is used to him doing."

"I suppose," I replied.

"Please try to see this as a good thing. Waiting for the police doesn't mean we won't get to email with her. I bet the police will want us to engage in some conversations with her, perhaps send her some gift cards, just enough so she keeps sending emails to us, to get more money. Maybe the police can trace gift card numbers, too."

"That would be good." I pondered further. "I hate that she sees us as just a piggy-bank."

"Me, too. Did you notice how G.G. doesn't ask how we are, doesn't seem to have any awareness of how worried we've been. Our efforts to find her are just an inconvenience to her."

We made arrangements to meet at the police station at 9 a.m. Rick said he would leave a message on Detective Rolf's phone, so hopefully he would expect us first thing.

After I hung up, I shut off my work computer and prepared to go home. It was only as I reached my car that I remembered I was supposed to meet Jane. I glanced at the time. I could still go, but I would be perhaps a half-hour late. I debated with myself over whether I had it in me. I didn't want to go, had not wanted to go even when I agreed to meet her, but what finally decided me was thinking about how much I would hope that someone would help my own sister, if she reached out for help.

I texted Jane that I was only leaving work now, and explained my probable arrival time (adding five minutes, as I needed to get gas). I went to the gas station by the interstate and then pumped my gas, giving me time to hear back from her before I needed to decide which direction to take it. She replied, "Okay. Get here when you can." I replied with a thumbs-up.

I started the car, put on a streaming service with some of the 80s music my mother had liked, and turned the volume up (not ear drum busting loud, or hearing damaging loud but higher than I usually would have done), to block out my thoughts. Then I put the car in gear and drove off.

As I drove, I did my best to sing along with the songs. The results would have gotten me teased if I had been in the car with Rick, as my voice was so-so and my knowledge of many of the lyrics laughable. I did better with songs that went along with movies, than I did with others. Even with how poorly I did, this helped to lift my spirits and made me relax somewhat.

By the time I arrived at the apartment complex (optimistically labeled Green Gables Estates), the sun was setting. The place seemed okay, but somewhat run down, a dying pine tree on one side of the sign, a brown lawn, damaged stucco on some of the buildings, that sort of thing. But there was no garbage lying around, no big weeds.

I found Building 32 easily enough based on the signs and parked. As my current song was only thirty seconds or so from being done, I remained in the car and continued pouring out my heart by singing along with White Snake's "Here I Go Again on my Own," a song with lyrics so simple and repetitious that I couldn't mess them up. So while I noticed a car pull up next to mine in the area labeled guest parking, I wasn't particularly paying attention to that.

When the song finished, I pressed the button to turn off the ignition, climbed out and locked the car with my key fob. Then I began walking up the path to the stairs in the middle of Building 32 as I had been told that 3224 was on the second floor. I had just walked up a couple of steps when I heard someone walking behind me. Although that wasn't too surprising, I had vague thoughts that this might be the sort of place where someone could get mugged.

I was not normally too worried about such things as I did not look like an easy target, but this was an unfamiliar location, it was getting dark, and my suspicious mind immediately thought, Your size won't protect you from someone with a gun. I quickly glanced over my shoulder, and in the dimming light vaguely made out that it was a small woman behind me. I didn't look long enough to identify the person, just to get a general sense.

I proceeded up the stairs, hearing the woman also climb the stairs just as I was almost to the second floor. It took me a few moments to find the door labeled 3224. I knocked and waited.

A few seconds later, the door opened and I saw Charlotte within. "Come on in, Bill," Charlotte instructed, holding the door open wide. I proceeded into what was a pleasant room and looked around. While it had the bland beige walls and carpets of many apartments, there were nice prints on the walls, a throw rug in shades of blue and green, and good furniture. Jane stood within, an attempt at a pleasant expression on her face as she rung her hands. I could see fading green and yellow bruise marks around her neck.

I was just about to comment on how nice I found the place, to try to put her at ease, when Charlotte, who was in the process of closing the door behind me, was stopped by someone shoving the door back open and hurrying inside. It was Elizabeth Bennet.

She walked past me and to Jane. "Why didn't you tell me you were here? I've been worried sick."

I had an idea of the why, but said nothing, just watching the scene play out before me. Elizabeth gave Jane no opportunity to make a reply when she glanced over at me and asked, "Why did you invite Bill Darcy over here instead of your own sister? Charlie keeps asking if I have seen you; he is very worried, too. This isn't like you to just skip out on work, your family and your fiance."

I saw the moment that Elizabeth took in the bruises around Jane's neck. "What on earth happened?" She drew close to Jane and studied the bruises. "Who did this?"

"Uh, uh," Jane couldn't seem to articulate any words. But while her mouth wasn't working, her feet worked just fine and she fled the living room, disappearing into what was probably a bedroom, quickly closing the door behind her.

Elizabeth was quick, but not as quick as Jane. Therefore, the door was already locked when she reached it and tried ineffectually to turn the door knob. She knocked and demanded, "You let me in now, Jane!"

There was no response that I could hear from beyond the locked door.

Charlotte gestured for me to sit, and then sat down in the loveseat adjacent to the chair I had chosen. "Did you see Eliza before she came in? Did you arrange for her to come?"

I shook my head and shrugged. "I vaguely saw someone behind me as I was climbing the stairs, but I didn't realize it was her."

Charlotte shook her head. "She is persistent; I will give her that. She tried to invite herself over the other day, found me at the information table, didn't seem to believe me when I said I hadn't seen Jane. I don't like lying to Eliza, but . . ."

"I understand, you were trying to keep Jane's confidence."

We listened to Elizabeth's entreaties for Jane to let her in. Charlotte got up and said, "I suppose I should do something about that."

I watched as Charlotte walked over to Elizabeth. "She's not ready to talk to you right now. Please respect that."

Elizabeth looked over at me and asked, "But she's ready to talk to him? Why him and not me? Did Bill do that to her?"

"No, of course not!" Charlotte replied emphatically in my defense. "I think you should leave. But don't say anything to anyone about seeing Jane here. Please, please respect her privacy. I'll find another place for her if I have to, but I think she'd rather be here."

"What about Mary? Mom and Dad? Charlie? They are all worried sick about her."

"No one." Charlotte's voice was firm. "Can I trust you?"

"But, Charlie . . ."

"Especially not Charlie."

"Did he, did he do that to her?" Elizabeth's voice cracked just a little.

"I've said too much already. Please just go. Jane will contact you when she is ready. You've seen that she's safe. That should be enough."

Elizabeth twisted her lips and I could tell she really didn't like what she was being asked to do. As Charlotte was ushering her toward the front door, Elizabeth broke away from her and came over to me. "Why is he allowed to be here and I'm not? Did Jane ask him to come? Charlotte, are you dating Bill Darcy? I wouldn't think you'd be his type, but . . ."

I didn't say a word, curious as to how Charlotte would handle the onslaught of questions. "Oh, Eliza. You may ask questions, but I don't have to answer them. Please just go and don't say anything."

Elizabeth twisted her lips and I wasn't sure if she was in agreement or not, but she did allow Charlotte to escort her to the door. Charlotte almost shoved her out and locked the front door behind her the second she was gone. She was smart to do this as a second or two later Elizabeth began knocking. I could here her shout "I want to talk to Jane. Why won't you let me?"

Charlotte returned to the loveseat. "Just ignore her. Eventually, she'll go away."

It was a tense five or ten minutes until the intermittent pounding on the door stopped. During this time, Charlotte and I exchanged hardly five words. When Elizabeth seemed to be gone for good, we traded some banal pleasantries and Charlotte offered me a soda which I accepted not because I was particularly thirsty, but just to have something to do.

Once I was situated with my Orange Crush. Charlotte went to check on Jane, talking calmly to her through the door. I could not hear whatever Jane said, but I had a decent sense of the conversation from Charlotte's words.

"She's gone now."

"I don't think so."

"I can't promise that."

"I can move you if you want."

"Bill's still here. Do you want to talk to him tonight."

"I understand. He'll understand, too."

Charlotte returned. "She's not up for talking tonight. She is sorry for your long drive and hopes you understand."

I did and I said so, adding "I'll come back again another time if she wants me to."

"She may," Charlotte replied, "or she may not. In these situations, it is important to respect someone's boundaries and wishes. Her life was out of her control and now she needs that control back."

I nodded, gulped the last of my drink and got up. Charlotte took the empty can from me and walked me to the door. Before I exited I told her "Please tell Jane that it's really okay, no bother at all, and I will be back if she wants me to be, or we could always talk over the phone."

"Okay, I will." Charlotte's parting smile was closed lipped and tight. I closed the door tightly behind me quick, in case Elizabeth was still looming around.