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Ben rode the elevator to the ground floor of the mall, and stood to one side, waiting, tense, as a family and two others got on.

At the second floor, the family got out.  Leaving the two people.

“Rider’s friends?”

Both nodded.

They matched the descriptions.

“First thing, cell phones off.”

“S.O.P.,” the man said.

Ben put the key into the elevator, then took them up.

“I’m Ben.  Investigator.”

“Rider texted us the rundown.  Natalie and Sterling Teale, thirty-four and five.  Ripley Hurst, a.k.a. Camellia Teale, eleven.  Rider, a.k.a. Roderick Kaplan, thirty-nine,” the man said.  “I’m Michalik, she’s Wilson.”

“Call him Mitch, nobody remembers the full name, and you can call me Anna,” Wilson said.  “I like your hiding place.”

They had reached the top floor and now hiked the perimeter of the mall, along those sections of hallway that ran against the exterior wall, passing through one office area, and then into another.

‘Mitch’, or Michalik, was burly, beard short, thick hair long and tied into a low ponytail, and wore clothes that looked a size too big for him.  Maybe to conceal the guns he wore.  It made him look bigger.

Wilson was small and wide, with bright dyed red hair, and multiple bags.  Ben offered to carry one, but she didn’t let him.

This made four.  Two others had arrived.  Davie Cavalcanti was scary, Rider had alluded to that.  Ben had seen the pictures in the packet he’d been given to distract him from the Hursts.  At the same time, though, this was a solution to multiple problems.  It turned Davie from an enemy that was targeting them to a dangerous ally he’d have to be very careful of.

It meant that Ben didn’t need to worry about keeping a constant eye on Rider, out of concern he might get a phone out of somewhere hidden and send a text that ruined everything.

It meant the could recruit, where before he’d told Rider not to call for help from other licensed marshals, out of concern they’d have ties to the Cavalcanti family.  Four so far, three more on the way.  It was unstated, but Ben doubted they’d have this much help if the Cavalcantis weren’t onboard.

“Okay,” Wilson said, before removing her wig.  She hooked fingernails in, then tore the skin off her chin.  “Let’s get to work.”

Sterling shrieked, climbing off his chair without managing to fall, then promptly stumbled over a backpack that was knee high for him.

“It’s okay!” Ripley told him.  “It’s a mask, it’s fake, it’s not real.”

His mom picked him up off the ground, hugging him.  Ripley repeated those words until Sterling calmed down.

Which was maybe the best recipe, Ben figured.  Because Sterling was on a fast road to thinking his big sister was the best thing since Blair, and he’d believe either of the girls if they said the sky was green, so if she said it was okay… he listened.  Then Natalie was mom and there was something baseline there, for most kids with their mothers.

Not all, sadly.

Embarrassed to realize he was freaking out over the wrong thing, with everyone’s attention on him, Sterling looked like he wanted to cry, but didn’t want to cry over this, so he kind of sniveled, shrinking into his mom’s shoulder.  Seeing the rug burn he’d gotten falling on the ultracheap corporate carpet, he touched a finger to it, and then started crying.

“Most kids think it’s cool,” Wilson said.

“It is cool,” Ripley said, looking.

“It’s something we did a lot for extractions of indentured servants,” Michalik said.  “Young women get told there’s work here and they start working as nannies and house staff, except they get their passports taken away.  They get kept, working every day, no pay, told they owe more and more, to keep them that way.”

“This might be a bit heavy for Ripley and Sterling,” Natalie said.  She was putting a band-aid on Sterling.

“It’s not too heavy for me.  I even read a book once about it.”

“Wow,” Ben said.  He saw-

“I read at the same level as a first year college student,” Ripley said, with a pride that made her sound a lot like the eleven year old she was.

“My teachers said something similar about me,” Ben said.  Ripley gave him a look, maybe appraising?  That was something that mattered to her.

“I love that you read books,” Natalie said, “but there are limits on what someone your age should be reading.  Something like that is too much.”

“Too much for you maybe,” Ripley said.  “Try growing as a person.”

“That’s unkind and inappropriate.”

“Oh, are you going to ground me?” Ripley asked.  “Stick me in a room with nothing to do?  For hours?  I can’t even read the books I got at the library, except oh, hey, no, wait, I wasn’t allowed to those either.”

“Let’s stay on track?” Ben asked.  “We’re in a position to get books.  Rider, can you send a message to the people who are coming?  Have them pick up some things?  Ripley, give Rider a book list?”

“Actually, if you wait, I can give a list of clothes and items to pick up,” Wilson said.

“I’ll tell them to hold back.”

“If there’s any moral of my story,” Michalik said, settling into a chair, “is when you get to be about seventeen or eighteen, don’t go accepting jobs to nanny overseas.  It’s dangerous.  Especially if you’re not educated, which you sound like you are.”

“That work stopped, more or less,” Wilson said, unpacking her bags.  “I’m still not sure if it’s because the agencies and groups that kept an eye out for ‘indentured servants’ folded, or because the situation here’s bad enough that it’s Americans going overseas to get out.”

“I’ve watched a lot of documentaries and followed some ongoing investigations, especially close to the subject of the Teales- abduction and such,” Ben said.  “It’s ongoing.”

“Shit,” Wilson said.

“Someone needs to get some money together and hire us, then,” Michalik said.

Ben was quickly sorting Michalik into a certain mental box.  He wasn’t sure about Anna Wilson.

“I don’t want to be a nanny, anyway,” Ripley said.

“You’re very good with Sterling and Tyr, from what I saw,” Ben observed.  “Don’t underrate that.”

“I’m normal with them.”

Ben did not think she was normal with them.  Across his search for Ripley, he’d seen a fair few parents with their kids, and there were grown adults who were less attentive.

“Give me a minute to get set up.  Natalie?  Do you want to be first?” Wilson asked.

“Do I?”

“I’d rather do you before the kids.  So I can make them resemble you post-transformation.  Go use the washroom, hydrate?  You’ll be sitting for thirty minutes to an hour.”

“Can we also take a moment to chat?” Ben asked Natalie.

“In the bathroom?  No.”

“On the way to,” he said.

She didn’t say no, and her quarter-shrug, partial movement of her head was indecipherable, so he took it as a yes.  She set Sterling down in a chair by a quietly fuming Ripley,

Wilson was okay with kids, because she was at least aware of Sterling’s emotional state, and was showing him the tools they’d be using.

Ben wondered if he should tell Natalie that they were working with Davie.

If it would achieve anything, except getting her more on the same page as the rest of them.  If it would cause problems.

“You’re still pushing her away,” he said, once they were out of earshot of Ripley.  “I thought we were on the same page.”

“I never thought that when I got her back, I’d be told, over and over again, no to be a mother.  Not to have boundaries,” she said.

“It’s a negotiation.”

“Where I get no say,” she replied.  She slowed enough she’d almost stopped in her tracks.  Ben stopped after a pace or to, and turned to look at her.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Natalie said.  “I see… I see her getting pushed away.  I don’t know how to do this.  I don’t know how to navigate this, being pushed and pulled, without constantly touching- hot stoves, basically.  Every time I touch the wrong subject, or the wrong thing comes up, I seem to hurt her.  Lose her more.  Again.”

“Yeah.  Seeing that.”

“What do I do, Ben?”

He stopped.

The two of them stood there in that hallway, halfway to the bathroom area for the office level.

“Blair had it right, I think.”

“Blair?  The friend?”

“She came to that conversation with goals in mind.  Stuff she wanted to say or do.  Four bullet points, was it?  That she wanted to raise, for Ripley’s sake.”

“Points I don’t agree with.”

“Sure.  But they were what Ripley wanted, she had those ideas in mind, and she used a very simple trick I’m sure they taught her in drama class at school, or at some camp or after school activity she want to, that she took to heart.  Maybe it’s even key to how she talks to and engages with everyone.  ‘Yes, and…’, and ‘no, but…’.”

Natalie folded her arms.

“If you find yourself saying something good to Ripley, build on it.  Give her something about herself.  Make it something more.  Tie it to something or someone you know.  She says she likes reading… use that to connect with her.  Or mention books or genres you love.  Or that Sterling loves.  That’s one way to connect to Ripley through him.  I know you read to him at night.  Or give him a prompt to talk, if he seems shy.  Empower.  Build.”

“Okay.  I can try.”

“And if you find yourself saying no?  Which you do a lot?  First off, think hard about if you really want to spend… political capital on that.  Or think of it as you having a thousand Ripleybucks.  Every no costs.  She’s lost everything.  She’s scared about what the future holds.  Every no is her having less hope for that future.”

“It’s the hot stove thing.  It comes out.  Like jerking away when you touch something hot.”

“Well… I know you hate the idea, I know there’s a history, but first off, as a soon as possible?  Therapy.”

“Long waitlist, but maybe, yeah.”

“Second, if you do find yourself saying no, steer it.  No but.  No, but there’s a compromise.  No, but there’s another option.  No, but here’s a positive.  Give her something.  That’s the language Blair spoke, it’s why she’s Ripley’s best friend.  It’s why Sterling fell in love with her in a matter of minutes.  She engages, she makes the other kids feel like the only direction is up.  Like whatever they’re doing has momentum.”

“Sterling’s five.  He doesn’t fall in love.”

“Not- not sexual, or even romantic, but admiration can count.  He lit up around her.  So did Ripley.  So take that as a guide, because you want both of them to light up around you.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

“See what I did just there?  No but?”

“I see.”

“Good,” he said.

“Any word from Sean?” Natalie asked.

“No, we haven’t been using our phones, because that is something Mia could use to identify us.  Some of the files in the dump suggested they have and use sniffers, for cell signals and Wifi.”

“Right.  Anyway, the sooner I go to the washroom and get this done, the sooner we’re past all this, right?”

She started walking toward the washroom.  Ben walked too, but he let her get a lead on him.

“Ideal world, we’re free and clear in the next twelve hours,” he said.

“It feels like we never will be,” she said.  She closed the door between her and them.

He paused, thinking for a second.

“I don’t know how many more of these talks I have in me,” he said.  “This might be it.”

He waited a second.  No response?  Or-

“I have a shy bladder.  Some privacy, please?”

“Okay.”

He wouldn’t tell her about Davie.  It was a distraction, and they needed her to devote all her energy to steering things onto a new, better course with Ripley.

And, by that same token, he saw Rider and Michalik having a murmured conversation.  One that they weren’t sharing with him.  He’d chatted with Rider, and he had the distinct impression that the man didn’t like the Cavalcantis and liked Davie Cavalcanti even less, but was willing to play a certain kind of ball with the local judge, and wasn’t going to throw Ben under the bus.

Or, in short, Rider was on his side more than the Cavalcanti’s side.  So if a secret was being kept or a conversation kept to whispers, it was to spare Ben’s conscience, not to corner him.

He wasn’t sure how much of that was Ben’s own want and need to just… not have to worry about watching Rider every second of the day, when there were so many things to worry about, and how much of it was that things would stop making sense if Rider turned on him, to that degree.

The man wasn’t a monster.

“Our two men are on standby, by a thrift store,” Michalik said, as Ben entered the room.

“Okay.”

He’d met people like Michalik before.  He’d been a drama student, and the club at their school had been comprehensive.  Early on, the freshmen and juniors had had pretty basic roles, covering every base, but then by the senior year, they’d all been given more responsibility within the club.  Leading roles, managing the kids from the younger grades.

Some of Ben’s respected seniors had come back after graduating, socializing with their friends from the younger years, Ben included, and the reports about the job market and university had been dire.  One of the most compelling arguments had been to have a fallback, and the way one senior had talked about being a licensed marshal had made Ben think about the way his dad had talked about business.  That there were some ideas and enterprises that were so raw, so new, that they hadn’t settled down to make any degree of sense yet.  Including the monetary rewards.

And that had been true.  Especially when people had had a bit more money, police were striking, panic was high, and the supply of licensed marshals slim, those ready to act when congress had given the green light had made anywhere from mid six figures to seven figures, annually.

Had Ben gone through with the course and gotten on board way back then, he could’ve made two or three hundred thousand dollars a year, tapering down to half that in the years following, as things had cooled and the artificially inflated economy had settled into something more depressed, generally.

But that wasn’t who he was.  He’d wanted a fallback job and he’d realized it cost something.  He wouldn’t be able to have a passion he pursued in the evenings and afternoons while having that as a day job.  He’d lose sleep, have nightmares, end up drinking, like some.

Or he’d end up like the guy who’d sold him on being a licensed marshal in the first place, and like Michalik.  Propping up the job, going all in, because all other passions died.  He’d learned to recognize those types.  The way they talked, using terms like ‘extraction’, or ‘mission’.  Or going beyond ‘mission’ to ‘the mission’.

Which somehow broke down to them being willing to walk away from people in need to go pursue bounties and jobs that gave them those six figures a year.

It wasn’t founded on anything more than the language the man had used, and the way he’d talked so cavalierly about people needing to raise money, but Michalik scared Ben a bit.

Rider, Wilson, and the two quiet guys with guns watching the one hallway and stairwell scared him too, if only because they hadn’t shut the man down.

Natalie returned, and she’d washed her face and hair.  And she’d cried, judging by the redness of her eyes.  Nobody mentioned it.  Wilson had her sit in one of the cheap corporate padded chairs that seemed to be more prickly lint than anything else, and dried her face and hair with paper towel, before tearing open a condom wrapper.

“I’ve seen this movie,” Michalik said, before laughing to himself.

“I’ve found this gets best results,” Wilson said, unrolling the condom.

“I bet you do,” Michalik chuckled out the words.

“I’ll need more water,” she told Rider, before emptying a full thermos of water into the condom.  “Any time my water is empty, fill it.”

“We’ll take turns,” Ben volunteered.

She had other bottles in her bag, and the condom held a surprising amount.  The water-filled condom went into nude pantyhose, which was then loosely tied around Natalie’s neck.

She’d done this often enough, from the methodical way she went about doing things.  This wasn’t a change of clothing, sunglasses, and a wig.

“Heavy,” Natalie said.

“This woman is sharp, right?”

“She is,” Ben replied.

“Talk me through it.”

“She goes shallow, at least at a baseline level, sniffs out wireless and cell connections, finds unsecured lines, or ones with bad passwords, then aggregates her info,” Ben said.  “Cross-checks it, maybe has resources through the hospital she worked at.  If she accesses databases of patient files, finds emergency contacts, uses that as a baseline, it might explain how she mapped out the entire Cavalcanti organization and who they were involved with.  Even then… she’s doing something else.  She got a lot of information on them.  And, presumably, on us.”

Ripley snorted.

“What?” Natalie asked.

“It’s so much simpler than that.  You guys are being dumb.”

“Simpler how?” Ben asked.

“You’re talking about it like it’s a big deal but it’s not.  Our babysitter knows this stuff.”

“General knowledge,” Wilson said.  “Unsanitized social media.  We… leave information everywhere.  We used to warn people about it, when we were preparing to get them out.”

“Of indentured servitude,” Michalik said.

“Slavery,” Ben murmured, considering.  “Yeah.  So she… checked for information.  And she’s presumably very good at that.”

“Obsessive, given the amount of raw information in that pile,” Rider said.

“Which she then supplements with cameras, which we saw.  Bugs, which we detected but didn’t reliably find.”

“She knew the usual hiding places we’d check and put them in other places.”

“Eyes on the ground.  Hired help.”

“Which we don’t know a lot about.”

“At least one’s an ex-soldier.  Another’s an ex-Cavalcanti.  Davie Cavalcanti’s daughter.”

“The ex-soldier thing makes sense,” Michalik said.

“Then we move in a way that works around her.  New appearances, no phones, no social media, even for a little while after you’re out of this city,” Wilson said.

“I want to talk to my friends,” Ripley said.

“We have to do what we need to do to keep you safe,” Natalie said.  She glanced at Ben.  “But we’ll find a way.  At the very, very minimum, writing a letter.  Or an anonymous email.”

“That’s not good enough,” Ripley said.

“We’ll figure something out,” Natalie said.

Ripley didn’t look satisfied with that, but she also didn’t look like she wanted Natalie to burst into flames and die, either.

“If we didn’t have male company, I’d do this in a slightly different way, but this will do for now,” Wilson said.  “Giving you a cup size upgrade to go with the overall change of body shape.”

More pantyhose with fluid-filled condoms in it, strung long, at one breast, the ends looped around the breast and tied at the back of the neck.

“That’ll get sore fast,” Natalie said.

“Bear with it for two minutes… I’ll get you fixed,” Wilson said.

Maybe buoyed by the fact she’d had a not-terrible interaction with Ripley, Natalie made some faces, aiming it mostly at Sterling, who laughed.

The bra that went with the two fluid filled condoms was industrial strength and apparently modified to have more hooks along the band at the back than usual.  Letting her fit it to Natalie’s general dimensions.

“Works.  I’ll send the boys out of the room in a few minutes so you can strip down to a base layer, and you won’t be wearing so many layers,” Wilson said.  “If any of you guys want to move out into the hallway, close the door?”

Some did.  Packing up and moving.  Ben got up.  He already had his camera bag with him, camera recording some general footage of what was going on.

“I’d rather Sterling stay where I can see him,” Natalie said.  “Ben too, if he keeps his eyes to one side.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Ripley asked.  Then, to Ben, she said, with about two family-size jars worth of derision, “Are you my new daddy?”

“I’m not, and I’m not,” he said, shifting position.  “I’m surprised you don’t mind.”

“You’ve known me for longer than Sterling’s been alive.  You’ve seen me at my worst,” she said.

“Sure.”

“Camera off, though.  Or at least, not pointed at me while I’m partially undressed.”

“Of course.”

It was interesting, the way she’d said that.  He’d known her for almost a decade now, but he hadn’t known about her childhood or her story then.  It helped him reframe her in his head.  Why she’d gotten so upset after getting sad, if that made any sense at all.

For her, crying was a vulnerability that went beyond being naked.  It was why she’d broken from her usual tendencies, and hadn’t wanted Sterling around after the Maya debacle.  which was still just something that had happened yesterday morning.  Her personal pride was an armor and she hated letting people see past it.

“How am I looking?” she asked the kids.

“Ridiculous,” Ripley said.  “But-”

“But that’s my usual look?” Natalie interrupted, with a half smile.

Ripley shrugged, not wanting to engage.

Natalie took off some of the condom things with Wilson’s help, now that they’d determined arrangement, then pulled off her outer layers.  Ben looked away before she’d doffed her shirt, going down to underwear.

“New appearances for you guys.  No social media,” Wilson said, repeating what she’d said earlier.  “Figure out how to contact Ripley’s friends later, but… play it safe.  When we leave, we’re going to cause a ruckus.  Maybe pulling the fire alarm.”

“Blackout,” Michalik said, from outside the door, which was cracked open, but from the fact Michalik’s ponytail stuck partially through it, it was clear his body blocked the gap, and it was only open for the sake of communication.  “Whole area.  She uses tech.  It’ll blind her.”

“We can black out a wide area.  More than the mall,” Rider added.

Is that Davie’s part in this?

“Meaning we worry about the hired eyes,” Ben said, taking mental note of that.

“I sent pictures of the Hursts and the soldier you caught on camera to the guys downstairs,” Rider said.  “Not that we have a great picture of Mia Hurst.”

“She doesn’t like social media,” Ripley said.

It sounded a bit like she was so focused on counting the win that she didn’t realize she was giving them information.  Same as before, with the social media business.

“Our guys are keeping an eye out.  They’ll see if anyone’s suspicious, looking for you guys, or watching the elevator and stairwell,” Rider explained.  “The chaos will help, along with the new appearances.  But if we’re lucky, they’ve failed to spot us downstairs and have widened the net.”

“Let’s assume we’re unlucky,” Ben said.

“It’s heavy,” Natalie said, not for the first time.

Wilson replied, “Good.  Because part of this is I want you to have to walk different.  I’ll put inserts into your shoes to help.  Here.  Bra,” Wilson said.  “After that, a body contouring undershirt, to hold things together, in the right place, and to keep the ones at your upper arms from drooping too much.  You’ll need help to put it on.  When I’ve taken it off, sometimes I take a knife to it.  It’s easier, and cathartic.”

“Do you two want to stab me later?” Natalie asked the kids.

Ripley audibly snorted air out her nose.

Ben wasn’t turning around, so he couldn’t see her, to see the expression, but… positive.

“Okay.  There you are.  You’re mostly decent.  Your choice if Ben can turn around or others can come back in to use the table.”

“Ben can turn around.  Let’s wait on the others.”

“Okay,” Wilson said.  “Stomach.  Custom made.  Bit of fluid in front, but I always felt the pure foam fatsuits were too rigid.”

“You want the jiggle,” Ben said.

Natalie waggled her head.  The condom around her neck wobbled a bit.

The rest of it went over that.  Fake skin, with a translucency at the edges, that stuck to skin, with the help of daubs of what might’ve been glue.  There was already a single piece of neck ‘skin’ that extended to the lower jaw, around the roll, and across the shoulders and collar area.  Undershirt sleeves were taped down and then the skin went onto the tape.  Seams were situated at the creases and cracks, and then makeup went over that entire setup.  Wilson was a quick hand.

“Not as hot as I thought it would be,” Natalie said.

“Not for now but that water will warm up eventually, and you’ll get sweaty,” Wilson warned.

Natalie’s hair was combed back and up, then covered with a net.  A wig of hair that went more wide than down, barely passing her ears, went over that, exposing the back of her neck.  Wilson quickly pinned it in place.

She was provided her clothes, and put them on over the rest of the outfit.  Some adjustments were made to the shoulder area, so the weight of the strapped on foam parts sat right.  Makeup and the facial prosthetics made the shape of her eyes different.

It wasn’t the fifty-plus pounds of extra weight.  The new complexion was unhealthy, the clothing rumpled from being stuffed in a bag.

“Get used to the weight.  Ankles, feet, and shoes last,” Wilson said.  “Let’s do one of the kids.  Ripley?”

“Want to try it?” Natalie asked.  “It’s an interesting process.”

“It’s interesting, yeah,” Ripley said.  She didn’t budge, sitting in her chair, leaning over part of the table.  There was a wariness to her.  “What are you doing to me?”

“Something similar, with a bit of padding, less than your mom, more-”

“She’s not my mom.”

Wilson paused.  She looked at Natalie, then at Ben, lips pressed down on tongue.

The way the makeup and facial prosthetics pulled at Natalie’s face, they seemed to expose more of the eyes, pull back the veil.  Let more of the hurt show.

“I’m sorry,” Ripley said.  “Being a mom’s something you earn.  My mom, my actual mom, she’s the reason I love books.  She read to me at night, she read the books I was interested in, just to know what I was reading.  Including that book about a woman being kept as a maid by an Old Thing.  Including some really awful books.  She made things with me.  Hiding places.  Furniture for my room.  I helped her with fixing the car and changing tires, and cooking, and and that’s what I actually want to do, not being a nanny.  I want to make stuff.  And the most fun thing, out of all the things I’ve heard about, in all the time we’ve spent together, in everything I’ve ever heard about you or from you or around you?  The most fun thing is the idea of stabbing you and watching you pop or deflate.”

“It hasn’t been a very fun two days,” Natalie said.  “You’re right.”

“You think?  You actually think!?” Ripley asked, raising her voice.  “This isn’t me.  I don’t like this, I don’t enjoy- I don’t enjoy hating you, or being angry, or not-”

She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, clenched into fists, and swallowed hard, almost choking, because of how hard it was.

Sterling had moved closer to his mom, but he looked conflicted, for the same reason the recipe of Ripley had his mom had worked before.  He’d connected to Ripley already, and her words mattered to him, but his mom was his comfort.  His normal.  Now that Ripley was attacking that- he looked lost.

More so, as even Wilson took a moment to step out, bringing the containers for the water with her.

Ben motioned, and Sterling came to him, looking relieved to have an answer.  Ben sat Sterling on the seat next to him, holding his hand firm, then asked.  “Do you want to take a break?  Get centered, figure out what to say?”

“No!  I want to go home!  I want my mom!  I want to not feel like this!  This sucks!”

“It sucks,” Natalie said.  “Yeah.”

“Don’t agree with me!  I don’t want you to agree with me, or disagree with me!  I don’t want- you!  Go have another kid, or adopt some girl who wants you as a mom, and let me go back to my actual mom!  I want you gone, I hate you!  And that’s something I’ve never said to my actual mom!  I never had a reason to, and you’re nothing but reasons!”

Natalie was silent.

“Say something!”

“I don’t know what to say.  Do you feel any better?  Getting it out?”

“No.  I feel worse, because this isn’t me.  This is who you make me.  I was never like this before.  I was happy,” Ripley said.  And with those words, at the admission she wasn’t happy, the tears flowed more freely, and whatever had been keeping her upright gave way.  She settled into a chair, putting up one foot onto the seat, leg bent, arm bent, shielding her face from the rest of them.

“Darn,” Natalie said.  “I was hoping getting it out would help, at least.”

Ripley shook her head, face still blocked by her arm.

“I didn’t know what happened to you, all this time, but I-”

“I, I, I, me, me, me, you only ever talk about yourself!”

“I know.  I know.  I’m bungling this, I’m bungling it right now.  I- can I try to explain?  I’m not trying to say I’m not bungling it.”

Ripley shrunk into herself.

“I had no idea you were living a good life, or building things, or that you were loved, or that you had anyone to love.  It’s a weird, horrible feeling, that you had all of that and if I hadn’t looked, maybe you’d have it again.  Maybe the Hursts would have got you and left and you’d… start a new life, I don’t know.”

“They wouldn’t take me from my friends.”

“Sure, yeah.  Sorry.  But it’s also a weird, horrible feeling that… I didn’t want you to go through anything terrible.  Not in the slightest bit.  But I expected you to and I think I was ready to… to rescue you, to console, to help you heal.  I read a lot of books, getting ready.  I- I went through something bad when I was a little younger than you.  I recorded it with Ben.  If you wanted to know, maybe he could show you.”

“I deleted it,” Ben told her.

She looked surprised.

“Didn’t feel right to keep it.”

“Okay.  Well, family hurt me.  And it kept going until I was your age, all the way until I was… older than that babysitter.  Older than Josie.  My mom bungled it too.  So did my dad, and my teachers, and everyone else I asked for help.  Nobody told me how to do this, how to be a good mom to you.  I thought the books would prepare me, but the books don’t talk about what to do if you rescue someone from a happy life.”

“Maybe you just go away,” Ripley mumbled.

“Maybe.  I guess I really hoped that all that bad stuff I went through, for years, it would have taught me stuff that I could use to help you, and it didn’t.  The books didn’t.  I’m sorry it didn’t.  I’m sorry I’m bungling this.”

“I don’t want to change so my mom and dad won’t recognize me,” Ripley said, voice small.  “I don’t want to wear a dress or wig or anything like that.”

“We need to, to keep you safe,” Natalie said.  “But maybe there’s a compromise.  No dresses?  No wig?”

Ripley shrugged.

“I hate this too,” Natalie said.  “It’s such an awful situation.  I want to get past it all, to the far side of it.  No disguises, no hiding and being scared and bored at the same time.  Where you can call your friends.”

Ripley nodded.  “And my mom.  I want to talk to her more.  There was other stuff going on in the car.”

Natalie nodded, and her mouth opened, but she didn’t seem to know how to reply to it.  So she shut her mouth.

“Let’s see how much Wilson lets you apply the stuff on yourself.  Or you watch, and then do it to Sterling?” Ben suggested.

Ripley shrugged a bit, but then she rose out of her chair, circling around to where Natalie had been sitting down earlier.

Ripley was more invested once she got to do the practical effects herself.  They decided they’d make her a boy, instead, and called the two licensed marshals downstairs, with an order of clothes from the thrift store to match the look, and Ripley listed the books she wanted bought.

Ben went to get the two other licensed marshals past the elevator, and between the hustle and bustle of getting the kids set, then Ben’s own makeup and prosthetics, which were more minimal, people going to get water or more clothes, the next hour flew by.

“Boys, out of the room,” Wilson said, just like she had, for Natalie.  It was time to get Ripley set up.  Ben found himself looking for Natalie, and wondering where she was, or when the last time he’d seen her was.

She wouldn’t leave, would she?

He ended up finding her downstairs.  Past the door of the stairwell, in the long hallway that led to a service entrance and a few spare washrooms.  He didn’t want to walk up to her because that put him close enough to be seen by anyone entering the hallway.  At least here, he could keep an eye out and look up and down the stairwell.

“I’m scared.”

He could just barely hear her.  Phone to her ear, back to the door.  He’d missed the first part of the conversation.

“I don’t have control.  We’re surrounded by people who terrify me and set off alarm bells.  The people who are helping us spook me.  Then there’s the Hursts.  And people who want to hurt the Hursts by coming after us.”

Pause.

“No.  I don’t feel capable.  I don’t have any control.  At this point, all we do is listen, obey, and hope that the people helping us are better than the people who want to hurt us.”

Pause.

“No.  I’m not sure I can take credit for that.  That was Ben.  I was busy crying and being useless because I’d thought it was the girl I told you about.  Maya.  He handled that, he called, I was and am still along for the ride, holding on, white-knuckled.  All I’ve got is a blood connection, and I’m not even sure I believe that counts for all that much.  I haven’t been her mom for ten years, and apparently this Mia Hurst was and she doesn’t like me or want me-”

Cut off, by the sounds of it.

Pause.

“-maybe.  I don’t know, Sean.  I’m-”

Natalie started walking forward, and paused.  Her face, prosthetics and all, saw him through the gap of the door he was holding ajar.  Her voice had sounded a few measures softer, and less on the verge of tears, and now her expression and tone changed back.

“-I’ve got to go.  When do you get into town?”

Pause.  Natalie stared at Ben.

“Okay.  See you in a few hours then.  Hopefully.  We’ve got to get out of here and get away first.  Yeah.  You too, drive safe.  Bye.  I love you.”

It sounded and looked like those last words were said on impulse, or automatically.  She visibly winced.

She hung up, then held up the phone.  “Burner phone, they said it would be okay if I kept it short and stayed near a common area with the disguise on.”

It felt a bit irresponsible, but maybe not having any listening ears would’ve led to something worse.  If he’d overheard, someone else could’ve.

He wasn’t about to say anything about it.  All of this was hard.

“Okay.  Sorry.  I ended up overhearing.  Then I kind of stood guard in case anyone came.”

“It’s okay.  You’ve seen and heard worse.  I gave you permission to be in the backstage of my life. Our lives.  That’s the price I paid for your help, right?”

“Does it have to be like that, Nat?” Ben asked.  “You keep talking like that.  We made it this far.  I’d like to think we’re friendly.  That this is mutually beneficial.”

There was a pause, and he wondered if she was thinking of things to say and then changing her mind, or if he’d said something that was a revelation, or… what?

She replied, late, with, “I spent my entire life paying for one fifteen second mistake.  Maybe that changes how you see things.”

“Maybe,” Ben said.  He paused.  “That’s a good line.  Can I use it in the doc?”

She gave him a half smile.  “Sure.  Can we go back?  I’d really rather at least one of us is with the kids at all times.”

“Sure.  Ripley was getting padding put on, so I figured that was a good time to step away for-” he changed his mind about what he’d been about to say.  “-water.”

“Yeah,” she said, giving him a long look.  She’d known what he was about to say.  “Sean’s a few hours away.  Maybe he bungles this less.”

“Maybe.  Maybe a lot of it is that the situation is bad and so anything having to do with the situation is poisoned by proxy.  Maybe it gets better when we get away.”

She smiled a bit at Ben.  She did look better after talking with Sean.

She’d sounded better after he’d said something.

They walked up the stairs.  “Can I ask?  What did he say, toward the end?  Before you saw me?”

“Hm.  Oh.  He said I’ve been fighting for eleven years.  Looking.  That was hard in its own way.  Now we have to keep fighting.  At least a little while.”

“Good sentiment.”

“Speaking of?” Natalie asked, and she lowered her voice to be quieter.  “Ben.  Some of the guys helping us spook me.  I overheard Mitch boasting to the other guys about someone being so grateful he helped her, she went down on him.”

Ben set his jaw.  “Right.”

“If he works with trafficking victims…”

“It might be trying to talk big and sound big.  The language he uses, overly technical, he’s already struck me as the kind of guy who tries to play things up.”

“So it might be that, but it might not be.  He might not be boasting,” Natalie said, quiet.

“It’s possible.  Yeah.”

“I don’t want to leave our kids alone with them.  Please help protect my kids, Ben.  I know I’m asking for a lot, when you’ve given so much, when you don’t even have to be here.  But please.”

⯁

Sterling’s hand was tiny inside of Ben’s as it all went dark.

The lights turning off and all the various ventilation systems and the faint hum of background noise and activity in the mall all halted, with the illusion of a thud.

Blackout.

They’d split up so the group would be harder to identify.  Sterling was with Ben – Natalie had trusted him with Ben before, and so they’d made Sterling and Ben resemble each other.  Ben wore some of the padding that Wilson had worn on the way in, to give him a beer gut.

Emergency lighting had come on, and just like on an aircraft, lights inset into the floor showed the way out of the mall.  Legally required, after events in recent years, but rarely seen.

The biggest issue with Sterling had been getting the kid to not mess around too much.  They exited one stairwell, and walked toward the door.

The entire mall was now evacuating, people vocally complaining.

What now, Mia? Ben thought.

She used technology, got access to anything and potentially everything that wasn’t secured well enough… which ended up being a lot of stuff.  Including social media.

That line was cut down.

Two of the teams had cell jammers.  Illegal to own, more illegal to use, but Rider figured he could explain it to a judge.  What they were up against was just too serious.

High end prosthetic faces, different frames.  Sterling was clumping along, heavy and making complaining sounds.  Somewhere, on the other end of the mall, the others were part of the crowd.

The biggest issue with Ben was that he had a prominent jaw with a slight underbite.  He’d been compared to a manic, coke-snorting Mexican gangster on a television show, but he was perpetually described as more boyish, more innocent looking.  So they’d worked against that, made him scarier looking, more tired, a bit older.  The jaw had been covered with a beard.  Hairline and eyebrows had been altered.  He’d shave bald, later.  Hair would grow back.

He’d developed an attachment to Sterling over the years.  A lot of babysitting.  A lot of nights spent on the couch, watching nostalgic movies.

Now he tried to maintain a steady, confident speed, and watch the crowd without looking like he was watching the crowd.

He spotted Wilson.  She’d entered the mall as a short, slightly chunky woman with badly dyed hair and heavy bags.  Now she was out there, petite, slim, hair in a simple ponytail, carrying a shopping bag.  Keeping an eye out.  One of the other licensed marshals was near her, apparently acting as her boyfriend.  Carrying similar bags.  One of the ones who had allegedly been having ‘guy talk’ with Michalik.

The pair walked off to the side of the mall.

Michalik was following up the rear.  A bit too conspicuous.  Big in frame, hard to disguise.  So he was simply backup, keeping back enough that he wouldn’t raise suspicion about anyone around him.

They’d talked it over, and decided cars were too conspicuous.  They still didn’t know the entirety of how Mia had tracked their car leaving the hospital.  They’d chatted about it, and Ben had speculated about them maybe keeping an eye on the comings and goings.  The hospital would have been partially empty overnight.  Staff arrived a bit earlier than others tended to.  There were ways to narrow it down.

But they’d also been tracked on the road, which might have been phones.  Might have been trackers.

After discussing at length, worrying that anyone with kids leaving the mall might get that extra scrutiny from people still stationed outside, they’d decided on another track.

Ben and Sterling left the front of the mall, following the guide lights, and then they joined a share of the people present who decided to leave- people who hadn’t come by car.

There was a station for public transportation at one side of the mall.

Any bus that’s an 3, 16, or 17, or 18A.

“Do you think your friends would recognize you?” he asked Sterling, when there wasn’t anyone in immediate earshot.

Sterling shook his head, and then smiled.  He touched one hand to the side of his neck.

“Don’t mess with it.”

Didn’t want to give anything away.

A 16 was pulling up.  Ben saw Natalie get on.

An 18A almost right behind it.

He and Sterling boarded that one.  They sat near the front.  It was interesting, to see the way people looked at him.  At Sterling.

They hadn’t wanted to overdo it.  Too many bodyguards would raise flags.

So Natalie was on the bus with Wilson and the boyfriend, and maybe one other licensed marshal.

Ben and Sterling were joined by another.  Young, and looked younger from the clothes they’d grabbed him.

Michalik would drive, following behind, in a roundabout way.

They hadn’t planned it, but he’d sat near the front with Sterling, and Natalie ended up sitting near the back.  He could see Ripley, dressed as a boy, an echo of ‘his’ mom in dimensions.

He didn’t draw attention to them, because Sterling would make a fuss.  He’d been holding Sterling’s hand so he wouldn’t lose track of the kid, but there was no need now that they were seated.  He kept Sterling amused, playing games, Sterling devoting his full focus to a kind of thumb-wrestle styled game where they both tried to grab the other person’s hand without being grabbed in turn, while Ben’s focus was partially elsewhere.  His advantage was that he had the bigger hand, and more coordination.

He missed having his camera with him.  It was in one of the shopping bags.

Any of the buses we looked up and agreed on take us to the bus terminal downtown.  We reunite there.

The bus stopped, picking up new people.  Most were elderly.

Ben saw them before the licensed marshal who was supposed to be his bodyguard did.

His shirt had pockets at the sides, and Ben had slit the base of that pocket.  He was prepared to reach through, slide hand between the fake beer belly and his stomach, and draw the gun Rider had given him.

Except it wouldn’t be a clean draw.  If he drew a gun in this moment, it would take that second or two too long, and either of the two men would beat him to the punch.

Carson Hurst settled into the seat beside Ben.  It was only then, at that moment, that the licensed marshal a few seats ahead of Ben startled and noticed.  A hand on his shoulder stopped him, too.

The soldier from the yard.  He wore gloves, still, and it was clear one of his hands was in rough shape.  He walked with a hobble, too.  But he also looked dead serious, and openly carried a gun.

The man sat on the far side of Sterling.

So the young licensed marshal didn’t do anything.  He sat there, tense.

The rest of the bus’s occupants had no idea.

“Hi,” Carson said.

We were so focused on Mia…

Ben wished he’d asked more about this man.

“Hi,” Ben replied.

“She doesn’t want to be with you,” Carson said, his eyes on the front window, and on Ripley and Natalie, further ahead.

“You don’t know that,” Ben said.

“She signaled us.  Book purchase.  Two books with dragon in the title.  One book with key in the title.  We had eyes on the bookstore.  And on the library, which we think you passed through.”

“Yeah.  We did.”

“You know, I joined the family late?  Kind of like you.  Offered to help, out of the goodness of my heart,” Carson said.  It sounded like he’d injected some intentional irony into his voice.  Or maybe Ben was reading it that way.

“That goodness has caused a lot of grief.”

“I came here prepared to make an offer.  We’d take her back.  Distract the Cavalcantis, mislead them.  All of this goes away.  Natalie met her daughter, it didn’t work out.  We can go our separate ways.  If Ripley comes with.”

“Even with a gun pointed at us, there’s no way we’ll say yes to that.”

The word ‘gun’ drew some attention from nearby passengers.

“Stranger things have happened.  And you won’t say yes,” Carson said.  “Time’s up.  It’s been up for a few minutes now.”

Ben was aware of the gun’s position, within the padding.

The guy apparently had zero fear.  Which made him stupid, or meant there was something Ben was missing.

“I thought I’d let you know,” Carson said.  “There was a possibility this ended with us guiding you to somewhere safer, and we’d work something out for Ripley’s benefit.  Maybe even dual custody.  The voice-”

Carson paused, smiling.

“-Mia.  You know her name, no need to hide it.  She could’ve played along.”

“I think you might actually be insane, if you think anyone would play along.  Mia, Natalie, or Sean.”

Carson smiled.  “It’d have been the best thing for Ripley.”

“Would it?  There’s no way the feelings could be put away.  They’d leak through.  It’d be like living with parents who should’ve divorced a decade ago, except so much worse.”

“I can put my feelings in a box,” Carson replied, shrugging a bit.  “Anyway.  This was risky.  Mia’s upset, and she’s mad I’m even doing this, I think.  But I thought I’d let you know, happier endings were possible.  If we could look further than our immediate wants and needs.”

He pulled the cord, and the bus audibly ‘dinged’.  Off at the next stop.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.  Maybe even sparing you,” Carson said.  “We’re going to try to figure out things from our end.  You can try too.  I don’t know.  Make a video about it?”

He smiled, and there was something faintly menacing behind that smile.  Or derisive.

The bus stopped.  Carson got up.

“I don’t advise you go with them.  You won’t be any use to anyone,” Carson said.

“What are you talking about?  Half-finished ideas and riddles?”

“No.  I’m pissed off,” Carson said, and he smiled with zero evidence of what he was saying.  “I want you to understand, soon, what I’m saying, and just how much of this is your fault.”

He got off the bus.

The younger licensed marshal made eye contact with Ben.  Ben shook his head.

The stop meant the other bus pulled further head.  Ben watched.

“He gave me this,” Sterling said.  “I can’t read it.”

He?

The guy who’d sat by sterling.  Who’d called out ‘Mary’ on the schoolyard.  Who Ben had told about the abduction.

He’d given Sterling a note.

Ben read it, and then he stood, half-crouching, for the best view past the front window of the bus, past the intervening cars, to the bus ahead.

Sirens.

Police cars.  Ben saw two.  One pulled ahead of the other bus, and the bus stopped.

In a matter of seconds, it was five cars.

He pulled the cord to stop, but the bus was already pulling to a halt in the middle of the road.  Other cars did the same.

This many police, it was a spectacle.  People turned off their engines and stood for a better view.

Ben made sure to get Sterling.  He climbed out of the bus.

Police- Cavalcanti owned, no doubt, were taking Natalie and Ripley.  Both were in cuffs.

Don’t go, Carson had said.

Chasing or trying to intervene would do nothing.

We’re going to try to figure out things from our end, Carson had said.

He’d gotten rid of the camera, to have a better chance of passing.  The camera bag was too big a giveaway.

Using his phone was dangerous, because of the court rulings.

He used it anyway.  To get details.  To put together a narrative later.  If he could get his camera bag, show the makeup process.  Show the person being arrested.

He very much doubted there’d be neat and tidy paperwork, or that he’d be able to get his hands on it anytime soon, if there was.

He needed the story, the narrative, in video.

“What’s happening?” Sterling asked.

“I’m trying to figure that out myself, little man,” Ben said.

How did they know?  With the disguises, we should have been free and clear.  Except Ripley signaled the Hursts, and…

…someone told the Cavalcantis.

His phone buzzed in his hand.  It was Rider.

He didn’t answer.  He recorded until the car started driving away.  If Rider was calling like this, it was either an apology, or he was caught as flat-footed by this as Ben, and wanted to touch base.

Ben wasn’t sure what he’d say.  He was pretty sure he didn’t want to lean on Rider here.  He’d tried that.

I want you to understand, soon, what I’m saying, and just how much of this is your fault.

For a while now, for years, he’d been the objective observer.

Now it was his fault?

He wondered if Natalie had felt even an iota like this.  Sick, in a way that went beyond what his body should be able to contain or hold.

“Ow,” Sterling said.

Ben almost let go of Sterling’s hand.  But even that was too dangerous.

“Ben,” Sterling said.  “Where’s my sister?  Where’s my mom?”

And Ben didn’t know what to say, but his expression communicated something that made Sterling upset again.

It was hard to catch his breath.  It was important to get away.  Police were starting to look around, but they wouldn’t know what Ben and Sterling looked like.  He’d gotten some video.

Rider was calling again.

Ben didn’t have the words to respond.  Or to console Sterling.  It was getting harder and harder to breathe as the sick feeling welled.

He took Sterling directly away, trying to blend into the crowd.

He had the note the injured ex-soldier had given him.

Three kidnapping victims.  Mia and Carson didn’t think they had any value in a trade, or as hostages.  Davie Cavalcanti just didn’t care.

What the hell was he meant to do with that?

---

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