Guys it has been a while since I've posted anything so hopefully everything goes smoothly. Once again I want to think those that encouraged me by pm asking about Atalanta. I also want to than Ashleigh for agreeing to edit and help me with it. Today is my birthday so at least I'll remember when I started posting this story.LOL!

To recap a bit; Atalanta is cataloguing the wildlife on the Medawihla reservation for Fish and Game to keep their secret,secret. Mrs. Carson is glad Atalanta is off campus from Friday to Monday. Atalanta is glad to make some extra cash and avoiding trouble. Of course if they only knew... but that would be giving the game away.

Hopefully you'll enjoy this story.

Katie

Chapter 1

Part One: Winter Solstice

The sun glistened from snow piled high on bare branches, evergreens bowed from their weight and from tufts of brown vegetation that peeked from lees and rock outcroppings. Keeping to the timber line two large canines with dark facial features trotted silently. Fanned out behind them four more of the huge animals raised their muzzles testing the air. Their shiny coats glistened as they moved quickly across the forest floor.

On the other side of the ridgeline two Elk emerged from hiding traveling towards a narrow protected valley that offered some vegetation, and on a direct tangent with the wolf pack.

Farther north, struggling to cling to the rocky face of a mountain two anthropoids figures were moving in an intersecting arc with prey and predator; they could become either.

To the south, smoke rose lazily into the crisp morning air as figures stirred moving briskly about to keep warm.

I lowered the camera having taken all the pictures I needed to document the wolf pack and the successful introduction of Eastern Elk. My lips tightened as I watched activity at the camp and then to the painfully slow descent from the duo.

Squinting, I considered the implications and my job. The Medawihla tribe had hired me to document and tag the wildlife for Fish and Game. They didn’t want it known to the government that they were a tribe of Weres.

Mrs. Carson was happy to lend me to the Reservation for three days a week. She wasn’t comfortable that I could resist the temptation to put some of the arrogant mutants down for the count. The days spent in the Reservation’s employ were counted as credits toward the school’s survival course. In lieu of self defense and martial art classes she allowed Manny to continue to personally train me. His emphasis now was on developing my emerging senses.

I chuckled at the report Manny turned in each Friday on my progress. By tacit agreement it was a boring report.

My classes consisted of those that met Tuesday through Thursday and those that I could study while away from class. I had one such textbook with me now. I moved quickly from the perch that I occupied with the wind whipping the leather duster about my legs, despite being tied at the waist. The wide brimmed hat shielded my eyes from sun’s glare that reflected off the icy surfaces.

“Easy girl,” I whispered to Gray lifting the flaps of the saddlebags and placing the camera inside. Implicit in my contract with Medawihla Indians was to keep out people who didn’t belong. The posse camped below qualified.

Holding the filly’s reins tight I led the animals from our vantage point to pick our way around icy boulders, across windswept mesas and finally to the tree line and relatively flat surface beneath the trees. Great clouds of vapor expelled shooting tufts of smoke like tendrils drifting skyward.

“Cold isn’t it girl,” I whispered to Gray.

Ahead were pockets of earth swept clean but there were also drifts deep enough to swallow a horse in one bite. I swung onto the horse’s back gently tapping her flanks, “Let’s go.”

I smelled the campfire before I heard the camp sounds. My horses’ ears twitched at anticipating equine company and shelter. “Sorry not today.”

We emerged perpendicular to the camp which was partially in the trees. Up close the group was larger than I saw from up on the ridge; at least a dozen men. And half that number of snowmobiles which was pretty useless in long stretches of terrain. A makeshift corral held a dozen horses and pack animals. Three military tents were erected on the frozen ground; one clearly designed to house 8-10 men, another that was smaller, and the third with smoke coming from the side indicated a supply and mess tent.

The steel from my horses’ hooves rang loudly in the brittle air and a half dozen pairs of eyes locked on to me. I studied them as well as I let my animals pick their way across. I eyed the evergreen boughs movement above the cook shack.

Not military. At least, not competent military or outdoorsmen.

The flap opened on the smaller tent and a man in his late 30’s emerged shrugging into a fur lined coat, his sleek pants tucked into Wellington boots. The glint of steel reflected briefly as he tightened his coat. Behind him another taller man appeared dressed similarly. He looked to be ten years younger and showing a full set of pearly whites.

My lips pulled tight into a feral smile as my pulse quickened the closer I got. Gray stopped inside the circle formed by the tents and corral.

“Who are you,” the older man demanded, “and what are you doing here?”

Hooking a leg across my saddle I let the silence build before answering; “government business.”

I watched a vein twitch in his throat. Amused I waited.

“We’re FBI and we’re on a manhunt for two escaped fugitives. I could charge you with obstruction. What kind of government business; you’re just a girl.”

I straightened up in the saddle, “You said manhunt and as you can plainly see I’m not a man so it is obvious that you’re not looking for me. As for obstruction I came here to warn you that you are getting close to a restricted area. Top secret stuff,” I finished leaning forward and lowering my voice.

“Yeah,” the younger man sneered, “What kind of top secret stuff.” His superior shot him a quick look.

“Duh what is it about Top-Secret you don’t understand,” I drawled.

The man-in-charge waved aside our conversation, “You have any proof; papers, ID?”

I grinned back at his scowling face, “A three letter agency is conducting tests on the Reservation.” Fish and Wildlife Services! “And they don’t like being interrupted,” I continued.

“I still haven’t seen any proof.”

Sighing I reached inside my coat and produced a federal Wildlife badge handing it over.

“A fucking game warden,” He guffawed.

“Are you that dense,” I returned mildly. “Yeah I guess you are,” I continued seeing as his face contorted. “Here,” I tossed him the satellite phone Mr. O’Reily had given me, “The head of DARPA is on speed dial.”

He caught the phone and turned on his back to use it while I swung off the back of Gray studying the other men in camp. There was a sudden shuffling of feet and the urgent need to secure gear by several of the men. Two pairs of eyes twinkled at me from brown leathery skin.

“Where can I get my horse fed and watered?”

One of the two men stepped forward, “I’ll look to it ma’am.”

“Atalanta,” I offered, “My name’s Atalanta.”

Holding Gray’s reins in one hand he pushed back his hat, “Atalanta…like the Greek goddess of the hunt.”

“I’m surprised…”

“Abe,” he supplied.

“I’m surprised Abe not many people know of her.”

The man-in-charge called out as he turned around, “Are you Atalanta?”

Duh!

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“He wants to talk to you,” he replied thrusting the phone to me with an outstretched arm.

Smiling I took the phone, “Hello Boss,” I greeted Nick loudly.

“Atalanta what the hell have you gotten yourself in the middle of now?”

“You know me Boss; toeing the company line,” I replied drawing out the words.

“Yeah I do know you,” the head of DARPA returned dryly, “I know you too well. You’ve made your point. Cut out the BS and tell me what is going on. Everything,” He warned.

“You know about my job at the Reservation,” I replied my tone crisp, “and why.”

“Yeah I know the Medawihla have their secrets. Go on,” he urged.

“The posse was about to stray onto their lands—“

“—they’re federal agents with federal warrants that allow them to go anywhere.”

“I know but I know where the fugitives are at and I can deliver them all without this lot setting foot on Indian land.”

I heard him sigh and I had a good idea of what he was thinking. Whateley Academy served a very important function to the government and the school leased their campus grounds from the Indians. That made the Medawihlaeans important too and keeping their secret; secret. And too, Nick’s daughter attended Whateley.

“Are you sure; are you absolutely sure?,” he repeated. “They’re armed and dangerous.”

Armed and desperate is more like it.

“I’m sure and I’m sure that they’ll be as docile as baby lambs.”

“Hand the phone back.” I did and after a brief conversation the man-in-charge handed it back with, “He wants to talk with you.” I took the phone and he turned and walked into his tent.

“Atalanta I’m sticking my neck out for you but, damnitalltohell, couldn’t you have just avoided this…somehow?.”

I knew he was just venting because he knew, like Manny knew, that I didn’t seek out confrontation; confrontation sought me out.

“Mr. O’Reily I was out here doing my job, then the feds shows up looking for the fugitives. The three of us was sure to meet up at some point. I figured it was better to choose the time and the place.”

“It was. Now I need you to listen to me very carefully and do what I say. The agent in charge is going to swear you in and give you a temporary field commission as a deputy US Marshal. Then you’re to call both the council and Mrs. Carson and fill them in. And lastly you’re going to keep me informed. Got it,” he demanded crisply.

“Yes sir!”

“And…. be careful.”

The agent-in-charge returned from inside his tent handing me a document and a badge, “Raise your right hand and repeat after me.” I did and just like that I was now a member of two government agencies; three if I counted the military and the MMID classification. I’d have a hard time disappearing if things went south I thought sourly.

Okay this was a short chapter hopefully to whet your appetite. I'll try and post the next one in a few days. I'll appreciate any comments and all kudos and will respond later. Today has been a long day and I'm read for a nap. Again I'm sorry

I found a copy I had saved to google at the last moment so here is chapter 2. Atalanta leaves camp with new responsibilities leading a small group to capture the fugitives. Thanks again to Ashleigh for her editing skills.

Chapter 2

“Director O’Reily suggested that we listen to what you have to say.”

The corners of my lips twitched, “I have no desire to interfere in your business, but sooner or later we’d have run into each other anyway. I’d rather it not be in the middle of the night,” I began gently, “but I have a decent idea of where your fugitives are or will be and getting any more than a couple of people in there will be a chore. Who here is familiar with this area?” I called out.

Abe had returned and was standing beside a man of similar age, the same sun weathered skin and twinkling eyes.

“You know where--,”I began and described the mesa with the ring of rocky sentinels where I camped the second night after getting off the train.

The one man with Abe whose name I hadn’t learned spoke, “I know the spot, it’s right where Stinking Creek joins the Miskatonic.”

“I assume you’re working out of Dunwich,” I continued at several affirmative nods, “that location is a couple of hours from Dunwich?”

“Pretty close,” agreed Abe, “but in this weather better figure three hours.”

“Cool, close enough for government work then,” I returned smiling and was greeted with a few knowing grins.

“And how long will it take to get there from here,” I asked Abe.

“With good luck about all day,” he replied.

“Okay,” I turned to speak to the group, “Where I think the guys you’re hunting are located will take us about that same amount of time to find and capture them as it will take y’all to find and set up camp beside Stinking Creek. The distance after we have them in custody is several hours shorter to that camp than this one is. And the distance from there to Dunwich is a lot shorter.”

“I still don’t see why we don’t all go together in one group,” the man-in-charge objected.

“There are at least four good reasons for us to do it this way,” I calmly began, “one is that smaller groups travel faster, two; fewer people make less noise, three; your group should be rested when we get there and we can relax, and four is the little matter of the research project going on at the Reservation.”

Even the man-in-charge couldn’t find any flaws in that logic but he tried. “These men are armed, dangerous, and likely to resist.”

“They are armed and were likely dangerous,” I conceded, “but right now they are cold, tired, hungry, and will most likely welcome us with open arms.” As if the matter was settled I turned and asked Abe, “Abe would you mind accompanying us on this grand
adventure?”

“Sure,” he grinned revealing a chipped tooth, “it’ll be a hoot.”

“And you,” I said to the man-in-charge, “pick out one of your men to go with us.”

Tight lipped he called out, “Drake,” and a man stepped forward a couple of inches taller than my six feet. I grinned at him; he was built like the proverbial brick outhouse; deep chest thick shoulders and neck to go with powerful arms tapering to washboard waist and compact hips. His blue eyes danced under thick brows emphasizing the broad square planes of his face. His three day stubble and carefree smile that was threatening to split his face screamed a bad-boy image used to impressing the ladies.
“—you go with them, but,” he added, “I still would like to have two agents go.”

“Huh,” I asked distracted.

“I’d rather have two agents on this trip,” he repeated.

I smiled back in control, the corners of my mouth tucked up, “Did you forget, you have two: Drake and your new deputy…me.” That declaration was followed by a shuffling of feet from some, a fit of coughing by others, and a sudden interest in gear by a few.

“Drake I’ll have a word with you,” the man-in-charge commanded leading the way into the tent. Drake let his gaze linger another second longer before following.

“Abe you eat yet?”

“Yeah, but Charley will probably have something hot,” he replied falling in beside me as we walked towards the cook tent.

“Abe,” I whispered from behind my hand, “What kind of guy is this Drake?”

“Personal or professional interest.”

Without breaking stride or turning my head, I fixed my gaze on him, “Professional.”

Chuckling he replied, “Good man, smart, tough, resilient, and keeps his mouth shut.”

The interior of the cook tent was roughly divided by a rectangular folding table; behind it was a square table holding a camp stove and covering a cooler. On one burner a coffee pot simmered. Charley manning the culinary duties resembled Abe and his companion. Half a dozen chairs were lazily placed along the table’s length.

“Charley meet Atalanta; reckon you could fix her something to eat?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” I interjected.

“Or even if it is,” Abe added explaining, “She’s gonna save us traipsing around out here freezing our tails off.”

Charley turned lifting a covered tray from which he took out a couple of biscuits with thick chunks of side meat hanging out the sides and placed them on a paper towel. “Biscuits are not fresh but the meat is. Coffee or coffee,” he said pouring the steaming liquid into a stainless cup.

“Coffee is fine,” I replied sipping the strong brew washing down the spartan meal. Between bites I asked Charley to wrap me another biscuit to eat later.

“Say that’s a good idea,” exclaimed Abe, “Make that two.”

“Three,” echoed Drake who had just come from his meeting. He spun the chair around confidently straddling the chair folding his arms over the back. “You flummoxed the boss,” a lazy grin spread across his face, “I like strong women.”

Abe froze with a meat biscuit; his hand in his pocket. Charley handed Drake his sandwich. I finished chewing, placed the uneaten portion down, raised the cup to my lips, and then deliberately tore a paper sheet from the roll dabbing my lips.

Turning to face Drake I locked gazes with him, “I can outrun, out jump, outfight, and outgun you, though you can probably piss farther. Any questions!”

His pupils grew larger; a tic jumped momentarily under his right eye with his the smile washing out. To my right Abe sputtered his coffee going down the wrong way.

Immediately the smile returned, “I’m sorry; I had that coming.”

“Just so we understand each other,” I drawled.

“Understood,” Drake repeated.

“Good,” I replied turning to Abe who was struggling to catch his breath, “Abe you all right?”

“Yeah,” he replied between coughing fits. I resumed eating.

The minutes slowly ticked by.

Draining his cup Abe rose from his chair saying, “I’ll go get the horses.”

“I’ll go with you,” Drake offered following the older man out.

When the flap had settled into place Charley noted, “Drake was out of line but he’s a pretty good guy.”

“Hum-m,” I mumbled placing my elbows on the table holding the metal cup in my hands, “A group can’t have but one leader…and I’m it.”

He was pouring coffee in a thermos and after twisting the lid tight handed it to me; “It’s for the trail and keep in mind what I said about Drake.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” I replied as I walked outside to meet my crew. I nodded approval seeing the extra supplies were divvied between the five horses. Abe handed Gray’s reins to me and I swung up into the saddle.

Looking at my companions I nodded and we walked our horses to the command tent where Tom Wilcox, the man-in-charge waited. “We should see you sometime late tomorrow and we’ll let you know when they’re in custody.”

He nodded as his eyes narrowed and cheeks hollowed. After the camp had disappeared from view I called a halt, “We’ll be following my tracks for a bit yet, do y’all mind if I drop back and make a few calls?”

“Help yourself,” Abe and Drake chorused as they passed me on either side.

“Thanks guys,” I murmured as I dug out my other phone and called the Donners. Eloise answered on the second ring, “Atalanta?”
“Yes, how did you know?”

“Ve haf our vays,” she replied using a butchered German accent.

I chuckled at her attempt at humor, “Just reporting in Boss.”

“Anything to report?”

“A lot of traffic out today,”—and I filled her in on the escaped prisoners and the federal manhunt.

“I know we told you we didn’t want uninvited guests snooping around but that was mainly directed at concerted efforts and not the occasional trespasser.”

“I know but the way the hand was laid out I don’t think I could have avoided them. So I took the bull by the horns.”

“That sounds about right from you,” she replied dryly and I knew she was thinking of the moose bulldogging that happened right before last Christmas. “You want me to call Mrs. Carson?”

“If you want, but give me an hour or two first if you do.”

“Okay be careful,” she warned hanging up.

My next call went to Manny, “Atalanta,” I heard his gruff voice and I knew that he knew.

“Nick called you?”

“How did you get yourself in the middle of this one?”

I knocked the ball back into his court, “You said so yourself; that the opportunities would seek me out. This one did.”

“Yeah, I guess I did, but be careful and remember…..“

“…..Murphy; what can go wrong will.”

“Yeah but don’t get cocky. How many men have you got with you?”

“There’s three of us; one’s local.”

“What’s your plan?”

I hesitated about telling him. It was a good plan but I fully expected Manny to object.

“I don’t like it; you’re taking too much risk.”

“How would you do it differently?”

“That’s not the point Atalanta you’re just—.”

“—a girl is that what you were going to say?”

“No, yeah, well yeah maybe. More importantly though you’re an amateur.”

I chuckled at his confusion, “Not anymore; haven’t you heard I’m a deputy US Marshal.”

“Touché, but this is serious business and you need to have your head screwed on straight,” Manny reprimanded.

“I hear you.”

“Call me later,” Manny growled.

My next call was to Mrs. Carson. She had been a barrel of laughs ever since my first day on campus. She had been embarrassed by a security leak that almost resulted in my kidnapping and my over-the-top campus arrival three days later.

I think I made her nervous because she viewed me as a loose cannon. She’d point to the altercations with the New Olympians and the Were Moose dignitary as evidence. My designation of Natural and odd reactions to magic hadn’t help ease her mind and taken together with no clear cut power set designation with the possible exception of being an exemplar. The exemplar and BIT classification wasn’t set in stone and I felt sure Mrs. Carson was working behind the scenes to have my labeling change.

My lips pulled tight as the image of a can of soup on an assembly had a label slapped on it as it moved along the belt receiving appropriate grades. That image was fresh when Mrs. Carson answered the phone, “Yes?”

“It’s Atalanta. I’m calling to let you know I’m with the FBI in a manhunt for the prisoners that escaped last week.”

“I suppose you didn’t have a choice.”

“Not if I’m going to keep interlopers off reservation land and that was part of the job description.”

“Yes, I know. Are you going to make it back to school on time?”

“Sure, I’ll be there Sunday evening,” I replied cheerfully smiling.

“Call me when you do. We need to talk.”

I sighed as I punched in another number, “Hello Sam,” I said with a grin. Technically I didn’t need to call Sam, but she was my campus shadow; I liked her and she cut me some slack.

“Atalanta what’s up?”

“I’ve joined a federal manhunt.”

“Cool you need any help?”

“Nah I’m good. I just wanted to keep you in the loop.”

“I appreciate that, but you be careful and call me if you need help.”

That’s why I liked Sam; she took me at face value and we were both a bit uncontrolled. But Sam had a history and experience to account for hers.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and if you do please comment and give Atalanta a kudo. She and I will appreciate it.

I have a few minutes and I thought I'd post this chapter early while the posting procedure is fresh.I'm not sure what time I'll have going forward. As always Ashleigh thank you for your editing.

I thought I might try another image for this chapter. I'd appreciate if you all will tell me if you you'd rather I keep one image or change up occasionally to meet the action.

In this chapter Atalanta and her crew meet both the fugitives and the wolf pack.

Chapter 3

Abe and Drake had halted their horses for me at the place where I had dropped down from the mountains. I passed them and led the way skirting the rocky slopes to the north until we came to a lee where the boulders and trees met to form a fortress that buffered the elements. Looking at the sky I declared a halt.

“Let’s give our animals a breather and consider our plan to capture these fugitives.” After giving our animals water and a hatful of oats we sat down on rocky outcroppings that doubled as chairs. Munching my sandwich I watched Abe and Drake as they interacted with each other and the realization hit me; in a male dominated occupation being a female would limit friendships. Then again maybe it was more of an age related distinction.

“Coffee?” I asked producing the thermos that Charley had filled for me and passed it around to fill metal cups that were quickly produced.

“Guys I think we should go over a plan that I believe will work,” I stated, holding my cup in my palms.

“Well,” Drake interjected, “I don’t know how we can plan without knowing where the fugitives are holing up at.”

I spoke into my coffee cup, “They’re up there,” I indicated an area north and higher up.

“That’s a big area,” Abe noted.

I nodded. “I saw them this morning through my glasses. They’re on foot, moving slow, and they are close to exhaustion. They were up there,” I pointed higher up on the rocky face, “but moving lower. I think if we keep going in the direction we’re going we ought to intersect their trail this afternoon.”

Abe looked and up followed the terrain with his eyes, “It seems reasonable, but it’s still a big area to look in.”

“Not if we have them looking for us too and we’re advertising our location.” They both gave me looks like I had grown another head. I explained my plan.

Their objections were the same as the one that Manny had named.

“I don’t like being the bait either.”

“What about one of us,” Drake protested.

“I believe they’ll feel that they can intimidate a girl, where if it’s a man they might decide to shoot first. Besides,” I smiled evenly, “hearing manly voices from the forest to give up will have more force than mine would.”

They protested later as we broke camp and then intermittently later that afternoon as we were starting up an evening camp. Our camp was located at the edge of the forest backed up against the slope that led down from the mountain face. The camp looked out on three open sides leaving the forest as the only option with cover and a classic chokepoint.

The embers of daylight were quickly dying and shadows danced among the trees mixed with the flames leaping from the fire. The smell of food cooking, coming from a Dutch-oven suspended from its handle over a hastily made tripod, drifted on the wind carrying its aroma higher. The horses were contained by a makeshift corral with only one tent erected and the extra gear hoisted in the trees.
The guys were about ready to slip into the cover they had picked out during the day covering approaches to the camp.

“You guys know what to do?”

“Yeah we set the trip wires and come in if they haven’t shown by 10,” Drake replied wrinkling his nose. Abe studied the tree line.

“If it doesn’t work we’ll get a good night’s sleep and go hunting early,” I replied cheerfully.

I ambled over to where the horses were picketed speaking briefly to each and patting a neck or scratching an ear before lingering with Gray. “Sorry girl, I’ll bet you wished you were in a nice warm stall about now munching on some oats.” Turning her head she looked at me nodding her head in agreement.

I walked back to the fire lifted the lid on the pot of stew and ladled some into a bowl and then set it on a fallen tree to cool while I busied myself at gathering firewood and banking the fire. Gray stomped her foot and snorted. Her ears began to twitch. Moving deliberately I removed my wide brimmed hat and shook my head letting my red tresses fall free.

Dipping the ladle into the pot I made a production of smelling the steaming ingredients. Without looking around, I spoke softly my voice carrying in the sudden quiet, “If you boys are hungry put down your weapons and come on into the light.”

Silence greeted my announcement.

“Oh, come on boys speak up; I know you’re out there my horses have alerted me. You’re not afraid of a little girl, are you?”

I smiled as I heard slight rustling behind me, “You boys don’t listen too well. I said you could have some food for your weapons.”

A raspy voice answered, “And who’s going to make us missy, you?”

“I got good hot coffee too.”

Seconds ticked by as silence lengthened broken only by their soft shuffling footsteps drawing closer.

“Hunger and cold does a number on a person’s ability to think. Reflexes slow; vision becomes blurred and muscles weak,” I noted in a monotone as I turned from the fire, “and you boys make a fine target in the light.”

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder looking at each other then at me. They were dressed in dirty, torn clothing and sporting scraggly beards from days on the run. As I turned, my badge gleamed in the firelight through the opening in my duster. Their pistols were pointed in my general direction.

Opening my coat wider I place my hand on my pistol and called, “Abe! Drake!”

Their answers came seconds later, “Yeah.”

I nodded in satisfaction at their positions, “You guys are in a bad way,” I began looking at each one in the eye, “there’s a rifle lined on each one of you, but,” I grinned baring my teeth leaning forward feeling my eyes flashing, “I’ll kill you before they can pull the trigger. Now drop them damn weapons or use them.” The shock of my declaration moved like a living thing as I watched their eyes lose focus interrupting signals from the brain. Their pistols slipped from numbed fingers and fell to the ground.

Abe and Drake moved quickly to search and control the fugitives before allowing them to eat while I refilled my coffee cup and sat down on a stump beside my tent to watch while my companions lowered our gear and set up another tent.

Finishing their chores, Abe and Drake came and sat down beside me studying the men. Sensing an unspoken question, “Out with it; what is you want to know?”

“Would you,” Abe asked me.

I knew what he meant as I looked up and off into space seeking confirmation, “Yeah I would have killed them.”

Before they could respond a lone mournful wail lifted up into the air echoing against the bare rocks and timber. Seconds later another voiced joined and then a third lifting a chorus to the skies. At the timbers edge glowing eyes glittered across the open space at our camp.

A wolf pack had found our camp. We had nothing to fear from the wolves unless they were starving and if these were the same pack I had seen this morning they were well fed. Wolves were territorial so I doubted these wolves were strays. Despite being well-fed a pack of wolves wouldn’t pass up a tasty meal and a large pack could strip a horse clean leaving his carcass as a grim reminder.

“They’re after the animals,” Abe and I echoed. I walked to the horses making soothing sounds and began talking in a low tone to calm them. Abe followed me over to the corral to lend his efforts to mine. Horses were high strung and a natural prey of the wolf and if left unchecked the wolves would worry them until one broke loose. Then the wolves would stalk him until he was exhausted and easy prey.
They were becoming increasingly agitated as the howling increased. Besides, an the unspoken agreement existing between humans and their horses was that we needed them if we were to meet up tomorrow with the rest of the crew.

I peered into the darkness seeking the alpha leader of the pack. Suddenly outlined against my mind I saw her; set apart from her noisy mates on her haunches and calmly watching. Abe raised his rifle.

“No, not yet,” I turned to him placing my hand on his shoulder and calling back to Drake, “Watch the prisoners.”

“Well what are we going to do,” Abe wanted to know.

I grinned at him. “Negotiate a peace treaty. Watch my back but be sure and don’t shoot me if it goes south.”

Stepping away from the horses I began a measured walk across the icy patches of the meadow angling away from the barkers towards the large lone brindle colored body perched on a boulder. Her black muzzle turned and she fixed her glowing eyes on me. I stopped in the middle of the field and turned slowly to face the shadow that rose to her full height.

Wolves are fierce and deadly fighters but they are also cunning and prefer to hunt in packs tilting odds in their favor. The wily pack leader knew nature was a tough and relentless taskmaster and recklessly endangering her pack this early in the season wouldn’t bode well later on. She felt a common bond between form; transference of purpose between her and the human female. She climbed down from her perch to pad silently and stopping at a distance to study the human.

I watched the great black shadow of the wolf as she silently jumped from the rock to meet me at the center of the field. I ignored the menacing forms that lined the trees trusting that Abe had my back and the great she-wolf had control of her pack. I felt my eyes grow with intensity and purpose as we faced each other across an ancient battlefield. The choice was hers and she chose easier battles to fight and turned to her right to glide beneath the trees. The howling ceased as the wolves disappeared one at a time into the wilderness until one was left in a show of bravado before he too left.

I sauntered back into camp, “What the hell was that all about,” Abe shouted at me as I got to him and the horses.

“A truce,” I replied scratching Gray between her ears and then walking back to the fire warming my hands.

“What did you do out there; I’ve never seen anything as crazy as that.” Abe joined us at the fire adding his thoughts to Drake’s.

“We reached an understanding.”

“Yeah,” one of the prisoners sneered, “what understanding?”

“That they were free to leave and find easier prey,” I responded mildly.

“What do we do about them,” Drake jerked his thumb at the prisoners, “how do we divvy up watch?”

“You have leg irons,” I asked Drake and when he nodded added, “Get a pair and chain their inside legs together.”

When the task was finished I handed each a blanket and an assignment, “You boys keep the fire going or freeze and,” I warned, “don’t even think of any tricks; I’m a light sleeper and Gray will keep her eye on you too.” On cue the filly turned to look at us and whinny barring her teeth in the act.

“Are you serious?”

“Where are they going to go,” I asked with a sweep of my hand, “they wouldn’t get 10 feet without getting tangled up. Even if my horse would let them they can’t ride like that and if they want to stay warm they’ll keep the fire going.”

“But,” Drake protested, “They could jump us as we leave our tents.”

“They could,” I agreed. “It looks to me we have two choices; handcuff their hands behind their backs and one of us gets up every couple of hours to keep the fire going. That’s the hard way,” I warned. “The easy way is if you boys agree to play nice. So which is it going to be guys, the easy way,” I smiled, “or the hard way,” the smile left my face.

The two prisoners exchanged glances before the older man gulped, “We know when we’re licked: the easy way.”

“There you go.” I grinned turning cheerfully to my companions, “Straight from the horses’ mouth.”

“And you believe them!”

“They don’t have many options but if it makes you feel better sit up and watch them, or before you leave your tent have them give you a shout out.”

Drake grumbled but he relented seeing the truth.

“See you guys in the morning,” I called out opening the flap on my tent.

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I know I'm biased but I get excited every time I read this chapter.

I included two chapters since each was short. Again I want to thank Ashleigh to help my writing readable. And I hope you enjoy this installment enough to comment or send a kudo. And I went back to the original picture.

The prisoners are safely handed over, Atalanta learns what her commission actually says and means. Atalanta has a tense meeting late with Carson and later Carson and Delarose exchange ideas.

Chapter 4
The sun had passed its zenith as we followed our shadows towards the Miskatonic River and the meeting place. Abe was on the point followed by the prisoners, Drake, and then me and my animals.

“Atalanta mind if I ask you a question?” Drake slowed his mount until we were side-by-side.

“You already have,” I pointed out mildly adding, “but go ahead.”

“I’ve done a tour in ’Stan and now five years in this Service and I know the real deal when I see it. You’re the real deal. The question is how come. You’re too young.”

Shrugging I returned, “Lots of people start martial arts young.”

His gaze narrowed, “That is not what I meant…and I think you know it. I saw your eyes last night when you confronted those convicts. In a split second you turned into a human wolf from a Little Red Riding Hood.”

A thin smile played at the corners of my mouth; the government and Mrs. Carson apparently had good cover stories in place to explain mutant mayhem.

“It was just the light.”

His jaws bunched tightening the tendons in his neck. Finally he replied dryly, “On a need to know basis?”

Shifting in my saddle I turned to him, “Something like that.”

Abe calling out that he had spotted their camp interrupted any more conversation. Drake loosened the reins on his horse kicked his horse in the ribs overtaking Abe to breaking a trail through the snow.

Abe moved his horse to one side waiting for the caravan to pass before slapping the reins to move his horse beside mine.

“You had that figured out right,” he said jerking his head toward the campsite where smoke was drifting higher under the afternoon sun.

Nodding in agreement I silently waited.

“I was born here and lived most of my life around these parts and over the years I’ve heard rumors about Whateley Academy.”

I quirked an eyebrow and waited.

“I know the school has been around a long time and ceased operations for a few years but started back up in the 60s. And they had some serious backing to lease most of the campus grounds from the Indians.”

Interested to see what the locals think of the school and its students I nodded for him to continue.

“Indian Reservations are Federal and the Federal Government has the money and power to do what they want. So we…I figured it as a kind of spy school for the Cold-War or maybe experiments like MK-Ultra.”

Shocked I responded quickly, “You—they are partially correct. Both my parents are military and daddy was killed in the Middle East so I’m here on the military’s dime. And we don’t fit in with regular schools either because most of us are prodigies of some kind.”

“Ah,” he mumbled.

“But no CIA mind-fuck programs that I’m aware of and I seriously doubt there is any type of government agencies at play there. Many of the student’s parents have serious clout and the school is privately financed too.”

We rode in silence for a few minutes with images of Mrs. Carson in my mind. “Mrs. Carson values the school’s autonomy too much to risk it on sketchy or quickie fixes. No,” my eyes locked with his, “none of that stuff is going on out there but,” I smiled, “the lab students might accidentally blow up stuff.”

We stopped at the banks of the Miskatonic looking across the frigid waters to the camp ringed by the rocky sentinels where I had spent the night several months back.

Drake must’ve called ahead because Tom, the-man-in-charge, appeared from behind the rocky outcropping walking briskly towards us followed by two of his guys.

“Guys this is where I leave you all.”

“You’re not coming with us,” Drake asked.

“No I need to get back and if I get wet in that river it will take too long to dry out and then I’ll have repeat it crossing back.”

“Wait a minute,” Drake said retrieving his phone punching in a number and talking for a few minutes. “Tom’s going to call you,” he declared after disconnecting.

I found out that I needed a receipt from Tom for the prisoners to CYA and we exchanged the forms through our phones; electronically signing.

Turning away from the river I pointed Grey in the school’s direction and looking at the sky declared to the filly, “Step lively girl and you’ll be back in your warm stall eating oats by dark.”

She whinnied either in agreement or disbelief.

The weekend was drawing to a close as I stepped down out of the saddle at Whateley’s stables and opened the door, leading Gray and the packhorse inside.

“I see you made it in one piece,” Manny stepped from the shadows, and taking the reins of the pack horse began to strip the gear from him.

“It wasn’t too bad,” I agreed leading Gray into a stall, stripping off her saddle.

“You’re gaining quite the reputation,” Manny spoke from the adjoining stall stripping the packhorse.

“Oh,” I paused grooming Gray, “How so?”

“They’re calling you the wolf whisperer.”

I stopped currying Gray to look at Manny who was watching me across the back of the pack horse. Hugging Gray’s neck, “I couldn’t let them eat Gray, could I,” I asked in my best little girl voice.

Manny laughed, his teeth gleaming, “Don’t give me that brat routine; it won’t work with me.”

“You got me,” I agreed continuing to groom Gray and then feed and water her. “The pack would have worried the animals enough until one broke loose and run off. Either that or one of us would have had to have stayed up all night taking potshots.”

“I know,” Manny replied as he walked over to stand beside me. I reached inside my coat removing the concealed carry holster, and pressing a hidden button released a latch on a cover that opened revealing a locked metal box. I used a key attached to a lanyard around my neck to unlock it and place my weapon and magazines inside and then locking it back up, pushed the cover into place.

“Let’s see your new papers,” Manny drawled. From an inside pocket, I produced an ID wallet and opening it revealed the nickel star inside a circular design with words, ‘Special Deputy United States Marshal’ emblazoned on its circumference.

“The paperwork is behind it,” I added handing it over.

Manny after looking carefully at the badge dug out the folded paper, and opening it began to read. An amused smile erupted into loud guffaws as he bent over laughing.

A heavy chunk of cement settled in the pit of my stomach.

“I take it you didn’t read it,” Manny chortled holding up the paper.

“No why, what’s wrong with it?”

“This Tom Wilcox must have big brass ones.”

“Manny I swear I’m going to deck you,” I cried clenching my jaw, “if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on. It is a commission isn’t it.”

“Oh, it is a commission alright,” he replied amid another round of chuckles.

What did Manny mean by that comment? What had I signed? And what had Nick O’Reily signed off on?

“Then what’s so funny?”

Manny straightened up and using the back of his hand wiped the smile from his face, “I can just picture Wilcox as he wrote up this commission, and Nick’s reaction when it crosses his desk,” he replied a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“This,” he held up the paper shaking it, “is a permanent temporary reserve deputy status.”

“What does that mean,” I frowned wrinkling my forehead.

“It means that instead of being temporarily deputized for the manhunt you are a permanent member of the US Marshal Service in the reserves.”

“The reserves,” I replied tasting the word “doesn’t sound too bad.”

Manny stepped closer lowering his voice, “It means you can be called to active service at any time and for up to six months at a time.”

“For real?”

Manny nodded, “for real,” he echoed.

“What do I do,” I asked raising my hands.

“We’ll call Mr. O’Reily; he needs to know.”

Chapter 5

I looked past Mrs. Carson, focusing on a strand of her hair that curled around her ear. The security chief was sitting in the meeting as well. Mrs. Carson and Delarose had grilled me about the manhunt details; and then asked for more details. I knew the interrogation techniques used which began to annoy me. But they were designed for that purpose.

It had been a hard three days battling the weather and the elements. Being a girl had the advantage and disadvantage of being underestimated. Well if I was honest being a young girl was the bigger slight and I was more than willing to take that edge in a fight. But there were times when I’d like every interaction not to be a battle of wills like this weekend. I would have preferred to be at the other end of the reservation and not deal with any of it.

I was getting pissed off and needed a distraction to keep my mind otherwise focused. I looked closer at the earring in Mrs. Carson’s right ear. At the spiral’s design, at the juncture between metal post and flesh.

“I just need an accurate detailed report for my records,” the Chief of security was saying, “and the best time to get that is when it is fresh in your mind.”

As I zeroed in, a vein on Mrs. Carson’s ear began pulsating; I recalled all the images, sounds, smells, and words since I had sat down. Into that midst I began a countdown from a hundred by threes and fours recalling the earlier conversation with Mr. O’Reilly.

“Manny to what do I ascribe your call?” Manny had taken it upon himself to make the call we both knew had to be made—and the sooner the better.

“Wilcox has some big brass ones, he kind of screwed you over.”

“I’ve met him,” Nick replied dryly. “What did he do?”

He swore softly when Manny told him.

“Just so you know I’ve got you on speakerphone and Atalanta is beside me.”

“Sorry.”

I waved off the apology, “I don’t understand the problem.”

“It’s more of a case of working at cross purposes. I knew what Wilcox wanted and he knew what I wanted from him.”

“And that was what,” I interjected.

“Administrative cover; he hoped you’d fall through the cracks.”

Wilcox hoped that his duplicity wouldn’t become known and he’d have it to embarrass Nick with in the future. And I became another asset or liability to track.

Mrs. Carson paused and pulled at that ear lobe, “Incidents happen which frankly is why this school is isolated and located where it is; just so we can contain incidents that do happen, and, or, to distinct one-time events. I don’t want a repeat of last year with the Kimbas where Boston led to NY and with each garnering increasingly publicity.”

“I’m responsible for your safety as well as another 400 students and additional 200 instructors and support personnel. The best means to accomplish that goal is keeping a low profile and keeping quiet that this is an academy for mutants.”

She stopped to drink from a decorated mug on her desk, “Publicity—even good publicity—is something we can do without here. I see events happening with you, wildlife tagging leading to deputizing leading to…something else and each with more complexity. The only difference,” she smiled wryly, “between you and the Kimbas is that there is only one of you.”

“But I don’t see--.”

“—and that’s why we’re asking these questions and for the details, so you will see.”

“Ahh.”

The chief’s buzzer beeped interrupting the debriefing. Mrs. Carson checked her watch. “I think we’re done here,” clearly dismissing me. I remained seated causing her to look up.

“Did you have something to add?”

“Yes—yes I do,” I replied evenly. “I appreciate your position but I do feel the need to point out all that I’ve done to contain events in-house since I’ve landed here. My kidnapping attempt at the train depot in Dunwich was a failure on your end here which I did my best to keep quiet. The Christmas calamity happened in part because the school wasn’t equipped properly to meet my requirements; requirements that you determined. Again I declined to press charges to keep fallout localized and I’m recording and tagging wildlife as a favor to the school and to the Medawihla Tribe. And,” I paused taking a deep breath drawled, “This weekend I was where I was supposed to be doing what I was supposed to be doing and again I’ve kept the school and the tribe out of it.”

Silence settled over the room, Mrs. Carson’s ear reddened and another vein developed a tic, “Anything else,” she asked her voice rising.

“No,” I replied calmly, “I believe that’s all I can think of.”

“You may leave then.”

I nodded as I got out of my seat and walked to the door closing it softly.

The two adults watched the teenager as she left the room, the latch clicking loudly as the door slowly closed.

“She’s right you know,” The Chief observed after a minute’s silence.

“I know,” the Headmistress wearily agreed turning in her chair to pour coffee into an empty cup.

“Coffee,” She asked holding up the carafe.

Holding up his hands palms out the Chief replied, “No.”

“You’re right and she’s right; almost everything she has done has been accomplished with little fallout.”

“You’re concerned about her being a Natural,” the Chief ventured with a burst of insight.

“That’s part of it,” Mrs. Carson agreed, “another part is she’s due for a misstep.”

“You’re hoping she screws up?”

“No, not hoping,” she responded quickly, “I believe it is inevitable though.”

“The sooner the better,” Delarose prompted.

“I hate to say it but yeah; I feel the longer she lasts the bigger the fallout.”

“The school survived Team Kimba’s first year,” he reminded her. “But there is something else about Atalanta or her story that bothers you?”

“I do find it odd that as a military family her mother never gave mutation a thought when her son became her daughter and especially as a doctor. It also seems strange that designating Atalanta as intersex also served to obfuscate her possible mutant status. And then a Seal that doubles as a contractor for a project inspired by Atalanta’s change just happens to be on site to train her. And then the head of DARPA just happens to be in Utah where Atalanta is hospitalized and he just happens to know her Seal instructor.”

Stroking his chin Delarose replied, “That’s a lot of coincidences I admit, but to what end. Do you think the military has a secret project?”

“How valuable to the government would a process be that produces mutants…and yet not produce mutants?”

“Come again?” Delarose asked perplexed.

“I don’t have the details worked out yet but what if a two step process has been discovered with the second step erasing or masking mutant markers?”

“A process for activating the mutant gene complex and then masking that mutation,” Delarose squinted at his superior.

“Something along those lines, yes; but what if—“, she snapped her fingers, “they have discovered a way to control the BIT producing specific Exemplars.”

“Like Atalanta?”

“Like Atalanta,” she agreed.

“Nice theory but you need to be careful you don’t fall down a rabbit hole following it,” he warned frowning.

“I know,” she replied distracted then whirling around asked, “Can Sam be trusted?”

Delarose took a step back his pupils expanding, “Yes of course Sam can be trusted,” he returned firmly.

“I’m sorry that was a poor choice of words. I know she can be trusted; I’m not concerned that she’d betray the school no I was wondering if she can find out anything from Mr. Black.”

“I’m sure she would feel him out.”

“Mr. Black’s loyalties lie with Atalanta so I don’t expect you or I could pry any information from him, but Sam might; given their backgrounds.”

“I’ll ask her,” Delarose assured her.

“Keep me informed,” Mrs. Carson directed him ending the meeting.

Guys sorry about the spotty posting but my husband went into rehab on April 15th and I've been super busy. I'm not sure about my schedule going forward as on Friday I learned his Ins. Co won't talk to without his permission--every time. So I need to look into a legal/financial framework for us. That'll be fun--not. I have most of this story written; it is in two sections and I'm working on connecting them and adding finishing touches to the ending.

First I want to thank Ashleigh for her editing skills and making it readable. I've included 4 chapters as they're kind of short. Dr. Bellows wants Atalanta to do what? Mischief happens in the bathroom. Nikki has a theory about Atalanta's use or abuse of magic.

I hope you guys enjoy this offering.

Chapter 6

Leaving the administration building I strode quickly to Crystal Hall for a takeout meal; if I hurried I’d have time to eat it before the curfew at Poe. My footsteps echoed in the mostly empty cafeteria as I sought out leftovers from the buffet bar piling the food in the carryout box.

“You’re just in time,” the lady behind the counter said as I paid her.

“I’m late getting in,” I responded vaguely unsure of who knew of my routine.

Outside on the landing, I paused to look at the dimly lit walkway leading to Poe scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary. Knowing your operational area made tracking and tagging wildlife quicker and safer. After training with Manny, identifying choke points and ambush sites were second nature now and together with my owl birthmark activating a danger sense I strode confidently toward Poe.

The familiar bust greeted me from his perch in the foyer as I opened the door shutting it softly behind me.

Mrs. Horton must have a sixth sense, “Atalanta you have thirty minutes until lights out.”

“Thanks,” I replied walking toward Kimba Corner to eat my ‘take-out.’ The lounging area appeared deserted and I sat down balancing my tray to begin eating when a pile of clothing begins to take shape.

“Jinn,” I inquired mildly as I stabbed a bite of meat.

“Jade made me wait down here for you,” the various articles of clothing pouted at me.

“Want some,” I inquired amused extending a forkful of food.

“Eww!” The pile of clothes lost their shape falling flat on the sofa.

“Don’t go away mad,” I called after the spook taking another bite of food. Finishing quickly I placed the empty container in the trash and I hurried to my room where I gathered a change of clothing and toiletries to aim for the showers. Three days in the wilderness left me ripe and curfew or no I was washing off the grime.

I was rinsing off when the lights shut off. I should have another few minutes before the curfew.

I quickly changed my mind as my shoulder tingled. I slowly moved from under the showerhead letting the water mask any noise I might make. My eyesight shifted; droplets of water filled the stall splattering against the floor and pooling to swirl down the drain. The fine mist wrapped me in a wispy fog as I slowly reached for my towel and peered out at the sinks and beyond to the dressing area.

The stall and room design limited my view.

I didn’t see anyone but I knew there was someone else in here. Slowly I began twisting the towel into cordage to strike with and moved carefully from the stall’s confines to confront who waited. Movement and a slight sound alerted me as I swung my head around to see the outside door closing softly buffered by the hydraulic arm. Still I waited not convinced and I listened for any small sounds. I felt my low light vision kick in looking in every nook and corner for potential dangers.

Satisfied I walked over and flicked the light switch illuminating the room. In the corner my clothes were jumbled up. My smile vanished as I realized somebody’s idea of a prank wasn’t funny. I unwound the tied bundle my mind in high gear as I pulled on my underwear before holding up the remains of my flannel nightshirt. It looked like someone had used a dull knife to shred the back of the clothing. A cold dark fury rose from somewhere murky and deep, fighting me for control. Destructive images screamed at me. Calming breaths forced the beast back into his lair.

Stepping into a pair of sandals I held the tattered shirt to my chest opening the door to pad down the hall. In the darkened hallway in bra and panties and holding my shirt in a defensive gesture I felt vulnerable despite having faced greater danger this weekend.

Stopping in front of a familiar door I knocked and then entered to a muffled, “Yes.”

“Nikki, I need your help,” I said to the figure on the bed.

“Help!” Nikki cried mockingly, “Super girl needs help,” she added teasing, rising from the bed, “What’s…” Sensing my distress she stood up turning the light on then motioning me over to sit beside her, “What happened,” she asked softly.

I held up the tattered shirt, “Somebody sneaked in while I was showering,” I replied slowly.

Nikki was silent; everyone knew what my nightshirt meant to me.

“What can I do to help?”

“I am hoping you can work your magic on this flannel shirt and repair it.”

“Well it is a natural fiber,” Nikki mused gently removing it from my arms carrying it over to her desk laying it down and carefully arranging the strips of cloth. My jaw set I watched her hands move over the garment pausing often; chanting in unintelligible syllables. Time slowed watching Nikki activate her spell as individual threads began first wiggling like snakes before they began weaving into larger and larger patterns.

After several minutes of unraveling and retying efforts the cut strips of cloth began closing from the top down not unlike how a zipper works; knitting the damaged material cleanly. A couple of minutes passed before Nikki handed me my nightshirt back whole. I shivered running my fingers along the repaired shirt and slowly placed an arm through each sleeve wrapping myself in the checkered shirt deliberately latching the buttons.

My smile seemed to grow and grow; wider and wider tugging at my cheeks. “Thank you Nikki,” I croaked huskily then heartily hugging her.

Nikki, stepping back after the embrace with a smile that almost matched mine softly replied, “I’m glad I could help but who could’ve done this?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know but they have to be somebody from Poe; don’t they?”

“Why is that,” asked Nikki her brow tightening.

“I assume it is somebody that knows what that shirt means to me and it is pretty hard to get in here after the house is locked up.”

“There are other options,” Nikki countered, “like maybe you were supposed to be in that shirt.”

“Huh,” I asked my throat tightening.

“There are of course magic rituals but a rudimentary form of magic is using thought forms to create a servitor.”

“A servitor, what’s that?”

Nikki answered speaking quickly and softly, “I’ll explain tomorrow; if Mrs. Horton finds us up there will be hell to pay. Until then don’t lose sight of your hairbrush, toothbrush, or anything anyone can use as a personal link to you. Okay?”

“Okay,” I answered softly as Nikki ushered me into the hallway whispering in my ear, “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Gliding softly over the tiled floor hidden in shadows softly lit by lamps at each end of the hall I passed door after closed door before stopping in front of the door to my room. I paused with my hand on the door knob and listened intently. My room, just large enough to hold one person was literally hidden behind the broom closet and the stairway.

The location suited my needs, the room was goldilocks sized, and the lone window offered a commanding view of the central campus. The room was symbolic of my campus status out of sight, out of mind, and limiting my interactions with fellow students.

It was clear to me that I made Carson nervous. One part of me understood why. The motivations, triggers, pathologies; mutant profiles were well understood, studied, and classified. I fit none of their profiles and accordingly they saw me as unpredictable. Predictably their response was limiting as many variables as possible in my daily life.

They were more than happy to lend me to the Medawihla Tribe from Friday to Sunday to track, catalogue, and tag the Reservation’s various wildlife and population. They also were more than willing to allow Manny as my private tutor four days a week. Mondays were exclusively reserved for the private class with Manny with Mrs. Carson approving the class material. The classes for the other three days—Tuesday-Thursday—consisted of standard high school curriculum. I then received instruction in the mutant specific courses as distance learning—over the internet and semi-monthly private meetings with each instructor to gauge my progress.

The modified schedule was implemented after the Christmas break. Officially the reason given was what happened with the Donners over Christmas. Through the grapevine I heard the actual reason was the assignment Circe had given me to do during that week. Nikki had whispered to me that not long after I had returned Circe’s stones to her stories had circulated that she had emerged from her classroom muttering, her clothing smudged and eyebrows singed.

“First you blew up her door and then her classroom; do you blame her if she wants you to keep at a safe distance from her,” she had giggled in my ear.

I figured she was just teasing me.

But the schedule suited me fine. Each morning I met with most of Team Kimba—the gang as I came to know them—for exercises followed by my run and afterwards meeting up for breakfast and then each evening for dinner.

Evenings at Poe were usually spent in studying, online with an instructor or in turning assignments, and often cloistered with the Kimbas in their secluded corner. Sprinkled in were updates to the Medawihla spreadsheet and calls home to mom.

Even though they teased me mercilessly about blowing up Circe’s stuff and creating new tunnels for Mrs. Carson that she hadn’t requested we formed a genuine bond around being labeled as loose cannons. That and I had powers and traits in common with several members of the group. Hank and I shared growing up in a military environment and moving every two or three years. Like Chou I had an affinity for physicality and weaponry augmenting its effectiveness through channeling a spiritual life force. Unlike Nikki I apparently had no ability to gather store and use magic; rather I absorbed and redirected what was used against me. Jade and I used our stalking skills against each other

In many ways I was the forge they used to sharpen their skills against and vice-a-versa.

Satisfied I opened the door slipped inside closing and leaning against it extending my senses into the room’s farthest corners. Nodding and bending over the bed I quickly crawled under its covers still wrapped in the old flannel shirt that belonged to daddy.

Chapter 7

Laying there in the dark I cast my mind back. The sound of the knock on our front door echoed again.

School was about to let out for Christmas; Mom was busy wrapping gifts and putting up decorations. Dad’s tour had ended and he was coming home in time for Christmas. After years of moving from base to base as Daddy had advanced in rank he—and we had achieved stability with the likelihood being of remaining at one school long enough to make friends. And I was about to become a teenager—at that time on the threshold of becoming a man.

It had all changed with that knock. Daddy wasn’t coming home. Mom seeking distance from well meaning in-laws exerted her independence by moving us to a New Mexico spa owned by her college roommate becoming the business’s staff doctor. That move had once again necessitated a new school for the next year.

But wait, there’s more. A thin smile stretched my lips at recalling that commercial.

New Mexico; Land of Enchantment was more than a slogan as I found out. I traveled there as a skinny kid on the verge of puberty anticipating developing hair on my lip, a deepening voice, and the widening of my shoulders filling out my frame like my dad had.
Instead I had gone exploring and became separated from the group and came back changing into a girl. Instead of widening shoulders it was my hips that spread and the filling out occurred on my chest.

Yeah me!

We had a good father/son relationship. We had gone to some ball games together, a fishing trip once, canoeing another time. I remembered handing him tools as he did minor repairs on the family car. Mostly it was just hanging around with each other stuff.

Stuff.

My throat constricted remembering stuff. I remembered retreating to my room and not wanting to come out and talk with anybody. Finally I remembered wandering out to the garage and finding this shirt, this shirt that he often wore raking leaves, washing the car, or tinkering in the garage. Or, for when we did stuff together. I claimed it for me; it was mine.

I thought of that Christmas as the great sundering with the far canyon wall lying in the land of normalcy; 9 to 5 jobs, two parents, childhood and growing up; public schools and fairy tales.

On that far wall divided by a yawning chasm were memories of Alan, boyhood, and Dad. On this side of that line are me; Atalanta, girlhood, and Mom. That shirt represented a tangible reminder; a cherished memento of a different time; a bridge spanning the canyon and linking the two worlds.

Images of the ruined shirt flickered across my mind and I frowned in the dark wondering if the garment was baggage and not luggage. An admonishment I remembered hearing said something about putting away childish things as an adult. I wasn’t an adult but that idea needed further thought. Being careful I turned on my side snuggling deeper under the covers and soon fell asleep.

Chapter 8

“You want me to do what?”

Dr. Bellows sat behind his desk, elbows bent on the desk studying both his steepled fingers and my reaction. The afternoon sun streamed through the window at his back, his face half hidden in shadows. He was my academic advisor and I was squirming in my seat across from his desk the next day.

“I couldn’t get you in the drama class so I did the next best thing and you still get credit for it.”

I sharply narrowed my gaze looking for a twitch at the corners of his mouth or lights dancing in his eyes. When his face remained stoic and unlined I knew he was being serious.

“But why doctor; what do you hope that I learn from this…this project?”

Now he chuckled.

The bastard!

“Atalanta so far we haven’t really challenged you here at the school. No,” he held up a hand cutting off my response, “hear me out. Okay?”

Nodding I leaned back folding my arms across my chest and waited faintly smiling at his puffing cheeks. I liked pushing boundaries and thanks to Manny’s teaching I knew body language tells. I didn’t have much choice in curriculum but I did have complete freedom in how I responded.

Yes!

“Atalanta you’re an Exemplar and a Paragon at fighting…at warfare. You excel at Parkour and outdoor survival skills. As an Exemplar you’re intelligent and you came to us proficient in your high school subjects. I suspect you have ability as a gadgeteer if you applied yourself but you don’t test out high enough to qualify for that study area. And as far as the magic arts are concerned they are still undecided on a course of action to take with you. I believe Circe described you as a magic mangler.”

Inwardly I smiled at that bit of deception. Nikki had been working with me to increase the size and reserve of as she called it, “a well containing magic essence.’ Her theory was that the crazy boomerangs happened because I was so open to all types of magic and my store of essence was so low that I absorbed every type of magic equally. A lot like connecting a negative lead to a positive terminal result in a shower of sparks and explosions. But we had been working on me using natural magic as my foundation to create intentioned results like a servitor.

I liked the idea of holding something back having already learned the power of being underestimated. I wasn’t sure how long Nikki was going to allow that omission to continue.

He continued. “So we wanted to tap into your creative side to give you something to stretch your mind with. To help you grow in other directions and maybe discover a talent you didn’t know you have.”

“And you think a fairy tale is the solution,” I snorted.

“No,” he returned quickly, “it is how you apply the fairy tale to the context or to the parameters you’ve been given. That is the solution,” he firmly stated.

“So how I tell it is up to me?”

“As long as the story is recognizable and has a Whateley theme…yes.”

“I guess and when does it have to be ready?”

“You need to submit your paper to me to approve by March 14th and have the play ready after Spring Break and before finals, Sometime late in April or early May. I’ll have to work out the exact date with the theater group.”

“Okay.”

“And you can get help from anyone to help you with ideas.”

“I have a couple in mind already,” I replied stroking my throat.

“That’s all for now then,” Dr. Bellows swallowed, rising from his seat.

Nodding I climbed to my feet and walked to the exit.

Chapter 9

“You’re going to do what,” Nikki cried her eyes widening.

After leaving Dr. Bellows I had stopped by Kimba corner to say hi and mentioned the assignment to Nikki while I was perched on the sofa arm in a lounge area. I usually stopped by in the evenings to say hi to anyone that was present. Tonight I counted besides Nikki; Billie, Chou, Jade, and Hank.

“What’s she up to now,” Billy called out from her secluded cubicle in Kimba Corner.

“Dr. Bellows gave her, her literary assignment.”

“Oh? Shakespeare? Poe?”

“No,” Nikki responded her lips curling in a grin, “a fairy tale.”

“Really,” a high pitched squeal came from beneath a pile of clothing as Jade popped into view.

“See what you’ve done,” growled Chou rolling her eyes and to Jade, “No Hello Kitty is not a fairy tale.”

“You sure?” Jade questioned her eyes bright.

I remained quiet perched on my ledge watching the banter being served enjoying the easy flow of conversation until it round-robin style stopped in my lap.

“You have a fairy tale in mind,” Hank asked quietly.

I nodded, “Red Riding Hood.”

“Tell them the rest of it,” Nikki prompted from my elbow laugh lines peeking out from behind her hand.

“I’m supposed to adapt it to a one act screenplay that paints a story of Whateley and me.”

“Tell them the rest of it,” Nikki shrieked now openly giggling.

Blowing air between puffed cheeks, “I have to give a one woman performance—on stage.”

“She,” Nikki continued between squeals of laughter, “opens for the spring play.”

“Maybe you can find pieces of Circe’s door to bring onstage,” Billie teased from her space. What followed was five minutes of puns like; ‘raise the roof, set the stage on fire, bring the house down,’ and so on with good natured jabs.

“Humph,” I grumbled frowning and crossed my arms underneath my breasts. Rising from the sofa arm I looked at each of my tormenters one-by-one before drawling a response, “I appreciate the suggestions,” and turned to leave.

Stopping at the landing I turned back around my lips curling around my pearly-whites, “And I’ll make sure to get y’all front row seats where you won’t miss any of the fireworks.”

I turned on my heels my red hair spilling from under my hat and over the collar of my duster; my boots beating a rapid tattoo on the wooden floor as I strode across the floor.

I heard the words, “I feel sorry for the wolf,” hanging in the air behind me.

The next morning in the pre-dawn dark I warmed up; extending my senses and testing my balance and fine motor skills against the environment. This time was me competing against myself as I wrapped my forearms and legs in bubble wrap shimmying up and back down the wall of Poe Cottage using a close sapling tree as leverage. I smiled at not tearing the bubbles. This spiritual practice was intended for centering and grounding in preparation to meet each day fully engaged. The Kimba gang would soon join me in some light sparring before I ran my normal cross country five mile parkour-type run before classes.

But after lunch today I was scheduled to report for a testing session in the Sims lab.

Two figures watched from the apartment window at the tall red-haired girl warm up, stretching in the bitter cold morning air in the snow in front of Poe then practicing her forms dressed in her non school hours and non conforming clothing. Nothing or nobody was stirring this early and in this weather.

“Doesn’t she ever let up,” Sam asked her companion.

Manny holding a cup of coffee between his palms hooked a leg over the chair rung and studied the girl. “She’s one of a kind,” he agreed looking outside.

Sam nodded, “She doesn’t seem human at times.”

A tiny nerve under Manny’s eye twitched. “None of us are quite human.”

“That’s what I mean. For most people to do what we do they are changed by it. Naturals are different; they don’t change.”

Manny nodded remembering the few Naturals he had known. “They are the same before, during, and after.”

“Yeah,” Sam added quickly, “most of us feel an adrenaline surge at the threat of danger. Something clicks in our brains and it goes into overdrive. That rush can get addictive though.”

Manny remained silent watching Atalanta begin her morning run and disappear over the crown of the hill beyond Poe; the absurdity of the situation striking him as funny.

“What,” Sam asked looking from a corner of her eye at Manny.

“It just struck me as funny, you know the whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing. I look like I have the most experience but you have what, decade on me?”

“More probably,” Sam agreed.

“And yet you don’t look like you’re out of college let alone a crusty old codger in there somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied dryly straightening up.

“Yeah,” Manny echoed, “Atalanta doesn’t look old enough to drive—.”

“—She isn’t,” Sam smiled the tension past.

“—and yet she may have the most experience of all.”

“I wouldn’t use the term experience but I do get your point and you’re the one training her.”

“Ever lose your hearing or sight from an explosion or know of someone that did. Or amnesia from a concussion?”

Manny waited for Sam to nod her head before continuing, “In the case of extreme examples where they need remedial training did you ever think of them as inexperienced?”

“No, of course not but that was because I knew them and their history.”

“That is certainly part of it,” Manny agreed, “but you have to admit that they quickly scale up to their level of training.”

“That is true enough,” Sam agreed countering by adding, “But that’s mostly muscle memory coming into play.”

Manny grunted, “Subconscious memory?”

“I agree that is probably true.”

“I was with Atalanta for seven days a week over 14 months but within three months I saw her subconscious memory start to activate and she began connecting dots that you don’t connect unless you have experienced them.”

Sam’s mouth opened and she formed a silent ‘Oh’ with her lips as inspiration flooded her. She was tempted to ask for an example but instead drew on her own experience.

I appreciate any comments and will do my best to answer and of course I appreciate any kudos

This was an absolutely fun chapter to write and read; this chapter is all about action and I do hope you'll find it enjoyable. Atalanta cuts loose a bit and consequences be damned.

I also want to thank Ashleigh again for her editing prowess as editors are the backbone of a story and I know she hasn't been feeling well.

This chapter is not too long but I feel it should be looked at separate from the next chapter but I'll try and post it in the next couple of days because they fit together.

Chapter 10

Mists rose slowly from the pavement from between buildings twisting, crawling upward along invisible lines. The sun timidly peered from behind steel and glass structures.

A dog howled in the distance. Quick scurrying footsteps reached my ears. Metallic tinny sounds followed. I scanned the windows and buildings at my side and across the street.

Nothing stirred.

“Full immersion achieved,” a voice broke the stillness in the control room.

I moved away from the alley onto the street my knees bent and nostrils flaring. I held in each hand a Wakizashi a traditional Samurai sword with a blade length of 20 inches. The Bo-Hi or the so-called blood-grooves whistled as they flashed through the air, each sword crossing my body center-line.

Across the street on the sidewalk the air shimmered a broken horizontal black line zigzagged. As it slowly grew I matched the speed of my sword to its widening rhythm; rotating my wrists keeping time and leveraging the finely tuned weapons.

One coal red eye glowed at me from the abyss followed by a second as the chasm grew wider and taller. In between those glowing red orbs a huge misshapen head appeared with jagged teeth and swept back tipped ears which resembled horns. The mist parted as his body and legs stepped through the curtain. Wings stretched across his back and anchored along his upper arms ending in three talons like claws. The creature’s large muscular body and legs quickly followed his cloven hooves clicking on the paved street.
He didn’t show surprise at seeing me instead he opened his mouth revealing fierce looking fangs, “Atalanta,” his voice rumbled across the space that separated us. He half turned reaching back with one talon equipped paw latching on a squirming bundle that until now had been hidden by his body and by the abyss.

He turned back facing me swinging his captive through the air suspended by her clothing.

Before the creature or his captive spoke I recognized the woman.

Mom!

For a micro-second, ten thousand thoughts crashed together in my mind with each screaming for attention. But in the time it took for the creature to speak my name again, the panic had left my mind swept away into the non-time that limbo existed in.

“Atalanta,” he began, “I have”—his guttural voice cut short watching his claw tumble to the street, the stump at the end of his hand spurting blood. Sheathing a sword I helped mom to her feet.

“You all right,” I asked helping her cross the street.

“I think so. What happened? How did I get here?”

“I don’t know and right now it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you stay out of sight. Can you do that?”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“Mom,” I cried watching the monster holding up his stump the blood flow now just a trickle, “I don’t have time for twenty questions right now. Just stay out of sight,” I added pushing her down behind a parked car.

“Atalanta I’m the parent—,”

“Not here and not now,” I interjected adding, “Stay Put!”

I turned to face the nightmare creature jeering as I walked toward him drawing my second sword, “Hey stumpy forget about me.” He looked at me from his damaged limb that had stopped bleeding.

Regeneration?

Along the edges of each wing were evenly spaced rows of retractable talon like fingers extending from its bony structure. Talons that were sharp and long enough that they would rip someone to pieces, truly a death by a thousand cuts.

I smiled feeling my lips tighten against my teeth, stepping eagerly closer.

“Because I like to think I’m unforgettable, otherwise you’re liable to make me mad and you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,” I continued smiling pleasantly in a conversational tone as I closed the distance.

Suddenly light glinted off the sword in my left hand as it flashed and sliced through the wing membranes on that side. The creature reacted immediately; roaring and twisting his body whipping a spiked tail at me previously hidden by his body. I was intent on watching the wing talons react to the pain and I almost missed the missile flying at me. My right hand twitched raising the sword partially deflecting and slowing the appendage. The shock and power hitting the sword broadside bent my wrist back knocking me backwards and off balance.

He roared again and lunged at me frustrated as I danced around him inflicting another cut on his backside as he swept by.

“C’mon Stumpy if you want to be my dance partner you’ll need to up your game,” I called out jeering.

“See,” he growled a response triumphantly raising that limb to show me that his claw had re-grown, “I have...”

Light flashed as steel whistled through the air and a claw rolled on the street, “Lose something Stumpy,” I mocked using the tip of my sword to flip it up into his face, “Is this yours?”

He howled in anger and from pain.

I bounced lightly on the balls of my feet watching the creature intently, my lips stretched thin against my teeth my heart racing. Anger began bubbling to the surface as the image of my mom hung suspended in the air from that hook that I had flipped back at him: In his face.

Take that!

My smile stretched wider.

I feinted to my right raising that sword hand and when he turned that direction tempered and layered steel flashed slicing through the tip of his right ear.

Cocking my head, “There you go, Stumpy now you’re balanced out.”

The birthmark on my shoulder itched. Warning lights flared as my heart slowed and my eyes widened. Colors dulled and environmental sounds faded. The Creature’s respiration rate increased, his eyes narrowing, muscles tensing as he straightened to his full height.

Something in the manner that he moved his damaged wing rang warning bells and I dropped my left hand sword gripping the duster’s lapel and drawing it around me. Immediately the rat-tat sounds of a half dozen miniature missiles struck bouncing harmlessly off the coat’s tough leather exterior. He raising his wing, the direction of the strikes, and their weight told me that somehow he had launched the inch long talons that ringed the edges of his wings.

Pain in my left forearm followed as one of the darts found flesh to penetrate. Immediately my senses rushed at the point-of-entry in my arm and I felt a dark mist trying to reach my bloodstream. I immediately danced away sheathing the other sword and using my right hand plucked the dart from my skin allowing blood to flow. Stepping back I circled the creature being careful to keep the other wing pointing away from me. I fought against that dark energy imagining rows of cavalry rushing into the growing battlefield near my wounded arm. The defenders surged forward welcoming the test of mettle cutting through the attackers like a scythe through a field of wheat. Like the sun burning away the curtain of night the defenders obliterated the invading force absorbing every last trace of their existence.

The pain vanished too and as it did restoring strength and tension to that arm. Flush with renewed vigor I raised that arm signaling victory, and unsheathing the Wakizashi weapons held them upright, the lights sparkling and dancing off the polished steel. I flexed my wrists as they crisscrossed in front of my body in a choreographed dance of death while I studied the creature.

Large fangs designed to pierce flesh protruded pushing past swollen lips and his misshapen mouth. The talons looking like three fingered maws used in carnivals were large and clumsy but effective on larger targets. I had already felt the dangers of his wingtip daggers; their ability to launch swiftly and silently carrying a poisonous cargo. His large tail was capable of breaking bones and ripping flesh from the trident shaped spike. Probably due to his ability to launch and replenish the daggers from his wings he had some ability to regenerate as evidence by the re-growth of a talon although the wingtip daggers hadn’t yet reemerged. I circled to my left and away from his “loaded” wing while searching for a weakness to attack.

Kill the head and the body will die.

The creature was huge, hardly able to fit through a conventional doorway with his head likely brushing an eight foot ceiling. Glancing quickly at the row of storefronts I smiled thinly as an idea took shape.

Stepping from street onto the sidewalk he followed me like a dance partner from storefront to storefront most looking out at the street from large plate glass windows. At spaced intervals the buildings were separated by narrow alleys designed for side entrances and deliveries. I kept up a steady stream of banter; everything from questioning his lineage to challenging his virility.

A vein jumped along my neck; I grinned crookedly at the monster while furrowing my eyebrows drawling, “Well Stumpy you’re a quick learner, now we’ll see if you can learn the two-step,” I immediately stepped to my right and then quickly dashing into the space between two buildings and he turned to follow. As he did I feinted charging at him stopping him dead in his tracks as he crashed into a brick structure causing it to fall away. I turned around and sprinted down the alley sheathing my swords as his roar added speed to my actions.

“Atalanta running won’t do you any good. I’ll find you.”

No I’ll find you Ha! Ha!

Without breaking stride, I crashed through the side door splintering the door and its frame and dodging obstacles racing through the interior toward the front of the store. Gripping my coat’s lapels and wrapping it around me like a blanket I leapt at the glass shattering the store’s front window sending the broken pieces crashing onto the sidewalk. I followed without hesitation as my feet lightly kissed the concrete surface barely slowing and turning down the alley as the monster was busy widening the doorway to admit his bulk.

I helped

Launching my 6 foot 135lb frame at full speed and hitting him in the back we both crashed into the store’s interior sliding across the floor with the monster’s weight crushing furniture in our path. One arm clamped around his forehead while my other hand reached into my vest gripping the Special Forces Tanto knife, edge in, arcing it out and back slashing across his body on a direct trajectory towards his throat.

Missed!

A falling filing cabinet jarred my shoulder spoiling my aim. Instead of his soft throat and jugular my knife cut through the muscles of his shoulder and back. Feeling the power in his body I bounced up and away from the reach of his long wingspan but not before slicing through the big tendon at his heel—the Achilles tendon—effectively crippling him.

He roared in anger rows of oversized teeth gleamed menacingly in the dim interior. Grimacing he used overturned furniture to stand bent over in pain. Propped up against an overturned filing cabinet with that foot and ankle dangling, bleeding from his back and shoulder wounds, one clawless hand dripping blood, and the other wing emptied of darts the Monster spoke surprisingly soft:
“I underestimated you Atalanta. I’ll not make that mistake again,” and he began a chant using words and sounds that held a familiar tone.

Immediately the air behind him shimmered and parted as three more monster clones began to take shape from the mists. The creature had summoned three more of his kind from whatever hell they existed in.

I reacted instantly leaping forward raising my knife hand with my attention solely on one of the large glowing twin orbs.

Three things happened microseconds before my knife plunged into his eye socket: recognition dawned in those eyes, life flamed out, and Mom called from across the street, “Atalanta,” sending adrenalin pumping through my system.

Feeling the honed steel slice through layers of membrane I left the knife buried to the hilt in the lifeless body whirling to face three additional adversaries. Two figures were prone on the floor while the third was bent over shaking his head. Without hesitation I leaped across the littered floor unsheathing my swords plunging them deeply into the eye sockets of the two monsters on the floor, leaving each writhing in a death dance that ended when I twisted my weapons free and turned to face the last enemy.

Sirens, voices, and boots hitting the pavement outside mixed in with the added sounds of metal clanging against metal reached our ears through the broken windows and doors. The creature lifted his head half turning towards the approaching reinforcements barred his grisly fangs at me lifting a paw, “Until we meet again, dear girl.”

The air shimmied around him dancing like flames from a fire before pulling him back into the void.

Screw you!

As I turned to leave and intercept Mom, the room with its smashed furniture, overturned file cabinets, broken glass and lifeless creatures began fading, soon replaced by another room. A single table in the center dominated the space. Stage lights gleamed from their recesses supplying the light for the windowless room.

A single door broke the monotony of the four walls.

I hope you find that as exciting as I did reading it again. Okay maybe I exaggerating some. If you do or even if you didn't leave a comment and I'll reply but please leave a kudo too. I appreciate it.

Katie

This chapter hopefully explains what happened last chapter. There's a fair amount of tension between the school and Atalanta with Manny siding with Atalanta and leaving Sam walking a fine line.

As always I want to thank Ashleigh for her editing skills. It would be mostly unreadable without her as grammar is not my strength.

I do hope you enjoy this chapter and I will appreciate your comments and answer any questions you have and of course kudos.

Katie

Chapter 11

Memory rushed back. Deliberately I reached up removing the VR helmet that had provided the holographic sim scenario. Turning it over slowly in my hands I turned and looked at where I knew the camera was located. My gaze never wavered from that corner. The molded composite I held began to bulge as its layered compounds reached its shear and tensile limits. Suddenly the sphere collapsed under the stress popping like a dry twig the report ping ponging off the walls.

“Who’s fucked up idea was this,” I demanded.

The door opened admitting Manny and Sam; they walked directly to me and each softly lay a hand on my shoulders, “It took us by surprise too, Atalanta.”

I nodded at each looking past them as the second wave piled in consisting of Mrs. Carson, Delarose, and Franklin; flanked by extra security. Sam and Manny turned to face the door.

“Atalanta this wasn’t our doing.”

“I suppose it was mine.”

An unwritten rule at Whateley was that family remained off limits and that included sims.

Mrs. Carson chose her reply carefully rolling each word over her tongue tasting it before airing it, “Neither and both. The room and setting was our doing; it was set up to test your boundaries. But you supplied the details.”

As I turned her words over in my mind the arrangement of the room’s participants hadn’t escaped my attention. I fully trusted Manny with my back but Sam hadn’t moved also standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me. This wasn’t the time or place for a showdown that could drive a wedge between Sam and her coworkers. Manny was hired on a 6 month temporary contract.

I shrugged a thin smile escaping, “Nobody’s fault then. Hopefully you can review the procedure to where it doesn’t happen to someone else.”

“We will in the future but first a couple of questions if you don’t mind. Why did you choose the weapons you did? In our sims we are careful not to encourage using lethal force.”

I frowned knitting my brows, “I don’t think I did”—holding up a hand to ward off her reply—“but if I did it was a subconscious choice that I don’t know the answer to.”

I chose my next words carefully knowing the school’s stance on lethal force. “I was quite content to disarm my opponent and wear him down until he escalated the threat level.”

Mrs. Carson nodded and pointing at my helmet, “What happened?”

“Shoddy workmanship,” I quipped holding up the misshapen object.

Her frown said she wasn’t buying that explanation, “May I examine it?”

“Sure,” I replied stepping forward and handing it to her.

“What’s that,” she asked sharply pointing to my forearm where a dart from the creature had penetrated.

“A surprise gift from Stumpy,” I replied dryly.

“See that you go to the infirmary and get it looked at,” she replied frowning while turning the helmet over and over appearing to be examining it closely. Suddenly it shattered in her hands; small composite shards drifted to the floor.

“I see what you mean,” Elizabeth Carson returned dryly and turning to Franklin adding, “Chief get on the horn with our suppliers.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth as she left the room.

Manny turned to me, “You alright, kiddo?”

Nodding, “I think so.”

“We’re here if you need us,” Manny continued pointing to Sam and himself.

I turned to them, “I know and…thanks guys,” adding, “I have to run. I don’t want to be late for class.”

“Better hurry you can’t be getting anymore demerits,” they chortled back at me.

The two savvy warriors watched the young girl leave before following security into the Sims control room that was down the hall. They walked in on an animated discussion between the Chief and the Headmistress.

“What’s going on,” Manny asked as they walked over to the display showing Area 77.

Franklin pointed a finger at the broken display window and the street that surrounded it. A parked ambulance at the storefront was besieged by an army of attendants.

“That’s not NPCs,” Sam declared moving closer to the screen and recognizing Whateley security badges.

“No, they’re not and neither is that,” Elizabeth Carson replied, pointing at four men that were straining to carry something wrapped in a tarp to the back of the ambulance. Common sense said it was a body.

“That’s one of the creatures she killed.”

“How did it get there? There is just supposed to be NPCs in the Sims.”

She turned to Manny and replied her voice pinched, “You’re the resident expert on Atalanta, suppose you tell me.”

Manny shrugged his broad shoulders, “Well you did want to know what it would take to push her across the line. Threaten her mother or bring overwhelming force against her appears to be two things that will.”

“What about you Sam? Do you agree with Manny; that she didn’t act prematurely?”

Sam didn’t answer immediately her eyes training on some distant object as she recalled the events. “No I don’t,” she replied her attention snapping back adding; “Atalanta has a kind of sixth sense when it comes to danger and she never seems to get flustered. I think she was content to wear down the creature until he summoned three more of the big uglies. In a confined space and outnumbered I don’t think she had any other choice.”

Sam started to say something then changed her mind before adding; “You did notice that she had a wound on her arm?”

Mrs. Carson nodded for her to continue.

“None of this stuff is supposed to happen but it has. What about Atalanta’s Mom; she was in the sims too?”

A sharp intake of breath and widening eyes betrayed her surprise, “I better call her and see if she’s all right.”

“Let me,” Manny interjected palming his phone explaining, “I usually call Liz—Mrs. Reed a couple times-a-week to let her know how Atalanta’s doing. She won’t expect anything out of the ordinary if I call.”

“Go ahead,” Mrs. Carson replied shaking her head breathing out pent up air. She and the other Liz didn’t see eye-to-eye over Atalanta.

Manny punched in Liz’s number, “Hullo,” he heard the distracted voice over his earpiece. He knew immediately something had occurred.

“It’s Manny. How are you; you sound like you just woke up from a nap?”

“I think maybe I did,” he heard her reply hollow and distant. “Odd though. I wasn’t sleepy and I never dream.”

“You had a dream,” Manny prompted.

“Yeah, Atalanta was in it too and we were in some town. A ghost town I think. At least I don’t think there were any people around.”

“—And?”

“That’s it.” She then seemed to shake off her lethargy. “Atalanta is she okay?”

“She’s fine. I just called to let you know she aced her test today.”

They exchanged pleasantries and weather reports before ending the call.

“You heard,” he asked placing the phone in its holster.

The two women nodded and Manny continued, “She believed that she dreamed they were in a ghost town somewhere.”

“Until we get to the bottom of this,” she began and including Franklin and Delarose, “combat sims is out for Miss. Reed.”

Manny and Sam drifted out into the hallway after Mrs. Carson and security left, “They had to push but they got what they wanted.”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Sam observed laconically.

“I know,” Manny agreed between clenched teeth, “but I was hoping for later.”

“What do you think happened in there?”

“Meaning the sims?”

“Yeah, the sims,” Sam replied.

Manny stopped and rubbed the back of his neck, “Damned-if-I-know. Could be the hologram, could be Atalanta or it could be that they combined in a weird way.”

“Or it could be an outside force,” Sam offered.

“Or a saboteur,” Manny countered.

“Let’s keep our eyeballs peeled.”

At the end of the hall as they were about to separate, Delarose stepped into the corridor “A moment please,” he spoke indicating they should enter the room he had stepped from.

They turned as one crossing the threshold and into the room with Delarose closing the door behind him. Mrs. Carson was seated behind a desk with Bardue on her left and an empty chair on her right. In front of the desk were two empty chairs.
“Have a seat,” Delarose said indicating the chairs as he occupied the empty chair flanking the headmistress. Mrs. Carson let the silence build. Both Sam and Manny had played this game many times. They waited for Mrs. Carson to break the silence.

“I take it you don’t approve.”

Manny pointed to Sam, “Sam and I both told you that Atalanta is a natural and what that means. We’ve both told you she would kill if you pushed her hard enough.”

“I have other students to consider.”

“Students that are mutants with many having power greater than hers.” Manny replied evenly.

“But,” Mrs. Carson replied pointing out, “none have been trained to kill.”

“Neither has Atalanta,” Manny replied quickly his words crackling. Pausing he took several deep breaths and continued, “Naturals are a tiny minority of the humans on earth probably less than one percent. Worldwide there are less than 50 million; here in the US my guess is less than 5 million. While they are not common you have probably met several and not know it. Most of those 5 million or so will never know it and unless they serve in the military or put in a life or death situation neither will anyone else.”

Manny scratching the back of his neck paused to organize his thoughts.

“Naturals are like sheepdogs,” Sam interjected, “they protect the flock against predators and then come back and lay down with the sheep.”

Manny nodded eagerly his jaw set, “Exactly it doesn’t get easier—or harder. They don’t get any pleasure from it or remorse either. Atalanta is no more likely now than she was before. The reason I was dead set against any tests like today was not that I was concerned she’d go on a killing spree but how she’d be viewed by outsiders.”

“People like me you mean,” she replied leaning forward.

“Partly but those I am most concerned about are those who view her favorably.”

Stunned Mrs. Carson fell back in her seat, “Favorably?”

“Yes, favorably there are branches in the government that would cut each other’s throats at a chance for an asset like Atalanta.”

“An asset,” she echoed woodenly.

“And private criminal enterprises,” Sam added.

“Some outfits you join for life— “

“—and others will kill you if you don’t.”

“They’ll convince her it’s her civic duty to join-up.”

“Blackmail or extortion too,” Sam chimed in.

“Whoa,” Mrs. Carson cried throwing her hands up at the rapid-fire responses. “What do you suggest we do?”

Manny smiled relaxing in his chair at the use of the collective pronoun. “I knew this day would come,” he said softly, “but I wanted it delayed until she experienced life and people and developed her own internal BS filters. I wanted her making informed choices with her eyes wide open.”

Manny stopped and looked at Sam who nodded.

“Think of it like a symphony,” he added recalling a conversation with a pianist he had dated briefly. “When a new musician joins the orchestra no matter how well trained they are every member will feel that new note and look for the source. There was a new note sent out today into the world and every awakened Natural will feel it and some will look for the source.”

“Wait are you telling me, that…that what we saw was a work of art?”

“As every bit as delicate, fine tuned, and balanced as any musical score or a ballet.”

“These are the notes of life and the dance of death.”

“Exactly,” Manny agreed, “yin and yang; life and death the natural cycle: The deeper truer meaning for the Natural. But what happened today places her in potential danger from those agents. As to your question; no more sims combat and lose the record of today’s results.”

“The Sims combat is part of what we do here at Whateley to prepare the student for life outside these walls, “Mrs. Carson scolded adding, “Records are a school’s stock in trade, what will it accomplish to destroy what happened today? She needs the results from the Sims on her card.”

Manny slowly rubbed the back of his neck, “She is a military dependent so technically Atalanta doesn’t need the MCO card and you don’t have to destroy the record of today just misplace the files.”

Leaning forward in his chair Manny continued, “Let’s face it Mrs. Carson, Atalanta doesn’t need the combat Sims; that’s more you wanting to know what her limits are. We already told you what they were. The only Sims that she needs is of the secret squirrel type.”

“Spy School, that’s not what we do.”

Manny and Sam remained quiet as she rolled it over in her mind before reaching a decision, “I’ll make an appointment for her with Dr. Bellows.”

“Let us talk to her first,” Manny interjected making eye contact with Sam, “We’ve both dealt with this before. We can talk to her from firsthand experience and we both recognize the distress signals.”

Mrs. Carson reluctantly lowered the phone on its cradle, “I suppose it might be better for it to wait for their scheduled session. Hum-mm,” she mused idly tapping her fingers on the desk, “yes let it come up naturally in their conversation. That’ll be better that way,” she added almost to herself, her eyes darting quickly to her left and back.

The two warriors across the desk caught the subtle shift but neither flinched.

“Okay,” she beamed across the desk at them, “We’ll do it your way. But keep me informed.”

“We will,” they acknowledged rising from the chairs at being dismissed and leaving the room.

I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter.

I'm sorry it has taken me this long to post but I'm terrified I'll mess up the chapter listings or something and I procrastinate. Then real life has thrown plenty of change-ups at me in the last 30 days. And I didn't want to get too far ahead of Ashleigh.

We learn that Nikki is helping Atalanta in some small ways to learn to blow off magic that she attracts. Atalanta learns she'll be going on a field trip to a local liberal arts college to gather ideas for her play. What could possibly go wrong with that plan it seems Dr. Bellows and Carson never learns. Anyway it ought to be fun!

Again I apologize for the delay and I do hope you enjoy the story.

Chapter 12

The halls were emptying of students as the warning bell sounded.

Great! Late. Again.

On most weekdays like all the students at Whateley I wore the school uniform which for the girls consisted of knee length pleated skirts of solids or plaids paired knee socks and black slippers. We had no choice but to wear white buttoned shirts with starched collars. Worn over that was a blue blazer or cardigan with the school’s crest on the lapel or collar.

Having just come from the combat sims I walked into Introduction to Power Theory class dressed in my signature black attire; britches, boots, duster, and hat just as the teacher was about to close the door.

“Miss Reed you’re out of uniform,” Mrs. Snodgrass informed me nasally.

“Sims ran long and Mrs. Carson told me to hurry or I’d be late to class.”

A stickler for protocol Mrs. Snodgrass was torn between the dress code, class, and a directive from the headmistress.

“Fine,” she replied sharply adding, “find a seat at the back of the room where you won’t disturb the class.

All eyes were on me as I drifted towards the rear of the room to find a seat. I was both known and a mystery since arriving at the end of the fall semester, but none of my acquaintances from Poe were in attendance because IPT was a freshman class that was a combination power theory and school orientation. The class was popular since it was required for all incoming students and was offered in the fall and winter. Because my outside duties kept me from the campus three days a week I hadn’t made any friends outside of Poe and security. I didn’t mind as I never made many friends growing up because we moved often and those I did make were older mentor types. That hadn’t changed as a girl.

“Class bring up today’s lesson.” No papers were shuffled or books opened but instead the whirl of electrons filled the classroom as electronic reservoirs were opened. I fumbled opening my device; Mom and the school in New Mexico used pen and paper to teach me.

“Mrs. Snodgrass,” a girl on the front row asked softly, “I don’t understand BITs and why they vary so much from one person to another.” A hesitant smile played across her lips as she looked first at Mrs. Snodgrass before glancing back at the class and continued. “We all know or have seen the wide spectrum of mutations. I can’t believe anyone has an internal image of having three-toes or scales or a prehensile tail or…” she let her sentence trail off.

“A case of careful what you wish for,” someone quipped quickly followed by a smattering of snickers that rippled across the room.

“Class; settle down,” Mrs. Snodgrass raised her voice. “Out of babes and smart-aleck’s. This wasn’t to be our lesson plan but I feel it is an important subject to address and now is as good a time as any to do that.”

She silently closed her teaching device and walked around to the front of her desk. “What Mr. Johnson said in jest does have some truth in it.”

We all straightened in our seats leaning forward.

Mrs. Snodgrass turned to me, “Miss Reed you mutated two years ago. Do you have any thoughts about it?”

Did I have any thoughts? Well sure I did.

“I’m not sure I’m your typical mutant,” I began then realized how trite those words were and then I remembered something else too. “Well now that I think back maybe I am. I told Mom that the name Atalanta came to me after I changed but her name popped into my head a few months before. My dad had just been killed and I felt abandoned. Atalanta and her dad had a love-hate relationship too and I felt an odd kind of kinship with her so maybe I had an internal image of her.”

“That’s understandable,” a girl to my right responded, “a girl looks up to her daddy.”

Biting my lip I kept silent. Changelings were known about but only the administration and the residents of Poe knew our secret. I looked hard at Mrs. Snodgrass.

“It is established theory,” she responded quickly, “that mutations occur under stress combined with the surging hormones of the advent of puberty. That those stressors don’t necessarily have to be physical hasn’t been proven; in fact it is probably through both that facilitates the mutant gene activation. The first cause of life is survival; what better way to survive drowning than by growing gills or falling by a pair of wings or being crushed than becoming one with the material that’s squeezing the life from you?”

She paused looking expectantly around the room.

“So then is it any wonder that your BIT or your mutant gene finds so many varied avenues to express itself; it is doing so to meet its first cause and that is to survive. If the mutant gene is as rare as we believe then it is all the more imperative that it survives.”

Like students around the world often do we got the teacher off on a tangent and the class schedule was derailed. Class was dismissed without reading a page.

Chapter 13

Sunlight streamed through barren branches spreading across leaf crunch covered ground warming and bringing to life dormant forces frozen in place and buried beneath winter’s blanket. Tender green shoots were unfurling against a brilliant blue sky. Green helmets pushed through the brown carpet of dead leaves.

Alongside the worn path a now swollen stream fed by melting snow banks lapped at its banks. The ringing of metal striking hardened nitro-cellos fibers signaled the start of lumberjack rigors. Brightly covered Robins and Blue Jays tweeted impatiently from parched branches. Migrating geese dotted the sky their forms dwarfed by distance.

The tall girlish figure her face obscured beneath the misshapen hat encapsulated in the leather duster kept time with the main soundtrack from:”The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.” https://youtu.be/XjehlT1VjiU

In her arms Red clutched tightly a bright green folder that held Grandma Buson’s logic problems she gave Red each Saturday to solve the following week.

Mom wanted Red to humor her mother who missed being the headmistress of a prestigious prep school after being forced out for refusing to change with the times.

“Bless her heart,” Mom was fond of saying adding, “you be careful,” before sending her child out the front door.

Grandma lived in a deteriorating neighborhood.

Red didn’t mind the Saturday visits to Grandmas’ and actually started looking forward to see what problems of logic Grandma came up with appealing to her inquisitive nature.

Dr. Bellows laid the sheet of paper down on his desk carefully smoothing it flat; “So Atalanta give me an overview of the fairytale and how it fits with Whateley?”

Grinning I replied, “Sure thing Dr. Bellows; it’s a ‘Little-Red-Riding-Hood’ tale.”

“And you’re Red Riding Hood,” Dr. Bellows interjected.

“Who else,” I answered shaking out my auburn locks, “Granny don’t need no chicken soup; she’s healthy as a horse”-my lips curled at the tendon that twitched on his neck-“Granny”-again that tendon tweaked-“needs a purpose. She was the headmistress of this prep school--.”

“—Headmistress?”

“—Headmistress. Grandma Buson is too old-fashioned and the school board asks her to retire.”

“Ahh,” Dr. Bellows steeples his fingers on the desk, “and Buson is Carson right?”

“Duh.”

“Why that theme song and Mrs. Buson is the bad? Right?”

“No, Grandma is the good; I’m the bad incorrigible one,” I replied quickly leaning back in my chair.

“I see,” he replied studying me intently, “and the wolf; who is the wolf?” he asks gently in his neutral tone.

“Damned-if-I-know,” I quipped shrugging, “could be the school board or a neighbor or it just could be just a wolf.”

“Well,” Dr. Bellows straightened up his lips tightening, “I have an idea. The theatre group is having a field trip in two weeks to Crest Top Academy for a lecture on theatre arts that might open up your mind to new possibilities and Crest Top is a fine liberal arts college.”

“Do-I-haf’ta,” I pouted crossing my arms.

“Don’t be like that,” Dr. Bellows laughed at my exaggerated display. “It’ll be good for you. But I will have to okay it with Mrs. Carson and work out the extra logistics.”

Extra logistics meant added security. Dr. Bellows dismissed me telling me that he’d get in touch with me later to let me know when I’d leave for the lecture. Dr. Bellow’s meetings usually came after my classes were over and I walked back to my room at Poe to wait to eat supper and catch up on schoolwork.

Chapter 14

I had chosen to sit on the bed cross-legged considering thought forms instead of at the desk reviewing class work. With Nikki’s help I was gaining an understanding of how my body reacted to magic. I wasn’t a wizard by conventional description. Magic users gathered essence building up a well of it to use when needed. I didn’t have that well but instead I had a sponge that absorbed magic energy and spit it back in unpredictable forms. And like a sponge is not attuned to absorbing moisture from the air but rather from a soaking, my talent was eating magic attacks. Nikki was helping me to control the feedback loop and to keep some in reserve.

I suspected the result of that reserve will end with me imbuing objects with essence of magic and I wasn’t sure I liked those implications. Rather I wasn’t sure if I wanted it known I could do that but I suspected Nikki was beginning to doubt my dorky attempts.

On cue a knock sounded on the door and Nikki’s voice called out, “Atalanta can I come in?”

“Sure,” I replied scooting to one side of the bed as she came into the room, “make yourself comfortable,” patting the bed beside me, “or over there,” I pointed at the chair.

She sat down beside me, “How’s the Servitor coming along?”

“I’m beginning to get a handle on it,” I confessed cautiously.

“Can I see?”

A mist formed its shimmering image reminiscent of military cloaking devices or of the Alien in the Predator movies. He was dressed in plaid shirt, denims, biker boots, and wearing a Harvard baseball cap.

“Male,” Nikki asked surprised?

“Yeah, his name is Alan.”

Nikki arched her eyebrows; she knew that was my name before I changed, “You’ve decided to personalize your Servitor.”

“Yeah I thought doing it this way makes it easier to give him power and…” I turned from looking at my creation into someplace far-far- away. “…a reminder that Alan is a part of me too.”

“What powers does he have?”

“Observation; he records everything in an area that I ask him too. I wanted to go slow as I’m really not comfortable using this stuff.”

Nikki laughed, “I know we gave you a hard time over blowing up Circe’s secret door and almost blowing up the testing lab but—“

“But that just another day at the nation’s premier mutant academy,” I quipped interrupting.

“But that’s exactly why you need training so that you’re not a loose cannon.”

“Where’s the fun in that,” I grinned back remembering the book of runes Circe gave me to study over Christmas break. That was when I learned that I could imbue or enhance objects and gemstones’ natural energies which I kept to myself.

“Seriously you need to learn to limit the amount you take in at one time or…”

“…Or I’ll blow a fuse,” I flippantly added.

“Or blow something up,” she added soberly, “remember the lab.”

Yeah I remembered.

The sudden influx of energy caused an instant reaction to the pain similar to touching a live wire causes a person to react, but in my case that action resulted in a plasma energy release hot enough to melt six inches of boiler plate steel.

Still I hesitated to reveal too much. Leaning forward lowering my voice I whispered confidentially, “Nikki can you keep a secret?”

“Sure unless you’re figuring on blowing up the world.”

“I’m a different person than the one before I changed.”

Nikki cocked an eyebrow giving me a sideways look.

“Dummy,” I playfully slapped her shoulder, “I don’t mean changed sexes or the mutant powers. As Alan I was deliberate, cautious, and introspective but now I’m instinctive, decisive, and confident.”

I paused searching for the right combination of words, “There are two kinds of knowledge; experienced or learned knowledge that you receive from people, books, and institutions. Then there is a spiritual personal Gnostic knowledge that’s intuitive. Both have their places and usage but what’s in here,” I pointed to my heart, “is not open for bureaucratic meddling.”

Holding up my hands as Nikki opened her mouth, “Please let me finish.”

She nodded.

“Rhetorical question; do you know why babies are a learning machine?”

“Actually I don’t,” she smirked.

“Rhetorical means I wasn’t looking for a response. You’re supposed be seen and not heard and to act impressed as I pontificate,” I chirped back before we both began giggling.

“Okay,” Nikki using the back of her hand brushed her cheekbone as a zipper, straightened up, and held up her other hand, “scout’s honor.”

“Scout’s honor,” I echoed wiping the smile from my face, “babies, small children, and even adults can learn faster with fewer or no filters. The subconscious mind processes at speeds thousands of times faster than the conscious mind does and the conscious mind is where the filters are at. My physical body is the seat of my power and I don’t want to erect roadblocks that limit my ability to react.”

“But wouldn’t the ability to use magic help you?”

“Well may be.” I had been going over this in my mind, “Let’s say I want to be an assassin; well learning poisons is a good thing, right? But that’s because it’s added on the outside. You say I don’t have the well to store essence in, maybe there is a reason for that.”

I got up off the bed and walked to the window and looked out, “What do you see,” I asked Nikki when she joined me.

“Duh—it’s dark out.”

“But you could use magic and light it up.”

She nodded, “Yeah I could.”

“I can see just fine,” as I turned to face her, she momentarily flinched, “I can alter the ratio of cones and rods in my eyes to see in the dark."

“That’s why they’re glowing.”

I nodded relaxing my hold and feeling them return to normal as the reflective light dimmed, “That’s like magic; all my senses are hyper vigilant and instinctive and I don’t want to charge headlong and bust something up in the process. That I’m hesitant probably tells me that I’m on the right track. I do think the Servitor is helpful and I have learned I can direct magic into objects.”

“You can. Cool.

“I’d like to get your help to try that out on something."

“On what,” she queried her head tilted.

“I had a pair of Wakizashi follow me home from the sims."

“No way. Imaginary sims weapons don’t exist outside their environment.”

“These do,” I replied walking over to my closet and reaching for the shelf above the door retrieved two lacquered and wrapped scabbards each with an eye peering out and housing the weapons of finely crafted steel. Carrying them over to the bed I pulled one from its sheathing handing it butt first to Nikki. The handles were white stag inlaid with a dragon wrapped in the traditional diamond pattern of ray skin with burnt orange bronze oval guards seemingly forged from the same block of steel as the 15” tanto-styled blade. The handle length and weight matching the blood groove depths. to form a perfectly balanced weapon.

“Wow these are beautiful…and old,” she added turning them in her hand. “What do you want to do with these?”

“These; nothing, but I’d like to experiment on another one first to see if I could enhance them.”

“Enhance them how,” she asked holding them up to the light.

“I was thinking to enchant it to absorb magic instead of me.”

“Interesting concept,” Nikki mused, “I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime think over what I said.”

My computer beeped as Dr. Bellow’s email arrived interrupting further discussion.

“Oh, goody my field trip was approved,” I squealed excitedly clapping to a hidden merriment bubbling forth.

“Field trip…oh for the fairy tale performance, she replied laughing at my display. “When is it?”

“Two weeks from today.”

“Be good then and I‘ll see you later.”

“Later,” I agreed.

Chapter 15

That night as I turned down the bed covers my phone rang, “Hello sweetie.”

“Hi Mom,” I returned, “how are you and how are things out there?”

“We’re fine. How about you; how’s school? Is Mrs. Carson treating you alright? ”

Mom didn’t trust Mrs. Carson to look after my best interests after the Thanksgiving and Christmas incidents. She’d be livid if she knew that because of that assignment I had helped to capture two escaped murderer’s and was now a bona fide US Marshall.

She’d be thrilled. Not!

Mom was correct of course; Mrs. Carson’s interest lies with the school’s best interests and in most cases that corresponded with the student’s as well. I was under no illusions and I really didn’t want to be here but conditions could be a lot worse.

Mom was convinced that Mrs. Carson was taking advantage of me with my contract with the Medawihla tribe. She was right but it suited my purposes too.

“Relax Mom everything is fine. I’m even going on a field trip with the theater group in two weeks.”

Every Mom wants their daughter to dance and sing; to be a star and to be beautiful.

“I didn’t know you were in the drama club.”

“I’m not; Dr. Bellows thinks it’ll be good for me to stretch myself as I believe he called it.”

“So are you going to be in a play then?”

“No Mom,” I explained the fairy tale theme and how it related to Whateley, “Mrs. Carson is the bad,” she stated firmly.

“Mom it isn’t all her fault,” I insisted.

“It’s not,” and listed all the incidents since her and Judy had put me on the train while forgetting it was her kidnapping that led there.

“Things just seem to happen around me,” I countered sighing.

“Oh, my poor baby,” she moaned, “are they brainwashing you up there?”

Oh God! I rolled my eyes upward.

“A bit dramatic don’t you think,” I replied dryly.

“A bit,” she agreed followed by nervous laughter, “but I really-really miss you.”

“I miss you too and I’ll be home in a few months.”

Afterwards as I crawled under the covers I smiled into the darkness; it was nice having someone that had your back unconditionally.

I'll appreciate any comments you have and of course all the kudos you can dish out and I know Ashleigh will too.

Since I didn't have any problems posting the last addition I thought I'd add this chapter by itself as it sets up the next two chapters. The much anticipated field trip begins as the group of high schoolers attend a lecture on the theatre. Atalanta gets an idea but it is not one either school will like. I also want to thank Ashleigh for her fine editing skills, she makes my writing a lot better.

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 16

Sometime later

Whateley’s green and white van stopped in front of the school’s administration office. Mrs. Snodgrass had wrangled, or fostered an invitation for us to attend a lecture at the Ivy League college that Dr. Bellows mentioned two weeks earlier. She as it turned out was a member of the theater troop, but that Mrs. Carson agreed to the field trip was the biggest surprise. A second van parked beside us unloaded it’s passengers too. Last to pull in and park was our security detail Manny and Sam among those worthy individuals.

There were thirty-one students; us girls in plaid skirts, knee high socks, starched white shirts, and blue blazers with Whateley emblem and our cottages on the lapel. The boys except for slacks were dressed similarly.

“Amazing,” I breathed looking at manicured grounds that were just turning green, at the vibrant flowers waking from their long winter sleep, at the brick walks that led to the gothic buildings that surrounded them. I could almost feel the dreams and aspirations of the founders in the brick and in the stained windows.

“It is,” Manny agreed from beside me.

“Now children,” Mrs. Snodgrass called from her position at the head of our group, “line up by twos and walk in orderly. The person beside you is your partner; you keep each in sight and in line. Okay,” she turned her back and marched to the front entrance. The sound of 80 feet hitting the cobblestones in unison followed, ringing in the clear spring air.

Inside I was one of many that craned our necks to look at vaunted ceilings some at least 60 feet high. Without being told footfalls lightly touched the polished floors of the halls inside. As we walked passed classrooms and halls I could hear the whispers of students eager to learn, and of sacrifices made by the students, their parents, and instructors. Industrial, political, and scientific national leaders had graduated from this school and others like them.

We pushed through a set of double doors emerging into the latest addition of steel and glass into a frenetic energy reflected in steady up ringing as our soles hit tiles. Both my mind and my body took note of this scrambled noise.

Mrs. Snodgrass grouped us at an alcove in front of twin sets of double doors, “You guys sit tight while I find out which lecture hall we are supposed to be in. If you need to use the restroom,” she pointed to a set of doors with the requisite door symbols.

I waited in line behind the other girls and again reflected on why more stalls weren’t in the ladies room. Overall, I had few complaints changing from male to female; even the dreaded monthly visits didn’t irritate me as much as sitting to pee did. Maybe that was because I had to “go’ several times each day.

The line finally dried up and I did my “business” and opening the stall door walked over to the sink to wash up.

The scene in the mirror gave way to that of a young girl dressed in rough dirty shirt, pants, and a hat. Wide-eyed her breaths came in shaky gulps as she held a cap and ball revolver in two hands. Suddenly I was peering between slots in a camouflaged root cellar at the carnage unfolding. The girl’s name was Molly and she was just 16 and the year was 1865—April or May and the war was just days from ending.

Deserters—criminals—from both sides and in all colors were let loose on the countryside to wreak havoc in absence of law and order, some say encouraged by the union. I felt her heart racing and saw the battles she had to fight in her young life to survive.

Tears stung my eyes as anger swelled in my breast at the cowards who preyed on the weak, young, and unskilled. I was suddenly jerked back to the present as the outside door swung in admitting a 20-something ruddy faced woman with shimmering eyes too large for her body. A vein jumped along her neck. Her hands were clenched.

I had just seen a similar look on another face.

“What’s the matter? Can I help?”

Where had that come from? Mrs. Carson would kill me. Screw Mrs. Carson!

She stopped her headlong flight and looked up at me. Though she was several years my senior; it didn’t seem to matter.
“We hired this guy to speak at our club and a bunch of protestors have shown up and taken over the stage and won’t let him speak.”

“Who is this guy?”

She described a newspaper editor who leads an alternate lifestyle and finished by saying, “I think it is because he doesn’t fit their stereotype of what a gay should say and think.”

I smiled broadly feeling heat reach my cheekbones.

Stereotypes: just another form for labels. Screw’em.

“And you want to hear this guy speak,” I prompted her.

“Yes…we all do, but I’m afraid that the meeting is about to break up.”

An idea formed. “Think you can go back in there and tell them to hold on for 15 minutes longer?”

“Sure but what can you do?”

Grinning I drawled, “Enough but you’ll have to wait 15 minutes to see.”

“Okay,” she replied straightening up, “I’ll make’em wait.”

“That’s the spirit,” I beamed and whispered over my shoulder as we reached the door, “remember—15 minutes.”

Manny was waiting outside when for me when we left the restroom parting ways just outside the doors. “Hang in there.”

“Thanks.”

“What was that about,” Manny asked his gaze narrowing, opening the door to the lecture room.

“Boyfriend trouble,” I replied knowing Manny wouldn’t ask farther as he good naturedly rolled his eyes.

I hope you enjoy this chapter and leave kudos and comments. I'll answer the comments

These two chapters represents the end of part 1: Winter Solstice. Part 2 Spring Fling follows and it is still up in the air whether this book is a two-parter or if it is in three parts. It all depends on how much trouble our hellion gets into and wiggles out from under. Speaking of which I have jumped back and forth in the timeline and Ashleigh has edited 49 more pages but I've written 7 pages in between that is not yet edited. She hasn't been feeling well and I may post them unedited revising that chapter when she is doing better. An editor is worth her or his weight in gold especially in my case when I don't all the time know what Atalanta will do next. Or when. So Ashleigh if you're reading this thank you again.

I added an additional image that I hope illustrates a point. Let me know if you like an occasional image ot if this one helped or hurt.

We find out what plan Atalanta has or indeed if she has a plan at all and instead is making it up on the fly. Harvard puts in an appearance after all why not it is an institute of higher learning but he is a very special bird and he can...no that would be telling! I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 17

The presentation was just starting as the doors closed behind us. The room was shaped like a pie piece with two aisles dividing seating into three sections and converging on a raised dais. The stage was located catty-cornered on the right hand side with a side door that probably led to its counterpart in the adjoining meeting room. Midways and on the opposite wall a double set of doors led outside. Behind me and 10 foot higher was a small balcony for the…elite I guess. About midway an 18 inch wide handrail protruded about a foot lower than the guard rails.

I hoped it was a fire ladder.

“Have a seat Atalanta,” Manny invited.

“I’d like to stand for a bit after sitting all day.”

He nodded finding a seat while I moved to the center of the balcony and waited. The theater lights dimmed for the presentation casting shadows that danced about the room like flickering firelight. I calculated the distance above me to the lower rung and when the slides changed I moved quickly silently scampering to the balcony.

I waited to see if I had been discovered before calling my servitor. After the incident involving my nightshirt I had been working at developing a servitor which was a thought construct. Unlike Jade’s counterpart mine was created with a narrowly defined set of responsibilities. Alan’s was observation, recording, and alerting.

Preparation in place I walked to the back finding the staircase and ascended before finding a door that was locked from the inside. I silently opened it and peered out into the foyer that opened into the alcove that housed the two meeting rooms. Testing the doorknob revealed it locked automatically when closed.

Damn!

Reaching behind my neck I removed the lanyard that held my ID card wedging in the door leaving it cracked ever so slightly. I frowned looking at it.

Screw it!

My shoulder blades itched as I walked briskly across the floor, my peripheral vision on the door to my left that I had minutes earlier entered through. Turning the door knob I entered the room the girl I had befriended had earlier entered. The metallic click of the locking mechanism engaging echoed briefly. Hers was one of the first people to swivel around and notice me. A stir moved up and down the room.

The security detail she mentioned was holding up the wall near the exit double doors. The speaker’s dais was to their left; seated were I assumed the invited speakers and farther back the MC was standing behind a pulpit fidgeting with a microphone. An assorted group of mixed blood was seated on the edge of the platform. Pacing across the front of the stage was a large black man holding a microphone like a weapon in his hand. Beside him and mirroring his manner was a stout brown girl bouncing with nervous energy.

I knew the Catholic schoolgirl clothing I wore and the image it portrayed was apt to be misinterpreted.

“Come back little girl when you’ve grown up and can appreciate a real man,” he gestured suggestively across his lower body.

Good he was following a script. Nothing personal!

“That reminds me,” I acknowledged his role, “of a story my grandmother told me about the old country…” and left the rest unsaid. His brows knitted as he tried to follow my logic.

The brown girl presented a different problem; she was operating from a more primitive basic level indicated by her constant physical movement. Drawing closer to the stage but stopping outside her personal zone I addressed who I assumed was the paid speaker seated lazily, his chair off to one side.

“Is this your show?”

“It was supposed to be,” he replied each word clipped and decidedly British.

“Mind if I come aboard,” I asked him pleasantly.

“Sure you want to,” he returned in the same monotone as if asking me for tea. I sensed the rising tide of the sit-ins’ around the platform and them fanning out.

“Why not, I don’t have anything else to do at the moment.” He gestured at me with his hand.

“Hey remember me,” the tall black man growled frowning, “it’s my stage now.”

The brown girl was humming, rocking on her toes.

Keeping her in my peripheral I turned slightly and facing him; balanced on my feet, my arms hanging loose, and knees slightly bent.
“How did it get to be yours,” I asked mildly.

Raising his hand he indicated his group around the stage.

“By force then?”

“Yeah,” He replied grinning down at me from his height, “You could say that, I take what I want.”

“You’ve made your point,” I begin, “but how much pain do you want to keep it?”

“And you’re going to bring the pain?”, he asked sneering his voice rising.

The brown girl moved quickly launching herself at me.

Predictable! Dumbass tag-team tactics!

I moved slightly catching her hand brushing it past my shoulder and using a combination of pressure points and wrestling moves stretched her arm back popping the shoulder out of socket. Off balance her feet tangled up with my firmly planted ones and she hit the floor with a loud thud crying out in pain.

The tall man took a step forward but stopped short when he saw that I hadn’t turned but was still watching him; the girl seemingly forgotten.
“You have about two seconds,” the words slow coming from deep in my body and sounding like a low throated growl, “before you feel the pain.”

He stepped around me directing his followers to help the girl—Angela up. Mutterings and glares from the group followed but they complied helping her to her feet and following their leader outside passing security.

Meanwhile I walked over to the British gentleman who straightened up as I approached.

“I guess they’re through demonstrating and you have your stage back.”

He remained silent studying me before getting to his feet offering his hand, “I think you’re crazy,” he smiled.

“You might be right.”

“Will you stay and listen to my off-the-wall speech?”

“I do have some place to be.”

“Here,” he replied pressing a business card into my hand, “I can use someone like you but not now,” he hastened to add at the ‘no’ forming on my lips. “In a couple of years; or if you need me for anything I can help with.”

“Thanks,” I replied slipping the card into the pocket of my skirt, “I won’t forget.”

Turning I stepped off the stage my face stoic and walked the auditorium’s length with measured steps. Passing by the distraught girl I met in the bathroom I allowed a brief smile and sent a conspiratorial wink her way.

Outside I walked quickly to the adjoining balcony steps retrieved my ID and lanyard placing it around my neck as I ascended the staircase. My servitor was in place dutifully recording the lecture. Peering carefully over the rail I saw that all eyes were on the podium and not looking around. I hadn’t been missed.

Moving quickly I performed my version of the “Vulcan-mind-meld” transferring to memory what had transpired in my absence. Finishing I dismissed my creation with a whispered “thanks” and silently crawled over the railing dropping silently to the floor and finding a seat. I breathed out a soft sigh glad that my technique worked.

I settled in a seat at the lecture that was boring and seemed to stretch beyond its hour allotment. Thankfully the lights came on and the speaker asked for any questions of which there weren’t many and soon we were filing out stopping for a bathroom break before boarding the van for the return trip.

Chapter 18

My daddy’s oft repeated warning of not volunteering; that he learned in the Army the hard way, almost always led me to not being at the head of any line. My distaste of having my personal space invaded then lent to me always being at or near back of the line and it was no different today as we filed back over the brick lined walk.

A commotion was occurring in the parking area near where our vans were parked. A smattering of uniforms ringed a group of young mostly male agitators that was heckling two young men attempting to enter their car.

One of the men was the young Brit appearing as unperturbed as he had on the stage earlier and just as sardonic. Our eyes met and I grinned at his twisted humor. His would be tormentor also turned and our eyes interlocked.

“You,” he shouted taking a step forward.

“Whoa there partner,” Manny warned.

Our line stopped moving. The leftists tightened their formation. The “Lit” group might not be the badasses of Whateley but they were all mutants and more than a match for the trouble makers. To say nothing of the skills Manny and Sam possessed none of which would help explain away the aftermath of such a confrontation. This had the potential to go “south” in a hurry.

I stepped on to the grass the same mocking grin on my face, “Yeah.”

“You’re the one that hurt Angela,” he shouted pointing at me.

“Who's Angela,” I inquired mildly.

Security began slowly moving our students along. Manny and Sam remained in place. Attention was on me and the black male who fancied himself a revolutionary social justice fighter for the cause of the weak.

“You know who she is,” he growled.

The Brit who moments before was the subject of heckling spoke his words ringing a high nasal tone, “I was on that stage and this is not she. That person was a short fat dwarf wearing a red-striped gnome hat. I’ve already given her description to the ‘school’s finest,’” waving in the direction of the hapless uniformed guards milling about.

I almost chuckled at his audacity.

“I’ve been in a lecture for the last hour and I don’t appreciate being accused of something I couldn’t have done unless you know of a way I can be in two places at the same time. However,” I looked at the Brit who had gotten in his vehicle but still had his air of amusement locked in place and at Manny balanced on the balls of his feet, “if you feel the need to I’ll accommodate you.”

“Atalanta,” Manny warned.

“Atalanta, what kind of name is that,” he sneered.

“Atalanta is the name of the Greek goddess,” a voice called out in a decidedly nasal British clip.

“You’re going to turn me into a statue of stone,” he jabbed followed quickly by shouts of derision by his minions.

Suddenly he was covered by a shadow followed by the war cry of the Great Owl that swooped from the bright sky dived at him from right angles before banking 180 degrees to land gently on my shoulder.

“Hello Harvard so good to see you.” Harvard in the manner of owls kept his body pointed directly ahead while turning his head to look directly at me his large eyes glowing. Momentarily I was looking at myself looking at Harvard feeling my eyes grow larger.

“Caw! Caw!”

Mechanically I raised my left arm and Harvard began to walk its length as a human would and not a bird hop. He carefully placed each leg in front of the other on my arm perfectly balancing his 40 lb body on razor sharp inch long talons that gripped my arm without ripping my flesh.
My arm remained steady despite his weight and despite the increasing leverage as he reached and perched on the back of my hand.

Silence greeted his walk as awe and shock overtook and captured the onlookers.

“What name would you like inscribed,” I called out to the now pale black man.

“What,” he managed to croak from a dry throat, his eyes wide as Harvard’s.

“On the statue—what name do you want on the statue and a postscript too as an epitaph or a warning?”

As if to affirm, Harvard unfurled his magnificent six foot wingspan his wings beating under the afternoon sun sending currents of air swirling fanning my face and tumbling locks of my hair.

“Caw—caw,” he honked scattering the would-be trouble makers to the four winds like chickens scurrying before the hawk.

“Show off,” I muttered.

“Caw—caw,” he agreed lifting off gently his wings moving in slow motion seemingly rising on air currents not normally available at ground level. In stark contrast ‘nary a feather rustled as he rose silently skyward circling a stand of trees populating the front driveway before fading behind a large fir leaving behind a farewell, “Caw.” After a few seconds it became obvious that he had disappeared as effortlessly as he had appeared.

The British gentleman started to open his car door but stopped when I shook my head mouthing a silent “no.”

Manny’s eyes were on me as well as Sam’s, the rest of the security detail, Mrs. Snodgrass, my classmates, and a large contingent of Crest Top students and faculty that had gathered on the front lawn.

Manny waved me over to him, “Great—just great I’ll get blamed for trampling the grass too.”

“What did you say,” Sam asked.

I nodded at the audience in front of the school and at red-lettered “Keep off the Grass” signs prominently displayed. Sam grinning widely retrieved her cell phone and snapped a couple of pictures.

“For my scrapbook,” she teased as we walked over to where Mrs. Snodgrass was waiting.

“Atalanta’s riding back with us. We can get her debriefing done on the ride back,” Sam explained.

“Uh—okay,” she nodded turning to get on her van. As we neared the third van in line Sam detoured us over to where the guy in the sparkling sedan was parked and earlier the center of attention.

“Excuse us,” she began, “but as our resident hellion is at the center of another commotion we could use your statement when we file our report.”

“What do you need to know,” he enunciated in his strong sing song cadence.

“Just give us your version of what happened inside the school,” Sam continued holding her phone to indicate recording the interview.

His name was Hugo Weisz and he was conducting a national college campus speaking tour. His engagements were either sparsely attended or if heavily promoted often interrupted by hecklers.

“Didn’t you find it odd a fat dwarf wearing a tall red gnome hat walked on stage?” Sam queried after Hugo finished his telling.

He smirked, “After a few months visiting American Campus’ I find hardly anything odd anymore.”

Nodding Sam replied, “I guess…that’ll do it then and thank you for your time.”

“Glad I could help and,” reaching inside his coat retrieved and handed over several business cards, “give one to Mrs. Carson and have her call me if she has any questions.”

“Oh you know her,” Manny interjected.

“Only by reputation; we have an international presence and many sources.”

A honking horn reminded us that we were holding up the caravan, “Thanks again for your time,” Sam replied as we walked away to our vehicle.

This van had the last row of seats removed for cargo storage having a holding capacity of 11 people. Three students occupied the last row available and a single occupant in the next row of seats. I was directed to the middle seat behind the driver with Manny and Sam setting down on either side.

“Call and make sure they have everybody,” Sam directed the last member of security riding shotgun. After accounting for the students we pulled out and then onto the main thoroughfare.

“Okay Atalanta,” Manny began, “let’s hear your side of it.”

“We were just leaving the lecture and I was walking outside—.”

“—that’s not we meant and I think you know it,” Sam interrupted but then sighed, “but we can start there.”

“—when I was picked on by—“

“Poor baby!” Sam teased.

“Hey you guys up there keep your eyes on the road,” I quickly responded and rocked with laughter at shocked looks but was careful to keep my knees together.

But unperturbed by their banter, “—this guy that was obviously on drugs if he couldn’t tell the difference between a short fat dwarf wearing a tall red gnome hat and a tall thin redhead dressed in a schoolgirl uniform.”

“I think the guy was joking.”

“Maybe he was just pointing out the joke that their security was,” I countered, “but I’m sure the guys up front weren’t exactly thrilled with my unsubstantiated accusation either.”

Sam, “Fair enough I get your point. I’m more interested in what happened outside. Why you did what you did and your thinking.”

“I thought it had the potential to turn into mob violence and while I have no doubt we would have kicked their asses, in the end we would have lost the war.” Four individual heads riding in the two front rows nodded in agreement.

“Since this individual had a problem with me I decided to see if I could make it an individual sport.”

“Atalanta that’s your biggest strength and probably your greatest weakness as well,” Manny cautioned. “You have the ability to quickly and accurately size up a situation and act decisively in the moment. Make no mistake about it you did diffuse a potential time bomb but what I worry about is the long range effects. What if,” he smiled to take any sting out, “one time when it doesn’t turn out well and you’re left twisting in the wind by your teammates? That may not necessarily mean they leave you out intentionally; there are instances you can do that to yourself.”

“No doubt you’re right,” I replied somberly, “but that’s a bridge I’ll cross when I it get to it.”

“What I want to know,” Sam spoke up from my left, “is how you’re able to control that big-bird—Harvard and where did he come from?”

“Out of the blue, but Harvard comes and goes as he pleases; at least not that I’m aware of any control I have,” I added at the raised eyebrows.

It never hurts for a girl to have an air of mystery about her. Does it?

“Would he and could he?”

“Would he and could he, what?” I jibed.

“Turn him into stone.”

“I have no idea,” I replied giggling, “but I decided to push the envelope and create some doubt and it worked.”

“You need to take this more seriously,” Sam warned.

My gut tightened, “Two years ago I was an average guy dreaming of growing up to be an average guy doing average guy stuff. What happened,” my voice pitched slightly higher the words pouring out in a torrent, “Now I’m an awesome-awesome girl doing awesome-awesome stuff and meeting awesome-awesome guys.”

Pausing I took a deep breath letting it out slowly continuing in a softer more leisurely pace, “Seriously I never asked for any of this but I have to assume there is a reason; an intelligent design for it to have happened. What that plan is and who exactly is pulling the strings I don’t know. Until I know more I have to act on what I see and poke and prod into any exposed areas in this universe I’m in and not take it too seriously.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam apologized, “I didn’t mean to—.”

“Forget it,” I replied, “I surprised myself. Let’s put it behind us.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed, “but you mind changing places with me.”

“No,” I smiled grateful for the coverage the driver’s seat offered.

“You know,” Sam began when we had reseated, “that Mrs. Carson will want to talk with you about this incident.”

“I know,” I sighed dramatically quipping, “I expect any day now to be moved from Poe into a cot in Mrs. Carson’s office.”

With that exchange I leaned into my seat and turned to the window watching the landscape flash by.

Again I hope you enjoy the chapters and leave any comments and I'll answer them.

This chapter is unedited as Ashleigh hasn't been feeling well and I wrote this after she had edited the next 50 pages coming up. So I'm to blame as I kind of write back and forth in the timeline and I felt like the second part of this story needed a lead-in. You also get to see how much I need Ashleigh. As in real life plans change when Atalanta is called into Mrs. Carson office along with Sam and Manny who are told they will be...

Hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Chapter19

I should be packing the supplies for another three day weekend beginning tomorrow into the wilds around the Reservation cataloguing and photographing the wildlife in the area excluding of course the Weres. Or I should be studying for final exams taking place a month after Easter’s spring break which observance this year was April 15th.

Or preparing props for the more onerous was the one woman play I was told to perform on the Sunday after—the weekend that the students on Easter break returned. Dr. Bellows said the play to set my inner child free. Who is he kidding? According to the adults I am a child. This was about the adults and power. Sometimes the best you could do was play shitty games and win stupid prizes.

Instead I was mounting the dais steps at Schuster Hall that housed the administrative and the Headmistress’s office I paused with my hand on the door. What did Mrs. Carson want with me now? I had been a good girl lately smiling also because I had alibis for all the pranks pulled. I couldn’t be in two places at once: Right?

Clicking my heels I pushed open the doors striding the hallway until I came to Her office pushing open the door leading to her reception area. Looking up from behind her desk at the sound of the door opening Mrs. Crumb pointed at the closed office door, “Go on in they are waiting.”

They, I pulled up short; who else was invited to this shindig? Well I couldn’t answer that question on this side of the door I thought sourly twisting the doorknob.

Mrs. Carson was seated behind her desk; to her right was Chief Delarose and directly facing her three wooden ladder back chairs were occupied by Sam, Manny, and the third empty chair that I claimed. The three security personnel sat with their spines straight shoulders square and faces stoic. The Headmistress leaned forward her gaze steady and direct.

“Do you know why you’ve been called in here Miss Reed?”

Sensing the tension and looking briefly to my left, “We’re being sent on a secret mission to save the free world?”

The vein on Mrs. Carson’s neck jumped as she set her jaw. Chairs squeaked as bodies shifted in their seats. The room atmosphere had shifted.

“Don’t be impertinent young lady,” she replied coldly.

Unperturbed I blithely responded, “You asked and I have no idea why I’m here so I took a shot in the dark.”

Watching her mouth open and close repeatedly I recalled my last trip in here:

‘That time she had beamed at me from her door, “Atalanta, please come in,” stepping aside and closing the door. Smelling a rat I cautiously sat in the chair that faced her desk wondering what lay behind her smile.

“You know why I called you in?”

“I guess it is because of what happened yesterday.”

The yesterday she was referring to was the college field trip and mistaken identity.

Mrs. Carson uncharacteristically swung around in her chair looking at a far wall apparently lost in thought. I then begin to wonder if I had stepped on someone’s toes today.

Nope! I was a good girl today!

Swinging her chair back around Mrs. Carson leaning forward planted her palms firmly on her desk, “I was all set to punish you for that almost fight and scene yesterday—.”

I could feel the ‘yeah but’ coming.

“—but I received a phone call this morning from a Hugo Weisz that shed a different light; not that I for one minute buy his cock and bull story of a short fat dwarf wearing a tall red gnome hat intervening. That sounds a whole lot like a student I know that seems to attract trouble of that nature to her. She can’t help it; it’s in her DNA,” the headmistress had exclaimed blowing air past her pursed lips.

“Mr. Weisz pointed out that school and especially colleges should be a place for learning; to develop critical and logical thought processes while having the academic and personal freedom to question existing ideas. He rightly pointed out that a system without an enforced and clearly understood policy for everybody to work from trends towards tyranny by a few.

That’s especially true here where we have such a wide array of student backgrounds to contend with and despite our best efforts at running a tight ship we still need to keep Poe’s identity secret. When standards are relaxed too much you have—.”

“—inmates running the asylum,” I had cheerfully supplied.

Her lips had curled meeting frown lines, “An apt description Miss Reed and an added reason we enforce strict guidelines here; to help you keep a low profile and out of trouble after you graduate.”

“So obviously the inmates and the asylum is at the college?”’I had queried.

The sound of wood scrapping across the floor brought me to the present. Carson folded her arms pointedly replied, “It was a rhetorical comment and one that didn’t need your reply. You could have used the dramatic on-stage experience that Dr. Bellows has provided for you through the theatrical department; too bad you won’t have that opportunity.”

Displaying remarkable restraint I remained silent as she continued while inwardly high-fiving , “The other students will be enjoying their week off,”—which I wasn’t scheduled for anyway—“while you and your entourage,” –her lips twisted around the word entourage—“have been called to Washington for two weeks beginning tomorrow.”

“What is this all about,” Manny frowned.

“The Marshall’s Service wants to debrief her on the capture of the fugitives along with some training and qualifying for her commission. I want one or both of you,” she continued speaking to Manny and Sam, “with her at all times during any interviews.”

Carson anticipating their concerns held up her hands, “Remind them she is under age and in our care. I want this school and the Medawihla connection minimized. Any questions,” she asked leaning back in her chair.

“One question that comes to mind is who is paying for this trip.”

“Good question,” she replied handing Manny and Sam each a credit card, “you just need to keep good records.”

Extending my hand I quipped, “Where’s mine?”

“You’re lucky I don’t charge you two weeks salary each,” she replied evenly.

“I could take the train.”

Four ‘no’s’ rained down on me.

“If they are no more questions….,” she left the sentence dangling, “then you can go.”

As the three of us were leaving Delarose called out, “Sam, Manny; I’d like to talk with you two.”

“Go ahead,” Manny touched my back, “We’ll catch up with you later.”

I nodded and continued walking away happy to be free from that ridiculous play but frowning at the thought of going to the nation’s capitol. I had been there before with my dad not long after we moved to Philly.

We had done the family tourist thing; visiting the Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, and the various seats of power before paying tribute to the war dead. It was our last real family trip together before dad was killed in the Middle East.

That was not quiet three years ago the summer after I turned twelve but felt like another lifetime and in some ways it was. Less than a year after that summer vacation, dad was gone, mom and I had moved to New Mexico and through some twist of fate I was now a girl. I never wanted to be a girl anymore than I wanted to be a boy. It just was….different.

I sat on the dais steps leading to the entrance of Schuster Hall remembering the day dad and I sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The setting sun framed the Washington Monument in an ethereal glow as the night lights bathed the obelisk framing it against a purple haze backdrop. Lights surrounding the reflecting pool danced on water molecules bounced between the symbols of America’s greatest tests. Behind us golden lights lit up the bearded figure adding its shadows to the mystery and intrigue of the National Memorials Park.
We had visited the memorials for the war dead, the Washington Monuments and Constitution Gardens before ending the tour on the steps of the Lincoln Monument.

“Son,” he began speaking softly, “all this represents over two hundred years of an idea….an idea that man is master of his own destiny; that he is free to do as he will as long he does not infringe on anyone else’s right to the same,” spreading his hands to encompass all that we viewed.

That America is called to be a beacon for liberty but that great responsibility came with great sacrifice. All the men and many women on his side of the family had served in the military going back to the civil war. Mom of course served but it was mostly to get her education paid for. She had grew up in a series of foster homes and had agreed to a deferred enlistment to help pay for college and getting her medical degree from the Army.

Dad was disappointed that I didn’t show interest in outdoor activities or participating in any organized sports preferring my own company, books, and the wonders of the internet to my contemporaries.

I smiled ruefully realizing that as the girl I came closer to reflecting his values and interests than I ever did as his son.

“Earth to Atalanta; Earth to Atalanta,” Nikki’s words brought me to the present. “You all right,” she asked.

“Yeah,” I answered numbly, “I was just told I’m going to Washington.”

“On a top secret mission to save the planet,” she teased.

“Funny you should say that, that’s what I asked Carson.”

“I see you have all your fingers so I assume you asked going out the door.”

“No not me. I asked first thing,” I grinned back at Nikki.

“Silly girl when you leaving?”

“First thing in the morning,” I answered.

“Wow,” she exclaimed, “that’s short notice; how come?”

“It has to do with that stupid Marshall’s commission and the capture of the fugitives,” I answered my brows furrowing, “but there is one good thing about it.”

“Yeah what’s that,” she challenged.

“I don’t have to do that stupid play and you,” I tapped her shoulder, “don’t have to sit through it either.”

“We’ll take up a collection and throw a party,” she quipped adding, “better get-a-move-on or you’ll be late for class.”

“Hi mom it’s me, your favorite daughter.”

“Do I get three guesses? I’m glad you called how is my favorite and only daughter doing?”

“I’m fine,” my voice cracked. Mom was always there for me linking me to the past and a reminder that that I hadn’t dreamed Alan up. “And you; how are you doing?”

“We’re fine here nothing serious at the ranch; a couple of early bookings caught the sniffles. We did have one serious accident happen to one of the neighbors and had to call in the Air-Evac team to transport him to the nearest hospital that had internal surgeons on duty. That’s probably one that wouldn’t have made it a couple of years ago.”

Even at this distance I felt her sense of purpose and accomplishment over the phone, “Since the clinic was built.”

“Yes since the medical center was built.” I grinned at her from my end when she corrected me. But she was correct it was more than a clinic that served only the spa’s clientele; the center was a regional hub serving the entire north central portion of the state including several tribal Reservations.

“Judy showed a lot of foresight didn’t she and we were lucky that Manny was there to oversee the fine details,” I teased knowing full well that the clinic—the medical center—was her baby.

“They helped,” she quipped sharply, “but—“she began laughing with me as my laughter spilled out. “You brat, you just wait until I get you home; I’ll turn you over my knee.”

“That was mean of me.”

“Yes it was but to what do I have the pleasure of hearing your beautiful voice?”

“I don’t have to do that stupid play.”

“Oh is this your one allowed call?”

“Touché Mom.”

“Seriously Atalanta what have you done now?”

A denial automatically sprang to my lips, “I plead innocent to the now part,” I laughed and explained about the debriefing.

“Why do they need you for that? Weren’t there other people there?”

“Mom it’s the government!”

I felt her sigh, “When do you leave?”

“We leave for D.C. in the morning,” I replied evenly.

Silence greeted me, “Are you going to be alright going back there.”

“I think so mom, anyway it is kind of a demarcation point; a jumping off place that probably wouldn’t hurt me to revisit. I might learn something I missed before.”

Mom ignoring my straight man setup, “You do have a new perspective but who’s going with you?”

“Sam and Manny’s driving his truck.”

“Call me in the morning.”

I promised that I would and we hung up. Turning off the light I sat down on the bed drawing my feet under me and staring out the lone window into the night skies. In the darkened room I closed my eyes remembering my dad and recalling his face the sound of his voice and the way he walked. Pulling my ‘ratty ole shirt’ tighter I opened my eyes breathing slowly and deeply tasting its essence; dad’s scent, the garment’s natural fibers blending with my own scent formed an aura around me.

I felt a presence gathering strength and form filling the room transporting the room and its contents into ether like void. A—neither here nor there land—a land where past and present met and time stood still. I felt the existence of several spirits just touching the outer bands of my consciousness seemingly watching from a distance. I waited calmly detached from whatever unknown events that waited innately feeling that I had chosen to come here.

A single spirit stepped forward, “Daddy,” I whispered.

“Yes Atalanta I’m your daddy.” The words weren’t spoken aloud but as a thought imprinted in my mind.

“I’ve changed since you’ve …gone… away; how do you know it’s me.”

“I know there have been changes, but how did you know who I was?”

“The same way you knew me.” That was logic or was it illogic that I couldn’t argue with.

“What am I doing here,” I asked.

“Don’t you know pumpkin?”

Wait! What! Daddy never called me pumpkin before. “You know I’m a girl now?”

“I’m not blind,” was the gentle reply.

“Are you disappointed that I’m a—“

“A girl? No I’m not. It’s who you are.”

I felt all warm and safe inside, “How come I can’t see you?”

“I’m a spirit my body is somewhere else.”

That made as much sense as me talking to my departed daddy did.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that. Can you see mom and me?”

“I can’t look after you two like I could have because we’re on different planes now but I do what I can do.”

“You know I’m going to Washington tomorrow.” I felt his nod. “Any advice because two heads are…”

“Better than one,” he finished one of his favorite truisms, “Be true to your ideas and yourself Atalanta.”

“I love you daddy.”

“I love you too, pumpkin,” he gently replied fading away taking the other world with him replacing it with the four walls of my room. I sat on the bed not moving or thinking for a long time content just to breathe in and out. Content just to bask in the warm afterglow focusing on the minute detail of respiration with not a thought or care in the world.

I remained in that catatonic state for what seemed like hours but in that timeless environment was in reality only minutes. Shaking myself free I crawled under the covers still wrapped in my ole ratty shirt eager for tomorrow to come.

“Screw you Carson,” I declared to the heavens as I drifted off.

I was ready to storms the gates of hell itself, if need be!

I hope you enjoy the chapter and leave comments or kudos or both. I apologize for what am sure are many errors but I never was no good with grammar.

This is the first chapter of Spring Fling the second part of Reaching Home. This and the last chapter are transitioning from winter to spring. Atalanta spends her spring break in Washington DC. Trouble finds her in isolated places. What can possibly go wrong in a city of several million people?

Again I want to thank Ashleigh for her editing.

I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 20

Closing the truck door I clicked the seatbelt and turned to Manny who had just fired up the engine, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Turning he grinned, “What’s the matter kiddo; I thought you liked it here. Besides,” he added, “Sam’s coming with us.”

“Sam, yeah she wants to connect with a couple of old war buddies.”

“You reckon they’ll know who she is?”

“They’ll know,” Sam responded opening the rear door and tossing her duffel bag in beside me.

“Well,” I replied as she settled in beside Manny, “I can knock a few heads if you like.”

Two heads turned as one and shouted, “No,” with Sam adding, “That’s all I need.”

“Hey,” I shouted back, “I resemble that remark.”

“You sure do,” Manny called back putting the truck in gear driving away from and between the sentinel gargoyles guarding the front entrance. I smiled sweetly at the cameras I knew were mounted by the front entrance but resisted the impulse to display a single digit wave.

Sam must have read my thoughts, “What’s with it between you and Mrs. Carson?”

Manny’s eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. “I believe it started at the train station and then later when I was escorted to the school by some of your mates. She just doesn’t appreciate my awesomeness,” I quipped pulling my duster tighter swinging my booted feet up to rest on Sam’s duffel bag and resting my head on the back seat. “Yeah that’s it,” I smiled beneath from beneath my upturned hat, “I’m underappreciated.”

“Yeah, right,” they returned dryly.

“That’s enough chatter from the peanut gallery. Miss Awesome doesn’t need comments from the peasants,” I replied sighing noisily.

“Miss Awes-o-m-e,” Sam jeered. Her emphasis at the ending served to distort the sound but my ears picked up an anomaly hiding in the syllables. Air currents brushed against my skin and tickling the membranes of inner ear alerted me. My left arm moved several inches catching a water bottle several inches from my face and in the same motion returned it on almost an exact trajectory.

“No thanks,” I replied dryly, “I’m not thirsty.”

“You owe me dinner,” Manny laughed at Sam.

Burrowing deeper in the seat I re-imagined the last meeting when Mrs. Carson called me into her office.

“Atalanta sit down.”

“There’s been a last-minute change of plans,” she explained.

Cocking an eyebrow, I waited, wary of Mrs. Carson’s plans.

“Fish and Game and the Secret Service require your presence in Arlington for Spring break.”

“Oh,” I replied laconically, then quipping, “They’re taking me to South Beach instead for Spring break.”

“Don’t be absurd Miss. Reed. They want to debrief, qualify, and process your ID.”

“Sounds clinical,” I grinned.

“Manny’s going with you and Sam’s going too,” she replied refusing to bite.

“Ah, the three Musketeers, and we are doing the town right,”I prodded.

“No, you’ll be busy instead. You leave Friday and return on Monday the week after.”

That was pretty much the extent of the conversation though I’m sure both Manny and Sam had had several. Of course, Team Kimba had to tease me about burning down the capitol and other such nonsense.

Manny and Sam’s constant chatter, the warmth of the sun’s rays, and the flexibility of youth that could fall asleep on a tree root combined for me to drift into slumber.

The sudden sway and jerk of the truck jolted me wide awake every sense alert.

“…you sure this is the right street,” Manny asked.

“Yeah I’m sure but it sure looks like the neighborhood has changed some.”

Swinging my feet to the floor I looked between the seats out the front windshield to what looked like a bombed out shell. Abandoned store buildings some burned out, others boarded up with others staring sightlessly out of empty eye sockets. Sunlight reflecting off broken glass shards shimmered like tears in the afternoon sun. Stray dogs darted between abandoned cars that stood willy-nilly.

“Sam you sure this is the right neighborhood?”

“I think so but we can ask at that diner up ahead,” Sam pointed to a silvery metallic cube roughly 20’ square a single window looking out and narrow set of steps leading inside. Manny shut the engine off in front of the dive and turned to me, “Sam and I will go inside and you stay out here; we don’t want any trouble. Two of you might set off something. Want something to eat?”

Folding my arms under my breasts I pouted, “I wanna go too.”

Laughing Manny returned, “Hell I may have to fight to get Sam out—who knows and we may need you as backup.”

I understood, but I was still pissed about it, “Coffee and whatever looks good—if anything.”

“Sit tight,” Sam called getting out on her side and following Manny’s lead, walked to the diner and disappeared inside.

The diner was situated at a corner in an old strip mall long ago abandoned and I was about to settle into my seat when movement caught my eye. Peering from a corner of the eatery two children about 10or 11 years old fidgeted with exaggerated actions, their eyes wide and wild.

Opening the rear half door I leaned out, “You kids need any help?”

They immediately quieted looking warily at me. Sensing their distrust I removed my hat and shook out my hair, “That’s better,” I smiled brightly adding, “are you kids lost?”

They exchanged looks leaning in whispering and then looked back at me. Throwing caution to the wind I left the truck completely crouching down to their level. “What’s your name?” I asked the girl.

“Carly,” she answered timidly.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl,” I beamed back to her causing her to giggle behind her hand. “And what’s yours?” I asked the boy.

“Shawn,” he answered with a little more force.

“And such a handsome name,” I answered in an Irish brogue, “’tis a handsome lad you are too.” He laughed and they both took tentative steps closer. Both were of mixed heritage dark ruddy complexion of Middle East, Southern Europe lineage with brown hair and eyes. They were dressed in clean but worn clothing.

“My name is Atalanta.”

“Atlanta.”

They heard the name of the city in Georgia.“No, it is Ata-lan-ta, not a name you hear often. I’m named after a Greek goddess. But it is close enough among friends and we are friends aren’t we?”

“I guess so.”

“Where do you kids live?”

They pointed to a narrow street running perpendicular to the business lined with scraggly bushes and oak trees their skeletal branches hovered menacingly.

“Looks scary,” I noted.

“There’s two big old mean boys on that side,” Carly pointed, “and over there,” Shawn gestured to a house across the street, “they have a great big mean dog that’ll they’ll sic on you.”

“Atalanta who are your friends?” Manny and Sam had walked up.

“Guys this is Carly and Shawn. Carly, Shawn, meet Manny and Sam. Did you find your friend Sam?” I added.

“They said he lives 6 houses down that street,” she pointed out the same street the children lived on.

“Hey,” I said, “that’s the street my new friends live on. Why don’t we give them a ride?”

Manny shot me a sideways look.

“We’re not supposed to get in a car with strangers.”

“That’s good advice,” Sam agreed.

“Come on Atalanta let’s get in,” Manny advised.

“It’s not far, I believe I’ll walk and get to know my new friends.”

“Atalanta—,” Manny began blowing out air from puffed up cheeks.

“—Maybe we can call your mammas,” Sam interjected, “to see if it is all right—you riding with us—since we’re going to the same neighborhood. What are your last names and phone numbers.”

“My mamma is Margaret Butt—and mine is Martha Cheeks,” Shawn finished. I mentally slapped my forehead at the puns and jokes that Butt and Cheeks solicited: Or the bullying. They looked to be the same age and probably seated alphabetically too.

“Hey, I have an idea why don’t I call,” I exclaimed retrieving my phone, “what’s your number?”

I punched the numbers in as Carly gave them to me despite the dirty looks thrown my way. “Mrs. Butts,” I asked when the phone was answered. “My name is Atalanta Reed and we’re down here at the corner store. I’m here with my daddy and cousin—daddy is looking for a guy he served with. I made friends with your daughter Carly and her friend Shawn…oh cousin.”

We talked for another minute or two before I handed the phone over to Carly as she wanted to speak with her daughter.

Once the formalities were done the kids piled into the back with me, Sam handed me my coffee and a burger as Manny backed out and turning, idled down the street counting the houses.

“There—that’s our house,” Carly squealed pointing at a brick house with attached carport. Surrounding the property a 5-foot steel link fence stood guard over the property. The lawn was raked of leaves, trees pruned, dead branches removed, and thorny rose bushes placed at precise markers. Manny pulled into the drive stopping at the gate; a gate set in concrete supported by double posts on a rolling track. A similar setup at the far end of the property marked the basement entrance.

“C. Ralph,” Manny read the name off the mailbox.

“Would that be Clancy Ralph?”

“That’s our grandpa,” the two children beside me shouted.

A woman appeared in the carport as the gate began to slide open admitting us inside the perimeter. Manny stopped the truck a respectable distance inside the gate, put the vehicle in park and killed the engine.

Carly and Shawn opened the driver’s side rear door and scampered out. Carly reached inside and pulled on my arm, “Atalanta come on out.”

“Just a minute,” I replied shrugging out of duster while watching a man walk from the far side of the house towards us. He appeared to be in his middle to late 50s’ heavyset and walking with a slight limp. I guessed he was Sam’s buddy that she immediately confirmed, “That’s him,” Sam whispered to Manny.

Carly was still excitedly pulling on my arm, her mom was calling for her and the older man was advancing warily.

“Your mom’s calling you. You better scoot, I’ll be right behind you,” I smiled at the girl making a move as to follow her but instead fidgeted in the backseat.

Samantha called out when the man was still some distance off, “Are you, Clancy Ralph?”

“Who wants to know?” he replied bluntly.

“I’m Samantha Everhart, Sam for short—“

“I served with a Sam Everhart are you his daughter?”

Sam momentarily tensed replying dryly in a slightly pinched tone, “That’d be me.”

“Who have you got with you?”

“Manny Black; he’s in the same line of work as we—that is my father—and in the backseat is his goddaughter Atalanta Reed who’s going into the business too.”

“Hmm,” he replied stroking his chin, “I thought I remembered something about his daughter being killed.”

Sam’s face remained stoic, “You heard wrong.”

“Dad wanted me to stop by if I was in the neighborhood.”

“Get out and we’ll talk campfire tales.”

I followed Manny around to the front of the vehicle stopping five paces from Manny who was an equal distance from Sam.

Clancy took note of the formation, “How long you been hanging with these two?” he asked me.

I bit back a sharp retort that jumped to my lips, “All my life it seems,” I smiled instead.

“I was in the basement we can talk down there.”

“Atalanta?”

“I’ll be along in a minute,” I answered gesturing at Carly and Shawn who were darting between vehicles on the carport.

I introduced myself to Margaret, Carly’s mom exchanging small talk before she invited me inside. Margaret was around mid 30s’, with character lines just beginning to show, the beginning of a slight paunch, and tinges of washed out color.

“I’m sorry I’d like to but we have a ways to go yet. I wanted to give Carly and Shawn my email address if that’s all right with you.”

“Sure that will be good to have friends outside the area.”

I exchanged email addresses with them and their mom shooed them inside while I walked around the front of the house to the basement entrance.

“…Kids are too soft today,” I stopped short of the door, eavesdropping on their conversation. After listening for a minute I turned on my heel striding diagonally across the lawn and placing my hands on the fence swung effortlessly over its height. After landing lightly on the other side I crossed the street walking freely down the sidewalk. The off-tune whistling of the good, the bad, and the ugly echoed along the tree lined border.

Mrs. Butt preparing dinner and hearing conversation looked out her kitchen window seeing her father, the man Manny, and Samantha crossing the lawn. Atalanta wasn’t with them. Drying her hands she turned to the door as her dad opened the door sticking his head inside, “Tell Atalanta her friends are ready to go.”

She met him at the door, “Isn’t she with you?”

Again I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Leave comments and kudos.

Thank you.

As a reminder in chapter 20 Atalanta Manny, and Sam left for Washington DC stopping in Baltimore for Sam to visit an old friend. Action picks up in this chapter. This is a long chapter but I didn't want to cut it up into smaller ones as I can't seem to post on a regular schedule. I want to thank Ashleigh again for her editing skills. I really hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 21

The haunting melody of the good, the bad, and the ugly floated to their ears. Margaret joined her father and his friends on the carport their eyes on the lone figure occupying the center of the street. Her long legs and lithe figure casually eat up the distance separating them.

Reaching the fence she in one motion placing her hands on the post swung effortlessly out, up, and over the barrier landing feather light on the gravel. Not a pebble moved under her feet.

“Where have you been?” Sam demanded.

“Enjoying the scenery.”

Manny more circumspect asked, “What have you been up to?”

“Holding school,” I replied evenly handing Clancy a pair of brass knucks fresh flecks of drying blood smeared on the raised portion, “Some had to learn the hard way.”

“Ready to go,” I asked turning to Manny.

“We better,” he replied dryly nodding to Clancy and his daughter. Sam shook hands with Clancy then opened the passenger door.

Opening the rear door, I reached inside gathered my duster, and shrugging into it, climbed into the rear of the cab. Manny started the engine and backed out into the street.

“What kind of shit did you get into back there?” Manny called over his right shoulder after we had accessed the interstate.

“Not me boss. I was just minding my business and out for a stroll with not a care in the world.”

“Horse-hockey what happened: The bottom line.”

“Well,” I shrugged, “maybe a couple of guys with cracked ribs.”

“That’s not too bad you’re slipping,” Sam quipped.

“There might be one with a broken finger.”

“Might be,” Manny questioned.

“Now that you mention it, yeah it’s broken and a couple of black eyes.”

“Damn—”

“—above a broken nose: I assume it was broken it was kind of laying funny like.”

“Okay,why?” Sam asked turning in her seat to look me in the eye.

“A couple of reasons,” I answered returning her stare. “Not everyone in my generation is soft. And can you imagine the flack two cousins named Butt and Cheeks get at school? I can.”

“They’re still school children though.”

“No these are adults—if you want to call them that—with the pit bulls down the street. Crackhouse I think but I didn’t hurt the dogs; can’t say the same about the owners.”

“Well hell, what’s done is done,” Manny snorted.

“Speaking of which how did it go with Mr. Ralph?”

Sam turned back around holding her hand out palm down shaking it back and forth, “so-so. He didn’t call me a liar though.”

Nodding, I settled back into the seat to watch the traffic, scenery, and to reflect; retreating into the inner core of my being. A tiny spark in a dark cavern that grew until the whole of the cavern was lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. While I was in that space I searched out and collected any baggage collected by our stop-over in Baltimore stuffing them into red, blue, pink, green, and mauve colored balloons and releasing them—some to the atmosphere—others to the individuals.

I could have just stuffed them into one large oversized balloon but where was the adventure in that? Red was emotion, blue was tranquility, pink represented health, green healing, and mauve—mauve was just because I could. I also used the balloons in reverse to collect pieces of myself left in Baltimore or other such interactions.

It was a practice that I started after the combat sims to release the anger that I felt towards the school and Mrs. Carson. By refusing to share in another’s baggage or by reclaiming bits of myself at the end of each day that were strewn about each day I could begin the next day with a clearer focus.

“Atalanta, wake up. We’re here,” Manny called out.

“I’m awake,” I replied from under my hat a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth adding, “Where is here?”

“Fairfax Virginia, our operational headquarters for the next 10 days.”

“Damn,” I exclaimed pushing my hat back and sitting up, “I thought a moving target was harder to hit!”

“We’re not a target unless you plan on making us one,” Manny replied turning off Main Street and stopping in front of a four-story brick structure.

Located along the nation’s interstate system and at airports around the country a class of motels sprung up catering to the American Traveler from those on a budget to the spendthrift vacationer. The Comfort Inn was nearer to the latter accommodations.

Slinging my purse over my shoulder I followed Manny as he unlocked the tonneau cover to retrieve our luggage. I felt a pang of jealously pulling two wheeled luggage pieces, a carryon strapped to one as he carried only one duffel bag; even Samantha had just an extra luggage piece.

But Manny had said to “dress appropriately”which I took to mean an expanded wardrobe to include more functions. What girl wouldn’t welcome buying new clothes? Just because I wasn’t a typical girl didn’t mean that I hadn’t come to appreciate the styles and fabrics—options that women could choose from.

Manny held the door open to admit me and Sam, following us inside the lobby where we made a beeline for the front desk.

“Mr. Black we have two adjoining rooms, twin beds in each and with a connecting door.” She handed me and Sam each a key and Manny his key, “When you check-out leave the keys here or in your room. Should you lose your key, you let us know and we’ll recode a new card and lock combination.”

We walked down the hall turning a corner to the elevator taking it to the second floor where Manny had reserved the rooms on an outer narrow wall and facing the rear.

“Atalanta remember we have a dinner appointment,” at my nod, Manny continued, “Sam sure you won’t change your mind?”

“No I have my own plans, “Sam replied swiping her card in our door. Tossing my luggage pieces on the bed and unzippering the wheeled pieces I set about hanging up the new wardrobe that I had bought on the hangers. After laying out my lingerie in the drawers I turned to go into the bathroom.

“You sure you won’t change your mind,” I asked Sam at the bathroom door.

She waited so long to answer that I thought she wasn’t going to, “Think about it Atalanta; I can’t report what I don’t know about.”

I nodded mulling it over as I closed the door and drew water for a hot bubble bath. Stripping off my clothing and pinning up my hair I looked at the girl in the mirror and at odd times like this one marveled that it was me in that mirror. Intellectually I knew the conscious me was still intact from that boy who had gotten lost in the desert three years ago - the reflection said otherwise.

My hair pinned up revealed a graceful neck and my naked shoulders flowed smoothly to rising breasts, and by pirouetting,the mirror revealed a slender and curvaceous backside.

At times my internal image disagreed with the package presented but I also smiled coldly at the thought of those willing to bully the delicate boyish/girlish figure on display. For as much as my outer appearance hid the physical power and strength in this body not only as compared to girls with similar builds but also to my old male body the most dramatic change was spiritual:a mental and spiritual metamorphosis of déjà vu especially concerning war and combat.

Slipping into the steamy water, immersed to my shoulders under the great big bubbles, I continued my self-awareness tour while rubbing the loofah across my body and caressing each leg using the spongy material. Feeling squeaky clean I reached for a razor to remove the fine silky hair on my legs and pits. Standing I opened the drain and reaching again for the razor trimmed around my lady parts; mostly for hygiene. Well,maybe it was for the styles and formations I had read about especially the “landing strip” one.

Drying off my feet and legs, then stepping from the tub, I giggled at the image that landing strip evoked of a plane landing near the hanger.

“Down girl,” I muttered blushing while wrapping a towel around my upper body and then pulling on a pair of panties.Highlighting my eyes and brow line I leaned in closer to the mirror to apply color to my eyelids and lastly a little mascara to my lashes for a longer more fuller look.

As I did the thought struck me once again at the oddity of it, my color was hearty, my skin soft and full; applying makeup wasn’t a skill I should be aspiring to unless it was for the theater. At least that’s what one part of my mind said. Another enlightened part coordinated what I planned to wear with what accessories to pair for the event to complete the statement I wanted to be made.

Tonight I wanted to knock their socks off!

General Anthony Nelson idly tapped his water glass dividing his attention between his wife and the foot traffic near their table. Jeannie was a natural blonde that still looked as she had when he met her in the 60’s. Their table was near the wall where he could observe the entrance and the exits.

Tony was here tonight to meet a non-com that he had commanded in the special operations after washing out of the space program. Manny Black was an excellent soldier and black ops operator, one who Tony assumed was a lifer. That he hadn’t re-upped had come as a shock.

He was here partially to offer him a deal ‘that he couldn’t refuse’ about reenlisting but also to satisfy his curiosity. Manny wanted his help with his young protégé and goddaughter Atalanta Reid. He didn’t normally include his wife on business meetings but Jeannie was a good judge of people and especially female people. Besides, it evened the table seating arrangement.

The door opened to admit two people—the man Manny—held the door for his companion to enter. Manny was as he remembered him; a compact solid man just under 6 foot who carried a commanding presence. But it was the lady beside him that drew his attention.

Whereas Manny’s form emphasized his masculine strength Atalanta’s strength was her grace. From her upswept coffered braided hair revealing her long neck to eyes that sparkled and jumped with green and gold above bright full lips. Her sleeveless, green dress dropped low in front flowing over her breasts, pinching in at the waist to pour languidly over her hips before then racing down her thighs ending with a flared hemline at her knees. The highheels that she wore affirmed her toned calves and legs which glistened or seemed to under the lights as she moved.

Over her left shoulder, suspended by gold links hung a gray clutch matching the color of her shoes.

Manny moved in controlled increments, his muscles flexing against the suit material with each step. Atalanta glided across the floor reminding him of a lioness stalking her prey.

He rose as they neared, noticing her dream catcher earrings, the elongated cross pendant on her neck, the single bangle woven bracelet she wore on her right wrist to her not wearing a watch. Her eyes shifted between gray and green depending on lighting and the amount of gold that flared in them. Cat’s eyes were the term that came to his mind. He was again reminded of a stalking feline but not in the sensuousness often ascribed to the feminine—though that was displayed too—but the feral ferocity that lay just underneath a deceptive surface.

He turned his attention to Manny, “Manny it’s good to see you, here have a seat.”

It took me a moment to register that he had pulled out a chair and was holding it for me. It took me a further second to realize the dress did hinder seating gracefully unassisted. I chaffed, both at the vulnerability while welcoming the extra attention.

After introductions and greetings were exchanged I chatted with Mrs. Nelson while the guys got caught up. Not sure of the proper social etiquette I decided honesty was the best policy, “Mrs. Nelson I’m—“

“Jeannie, call me Jeannie dear.”

“Jeannie I’m out of my comfort zone tonight and I feel a little bit like a fish out of water. Most of my choices are made for me,” then adding at her raised eyebrow, “my mom, school uniforms, the gi, and my work clothes don’t offer a lot of variety and are pretty much what I wear 90% of the time. So this is my first attempt at…at being…another me.”

“I think you’ve done just fine and I especially love your accessories and what you’ve done to your hair. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen pins like those. Where did you buy them?”

“I didn’t they’re bone,” I replied gently touching the doubled pronged clasp holding the twist in my ponytail secure, “I made them from a deer carcass that I happened on.”

“They look like they could be dangerous.”

Manny laughed interjecting, “I have no doubt they are; Atalanta’s not your typical girl. She’s a fish and wildlife agent and this past winter she received a special US Marshall commission as well.”

“I’m an outdoors girl so cataloging wildlife seems like a natural fit.”

“Atalanta’s a natural in many things,” Manny admonished. Our waitress interrupted to take our order.

“Coffee and plenty of it,” I answered to what I wanted to drink which was echoed around the table. I did need to confirm my order of a 16oz steak, baked potato, and three vegetables to the waitress. The conversation was light while we waited for our orders and non-existent through the meal.

“Atalanta let’s go to the powder room.” Shrugging I followed her to where the bathrooms were located. Rose pattern paper adorned the walls, lavender colored stalls and matching lavatories added color and contrast to the alabaster floors. There were several ladies milling around the mirrors, a couple chatting on one divan, and one lady checking her profile in the full-length mirror. The buzz of conversation rose and flowed from all corners of the room.

Jeannie led me to an empty bench, “Sit down let’s get acquainted while the men talk.”

Shrugging I carefully sat my knees together placing my purse between us.

“Do you blink?” I asked blandly.

“Oh, you mean the 60s’ sitcom.”

I nodded, “Sorry I couldn’t resist.”

“That’s alright but it’s a sore spot with Anthony but I’m glad he got out of the space program.”

“You are? Why?”

“First a question for you; you’re a changeling aren’t you?”

“A what?” I retorted shocked.

“See all these ladies,” she pointed at the room, “we’re all wives of the inner circles of DC. If you keep your ears open you can pick up lots of information here and other places. We women like to socialize and talk—gossip if you like and be imaginative. Imagine my surprise at hearing about something called MMID classification. It piqued my interest and a little investigation revealed a program for mutant military dependents.”

But Changelings weren’t a separate classification.

“A friend of my mine let slip her nephew was in the program but that he is now a she,” she continued as if reading my thoughts.

But, how did she…?

“I’ve been a woman all my life,” she began gently, “and we learn early to pay attention to small details; the way a man moves and what he says and whether it reaches his eyes. The accessories a woman chooses, her choice of words and tone she uses says a lot about who she is.”

So what gave me away?

Again, as if reading my mind, “Except for the context, I never would’ve guessed, but my husband is military.He is in charge of secret projects, and since your godfather served under my husband, I put two and two together.”

Should I deny her conclusion? Doing so would probably alienate her and since I’ll probably never see her again, to what result? But why make adversaries and burn potential bridges unnecessarily?

“I don’t suppose it’s a state secret and not too many people know but yes I’m a changeling.”

“Your secret is safe with me so tell me about yourself,” she answered lowering her voice and leaning in closer.

For some reason, I told her about growing up all over the country and never staying in one place long. How mom decided a change was needed after daddy was killed in a helicopter crash in the Middle East and we packed up and moved to New Mexico for her to work for a college roommate at her ranch and spa.

“That’s where you changed,” she queried.

“First day,” I sighed continuing, “Land of Enchantment and all that. It took three days for all the changes to take effect. I guess you could say I was resurrected,” I dryly added.

“So how did you and Mr. Black meet?”

“Synchronicity I guess” and I explained that mom and Judy had driven me to the city and set up an ICU in an extended stay motel.

“But why not check you into a hospital as a doctor she could oversee your care.”

“Mom said I looked more female than male by then and that they would misdiagnosis my internal restructuring as cancerous and by the time…”

“—it would be too late.”

“Something like that. So anyway Judy saw what mom could do in a makeshift unit and she decided that she needed more than a nosebleed clinic. With the county’s help, she got a grant for a regional care center and Manny was the construction foreman for the project.”

“As you say it was synchronicity and quite the adventure…but why aren’t you in school in New Mexico where your mother is?”

“That’s a long story,” I smiled adding,” Sure you have the time?”

“I don’t ask Anthony about his missions; he doesn’t ask me about the ladies room.”

I smirked as she leaned in even closer reminding me of tales told around a campfire and for just a moment the sterile modern environment was replaced with the smell of wood smoke, tongues of flame, and leathery faces. Just as quick it faded.

So I told her about mom’s kidnapping by convicts to treat a gunshot wound and that I helped to capture them and rescue my mom.

“You get up in the middle of the night in a blizzard to track a group of convicts guided by a bird.”

“Not just a bird,” I corrected her, “an owl and not just any old owl either.”

“Of course not,” She laughed, “but what made him special.”

“I figured he had to be a smart bird to hunt me up like that when I needed him so he deserved a special name and Harvard seems to have stuck.”

“So I take it you’ve had more than that one interaction with…Harvard.”

“Several,” I admitted smiling, “but enough about me tell me about yourself.”

“Not much to tell really unlike you I’m a boring housewife from the mid-west originally. I came from a large family with three brothers and sisters and too many cousins to count. Anthony is an only child so it took him a while to get used to our family reunions I met Anthony after graduation when I went to work for the air base in Florida. We dated for three years and been married for 32 years now.”

“Any children,” I asked and I immediately felt a sadness emanating from her.

“I had a miscarriage at six months,” she replied in a whisper not fully trusting her voice.

I felt an immediate kick to my belly, “I’m sorry,” feeling my eyes mist hugging her and wondered at the intense connection.

“I’m mostly over it but at odd times my stomach will kick over and I’ll remember,” pausing to reflect and regain her composure. I have plenty of nieces and nephews but it is not the same.”

“It wouldn’t be,” I stated emphatically; the knowing rushing in. “Ever been stationed overseas,” I asked changing the subject.

“A couple of times, but never in any hotspots; plausible deniability don’t you know.” A long comfortable silence ensued. Jeannie finally broke the silence, “I guess we better take care of business before the guys think we’ve been kidnapped.”

Major Nelson waved their server over to pay their bill, “No it’s on me,” he responded to Manny’s attempt to pay, “besides, I’ll put it on my expense account,” he added handing his card to be swiped.

“Thank you, sir,” our server beamed at the generous tip.

“You and your team earned it.” Turning to Manny he asked,” Would you like an after-dinner cigar in the bar.”

Manny was not a smoker, but he did enjoy a fine cigar after dinner, nodded in agreement and followed him into the bar area where they found an isolated table. Manny bit off the end of his cigar and observed his former CO through the flames and smoke that curled from the premium tobacco leaf.

“How are you enjoying life as a civilian?”

Holding up a hand palm down Manny responded by rocking it side-to-side, “So-so; to be honest, a little boring.”

“Not all of it from what I gather.”

“Atalanta has added an element of intrigue,” Manny admitted.

“That she has but before we go farther I have an offer for you.” Anthony paused sipping his drink before he added, “The Service wants you back, and in an expanded role.”

Expanded Role has two connotations the sinister one being the fall guy for past blunders.

“Yeah,” Manny replied dryly.

“No it’s nothing like that,” he laughed scratching at his chin and neck before adding, “You’d be heading up a new unit.”

“What kind of unit, though I can guess the neighborhood.”

“You’d be right…about the neighborhood,” the Major replied studying the buildup of ash at the end of his cigar, “but not about the unit’s mission. In fact,” he quickly added, “you’d help write that mission statement.”

“Well, I admit you’ve piqued my curiosity and I’ll think about it but that’s not really why I called you.”

“—you called me about Atalanta didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. The kid received a US Marshall’s commission by some joker.”

“—Wilcox.”

“—yeah that’s his name…Wilcox. Anyway,they called her in this week for a debriefing, qualifying, training that I believe this Wilcox joker set up to embarrass Nick O’Reilly and to a lesser degree Atalanta.”

“You’re right he had a hand in it or at least he thinks he did but appearances can be deceiving as he’s about to find out.”

Manny straightened his shoulders and turning his head shot his former CO a sideways glare, “What the hell gives skipper?”

“I’m coming to that, but first you like this kid, don’t you?’

“Hell yeah, I like her,” Manny returned heatedly, “I think of her as my daughter but what has that got to do with it?”

“—I’m coming to that.But you want what’s best for her?”

Manny didn’t reply but he looked at him like he had three heads.

“Dumb question,” Anthony chuckled. “What do you think about the school she’s going to?”

“It’s a good school with a good curriculum and it’s a godsend for some of the kids.”

“But not Atalanta,” the Major probed.

“I didn’t say that,” Manny quickly answered.

“No you didn’t but I do. Relax,” Anthony said placing both hands flat on the tabletop, “It’s just you and me here talking over good times.”

Manny knew it was anything but, “Mrs. Carson is a fine administrator who operates in the school’s best interests.”

Anthony leaned forward his elbows on the table, “I’ll lay out some of my cards; Atalanta has attracted some attention: Sheriffs’ offices in New Mexico and Utah, the MCO, H1, human traffickers, and some federal agencies,DARPA, the Marshall’s office, Fish and Game, and some government elite units are just a few of the people who know of her. That’s all happened in about a year. They don’t have much information on her yet but more events like the SIMS will speed that process up.”

“What do you know about that,” Manny queried.

“Admittedly not that much; just that it happened.”

Frowning Manny answered his words slow and measured, “I told her, actually we both did but Mrs. Carson just had to push it. She had to know how far Atalanta would go. What her breaking point was and what she would do at that point. Well, she found out what I knew all along. But how did you find out? Mrs. Carson was supposed to place those files under lock and key and not part of her official record.”

“I know you know this,” Anthony replied somber, “but like what’s placed on the internet can’t be recalled - somebody saw or heard and they talked.”

“So what did happen?”

“Why should I tell you?” Manny demanded. “Like you said there are no secrets so I assume telling you tells more people.”

“There’s no denying that,” he replied his mouth curling in a tight-lipped grimace, “but I’m not asking for idle speculation; it’s for a damn good reason which will become apparent. But for now, you need to trust me.”

Manny studied the older man recalling prior events, “Okay. The SIMS program generates NPCs’ for the scenarios but these weren’t computer animations but real live creatures. Huge 10 feet tall winged creatures with fangs and claws like you see in the comic books—”

“—mythological creatures.”

“Yeah, mythological creatures but these were real live breathing monsters.”

“The military’s mission is to stop threats by killing people or other living things and breaking things, running a close second is gearing up for future threats by technology and intelligence many made possible or feasible through DARPA. This new division or unit that I want you to head will be a joint venture with DARPA and you already have a relationship with Director Reilly.”

“Yeah I knew of him when I was in the service but he stepped up to the plate supporting Atalanta and her mother out in Utah, later with MCO, and lastly with Fish and Game, and the Marshall’s office. I’ve come to count him as a friend.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Their discussions were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Nelson and Atalanta.

“We’ll talk later,” Nelson said standing up.

“Later,” Manny agreed following suit.

“Are you ladies ready to go?”

We nodded leaving the bar from a side entrance that skirted the dining area. Manny and Anthony walked in front with me and Jeannie following.

“I really enjoyed your company tonight,” I remarked as the guys held the doors for us.

“I did as well,” Jeannie replied as we waited beside the door for our escorts, “Here,” she said opening her purse handing me a card, “My number’s on it. Call me.”

She watched amused as I slipped it inside the bodice of my dress, “Somebody might snatch my purse they’ll play hell getting it from there,” I explained.

Laughing she gripped my arm cocking her head; “I like your attitude, Atalanta.”

“That’s my Atalanta,” Manny agreed.

“You girls wait here while we bring your chariots around,“ Nelson spoke.

“Ahh how sweet,” Jeannie stood on tiptoe to give her husband a peck on the cheek.

“You have to give them a treat for good behavior,” she whispered as we watched them cross the drive and reaching the parking area. My quiet musings were interrupted by a sinking feeling in my gut quickly followed by the tingling of my birthmark.

“Come on,” I cried to Jeannie grabbing her arm pulling us across the street. Immediately seven things occurred almost simultaneous; a car headlight flashed, an engine roared, brakes screeched, the sound of running feet, Jeannie was jerked from my grip, I screamed, and Manny turning around in our direction. I saw Jeannie with a gun to her head being forced into the backseat of a dark sedan as a hand covered my mouth cutting off my scream.

I instantly deduced that Mrs. Nelson was the target of the abduction quickly affirmed by his loosening his grip over my mouth and a hand on my back. I countered feigning panic bringing both my arms up trapping his hand while kicking out with my feet propelling us backward falling into the open car door which sped away, the door slamming shut by the sudden acceleration.

“What the hell did you bring her for?”

“I had to; the ditzy bitch panicked or I would have been caught.” The sweet smell of chloroform reached my senses. I quickly gulped fresh air and then shut my respiration to a crawl as a wet cloth closed over my nose and mouth. Long after Jeannie had quit struggling the cloth remained in place until the second man jerked it away, “You trying to kill her.”

“The damn bitch deserves it; she like broke my leg. Besides we don’t need her.”

“Well,” the other man replied thoughtfully, “she may be a relative or something that we can use as leverage or get the old broad to cooperate.”

This other man picked me up and sliding over deposited me beside Jeannie. I was seeing, but my eyes were closed. My consciousness seemed to exist outside my body. A sudden black void loomed large beckoning me. I fought the urge to relax instead I whispered breathe, breathe, breathe. One-two-three I counted; inhaling then one-two-three exhale. Over and over until gradually one by one my senses came online. First was the dress fabric against my skin, then the acrid smell of cigarette smoke, then outside sounds of cars passing, their lights flashing by, and finally, I sensed we were traveling north.

I then practiced using the timing method Manny and I had developed over the course of my training to estimate elapsed time. Focusing on the finer details of breathing, counting, and my senses the void had receded into the nothingness it came from. At 25 minutes light and sound died as we pulled into a building of some type—brick or stone—to kill outside distractions. We stopped and moments later the whirl of machinery and my sinking into the backseat indicated an elevator being lifted.

Moments later I heard the sedan doors unlatch,with Jeannie and then me lifted and thrown over a shoulder as the driver killed the engine. Its headlights remained on giving light for the front passenger opened to open his door and activate a rear panel on the elevator.

The light quick click of heels was followed by a full rich clipped speech, “Neanderthals keep your hands still and on the business at hand. Until we get what we want they’ll be treated with kid gloves. Afterward you can do as you will.”

A shiver ran up my spine and I was tempted to end this now but I wasn’t sure of how much of my fine motor skills had returned. I wasn’t sure either how much longer Jeannie would be out.

Hanging over my captor’s shoulder I carefully cracked an eyelid open taking note of our surroundings. The distinctive nose and emblem of a Mercedes-Benz stared back as did the front license plate that I memorized. The floor was easiest (I was staring directly at it) to categorize it was square pattern pale linoleum. The first door we passed led to what looked like a communal living space; kitchen, living room, and bathroom. The next room judging by what furnishings that I could see was the electronic brains of the complex. The following two rooms were bedrooms as was the one where we were carried being dumped unceremoniously onto a bed.

“Place her at the foot,” the woman commanded, her I assumed referred to Jeannie since I remained in place.

“Raise her up to a sitting position,” and I immediately felt hands pulling on my shoulders into an upright angle. “Blindfold and gag her. I felt an elasticized blindfold placed over my eyes and surgical tape over my mouth. It was all I could do to not resist.

My options were quickly running out; the gag and blindfold indicated we were to be bound in some manner. I knew there were three people in the room and their approximate location; one man was at the head of the bed on my right, the other man likely was at the foot on the other side with the woman in the middle on my side. The fourth man was unaccounted for. I wasn’t sure I even had full motion and strength back yet.

“Raise her hands,” the woman barked as I felt her hands grip the hem of my dress and pulling it up and off my body.

“All right,” I heard one exclaim.

“Get your mind out of the gutter and on business. I want these two to wake up cold, blindfolded, gagged, and half dressed frightened out of their minds. They’ll be a lot easier to deal with,” she continued in a conversational tone from the other end of the bed. I assumed from the material rustling that she was helping Jeannie out of her dress. “Got it,” She snarled.

They propped me up against the headboard in a sitting position my hands being tied to the iron columns on the headboard. “Tie a foot to each other’s foot I want them to feel as helpless as possible when they wake up.”

Oh shit.

My body took that moment to jerk and I inadvertently groaned.

“Shit, hurry it up, you guys. I don’t want us in here when they wake up,” she cried.

“She’s the one that I gave the extra dosage to, too.

“Shut up and hurry,” she demanded as my body convulsed sending jolts of electricity sporadically through my muscles and tendons.

“Shit…shit,” he cried as he frantically tied the knot into place.

“Come on,” the woman urged as I heard footfalls, the door closing and metallic sound of tumblers clicking into position.

I cursed the woman while admiring her ruthlessness and hoping in their haste they had been careless if not the future looked bleak for us.

I appreciate your reading this and please leave any comments and kudos too.

Guys this is a short chapter but it seemed like a good place to stop. I have the same flutter of nerves that I had with the very 1st chapter I posted way back when maybe because it has been almost a year. That and I have a brain injury that makes sequencing difficult means that I don't really understand parent child tree relationship works. So I'm liable to get it out of order and have to get Erin to help me. After I get a semblance of a schedule going then I can sort of mimic what I need to do.

I want to thank Ashleigh for pushing through her illness to finish editing what I've written and I also want to thank all of you that wrote and asked about Atalanta and apologize for the sometimes slow replies. I do hope you all enjoy the chapter, story, and the rest of her (mis) adventures as it unfolds. This will be the last book in the Whateley world and I now know the direction I want for her.

But now to this chapter not a lot action wise happens, information is gathered, characters are staged for action that happens in subsequent characters. If the good Lord is willing and the creeks don't rise I'll have another chapter posted no later than Wednesday and another next weekend. The previous chapter has the trio arriving in town with Manny and Atalanta dining with a former contact in General and Mrs Nelson where the girls are kidnapped from the parking lot.

Manny looked at the round face wall clock above the old fashion water fountain. Its hands pointed straight up and down, the minute hand ticking each 60 seconds off clicking loudly in the sudden silence. The four of them were absorbed in their own private thoughts. General Nelson sat behind the desk, to his right Frank Wright, the agency’s top investigator, sat at one end of the desk. Manny sat facing the General with Sam on his left.

It had been a busy but mostly ineffective four hours since the abduction of Atalanta and Mrs. Nelson and they had learned very little in the meantime. Manny called Sam, who had taken a cab to the restaurant, and together they followed Anthony Nelson and Wright to the nondescript building that they were located at.

It was an unremarkable brick and block structure built in the early 60s and served many functions, factory, warehouse, business offices until it was quietly bought a decade later. The chain-link fence and concertina wire appeared normal although if someone were to look close the infrared detectors and the alarm panel hidden by the large old fashion padlock on the gate might give one pause to reflect. The parking lot remained uncluttered even on a night like tonight.

“Damnit why don’t they call,” General Nelson slammed his hand down on the desk shattering the silence. Manny wondered who they referred to; the kidnappers or the field agents working leads. They had decided to not call the police but to use police assets and federal IDs to gain access to the restaurant’s security tapes.

“Give it time,” Manny answered without looking up, “I still believe we’ll hear from Atalanta first.”

The older man ran his hands through his thinning hair, “We both have looked at the tapes; these people are professionals. No matter how good she is Atalanta is still not yet 15.”

“You’re right about her age but you saw the tape; you saw that she damn near forced them to take her with them,” Manny drawled. “You’re correct that they are professionals but Atalanta diagnosed and responded in the same instant. That’s something you just can’t teach.”

“Washington is a city of contrasts attracting some of the best and some of the worst low life scum that will cut their own mother’s throat and not lose a minutes sleep afterward. These are well trained professional killers and assassins.”

Manny stood, his neck tendons throbbing, “It wasn’t me, Atalanta, or your wife they want but you. Does this have anything to do with whatever you were going to tell me tonight?”

“No, I don’t think so as that is early in the planning phase, hell it just an outline at this stage.”

“Okay, why don’t we go over everything again,” Inspector Wright suggested. General Nelson’s intercom chirped interrupting any response.

“Yes,” he spoke into the receiver.

“We have a group at the gate demanding entrance. They said they were called.”

Manny reached over the desk and pushed the intercom talk button, “Mark Rivers and Short Executive Services.”

“Yeah that’s them,” came the tinny reply.

“I called them; let them in.”

Pushing Manny’s hand to the side, the commander depressed the button, “This is General Nelson; let them in.”

Three pairs of questioning eyes turned to Manny, “Damn I forgot to say I called these guys in. I served with many of them and have used their consulting services before.They have their own network of contacts and they know their way around the city. I trust these guys in any foxhole anywhere, and they know Atalanta.”

A few minutes passed before the door opened to admit a small squad of grim, hard, and effective looking men.

“Mark,” Manny greeted their leader, “damn you guys made good time.”

“Hey, we dropped what we were doing and came a running. We all told Atalanta we had her back and we meant it.”

Manny introduced Mark to General Nelson, to Frank Wright, and to Sam who had seen them the day Atalanta was escorted into the school grounds.

“The rest of your guys can introduce themselves as we go along. We were just going to review everything we’ve learned so far so your timing is perfect. Another set of eyes might see something we missed.”

They then trooped down the hall; going deeper into the building,turning a corner and then walking through a door into a conference room large enough to seat 25 people comfortably at a long table that dominated the center of the room. Rows of office chairs lined both sides of the table amid half a dozen open laptops at scattered intervals. Recessed lighting, three overhead giant screen monitors and blue lighting from laptops combined to cast the room in an eerie other-worldly glow.

The group gathered around a technician seated at a computer at the far end. Quickly occupying all of the empty office chairs which required three of the Boston guys finding folding chairs to complete the seating arrangements.

Manny sat beside the technician running the graphics, “Cory how about bringing up the front entrance footage.”

Cory’s fingers curled around the mouse bring the laptop and the nearest widescreen to life. The camera looking out from the business caught the ebb and flow of diners.

“Can you pause it?” Mark asked Cory after the guys had left the women to retrieve the vehicles. He nodded freezing the image instantly.

“What distances are we looking at?”

“This is a wide angle lens so it is not as far as it looks—20-25 yards of the walk and about 5 yards wide,” the technician explained.

“So this is not valet parking.”

“As a rule no,” Anthony answered then clarified, “but on special catered events they do. This is a place is for fine eating but not as a rule for formal dining.”

“Any sound with this footage?”

“Sorry, no there isn’t.”

“I heard Atalanta scream,” Manny divulged, seated beside Mark, “But I was too far away to help.”

“I assume there is footage of other angles. Have you synchronized them yet? ”

Nodding Cory brought up each view on split screens showing the restaurant entrance from different angles. The footage showed Atalanta warning Mrs. Nelson to run before either man fully emerged from behind the hedgerow lining the curb. They all saw Mrs. Nelson grabbed by her waist and dragged into the car with the outline of a gun pressed to her head followed a split-second later by the headlong rush of Atalanta and the second thug.

“Can you back that up,” Mark asked his attention on the screen, “it looks like the car was a Mercedes and I believe the last guy has a ponytail.”

“Good eye Mark, correct on both counts.”

“Does he show up in any earlier footage?”

Cory brought up still shots showing that guy or his doppelganger in the parking lot near two identical looking Mercedes.

“Can you show stills of all three cars?”

“Sure,” and seconds later the three vehicles appeared side-by-side.

“Mercedes did a design change in ’06; these are the older models, makes sense too there are more of them on the road,” Mark observed. “Probably both vehicles are involved as well;one as the blocker or decoy vehicle.”

“That’s what we thought too,” Manny echoed. “Before you ask I got a partial ID; it’s a Virginia plate and one of three counties.”

“They’ll probably use reflector lens or paint to defeat license plate readers; that’s what I’d do.”

Manny nodded, “We got a few hits on I-66 going north some on the Beltway going in the same direction. But none of the hits were of a Mercedes…at least of the ones we’ve identified.”

“How many you figure?”

“Four were in the car,” Manny answered, “add two more in another car making six people total.”

“Seven,” Mark turned to the General, “Excuse me if this has been flagged, but your wife is obviously the target and even if you have standing reservations for every Saturday night somebody somewhere had to identify her. That occurred either at the restaurant or on your end General.”

Silence greeted Mark’s observation as the logic of his assertion sunk in.

“We did run background checks on the restaurant employees; nothing out of the ordinary turned up there. I trust my staff implicitly.”

“What about landscape people, groundskeepers, cleaning services, drivers, handymen, pool services any contract or part time people you employ?”

“None of those people have access to our schedule,” Nelson interjected.

“But they might have planted electronic surveillance.”

The General’s eyes widened and a collective sigh escaped as he withdrew his phone from a coat pocket.

“General,” Mark hissed placing his forefinger to his lips, “just order a covert electronic general sweep; there’s no need, for now, to let them know that we know and we might intercept some network traffic.”

“Good idea,” he nodded relaying the order adding, “If we find I’ve been bugged some of us might need to relocate to my home and see what we can stir up.”

“That’s not a bad idea General,” Manny speculated. “Mark, what have you been doing since last we talked…anything exciting?”

“Quiet as an altar call, that last excitement was…I dunno’…I seem to recall some wannabe callin’ and askin’; would I escort a young lady from the train depot to her hotel? Said she’s a sheep among the wolves an’ would I keep her from beein’ shorn,” Mark drawled a lopsided grin spreading despite his best efforts to remain stoic, “Turns out we were there to save Boston from her not her from Boston’s perils. And if that wasn’t enough for our ne’er do well he next decides to turn her loose on the swamp that is the nation’s capital,” slapping Manny on his shoulder.

“Speaking of a wannabe, this wannabe couldn’t even see her safely on a train.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s your excuse?”

“Touché!”

The General despite his distress leaned forward nodding his head at the exchange of banter between the two warriors. That they liked and respected each other showed in their words and actions. That they also drove several hundred miles on a moment’s notice bode well for Atalanta’s character as well.

The germ of the idea he was presenting to Manny after dinner solidified its parameters in his mind. But he frowned; his wife and Atalanta needed rescuing first. In any crime involving missing persons, the first 24 hours are crucial and a quarter of that time had already passed with very little to go on.

They needed something to happen and soon.

Again this is a short chapter but two more should follow this week. Comments and kudos are welcomed and appreciated and I'll do my best to answer any questions.

I had hoped to post this chapter yesterday but my hip was hurting but the copy, paste, and adding lines between paragraphs takes concentration that when my hip hurts I don't have. These kidnappers have begun to realize in this chapter that they have a buzz saw on their hands. Thanks goes again to Ashleigh for her editing skills which helps me look better and hopefully a more enjoyable read.

As soon as the door locking mechanism clicked I began flexing my toes and feet thankful that I had chosen to wear pumps and not shoes with straps as the shoes slipped from my feet. Raising my right leg over my body and by twisting and arching my back I pressed my heel against the rope tied on that leg. Moving both legs in a bicycle type motion I eventually worked the knot off the meaty portion of my leg to my ankle. My hope was now to work it over my ankle by trial and error. I cursed the woman again for her ingenuity as my foot slipped from the rope leaving us still roped together.

After another failure, I breathed in deeply sending a silent prayer heavenward knowing time was running short. Feeling the rope with my toes I carefully began pushing it slowing down my ankle and when I felt it against my heel I straightened out that foot and the rope fell free.

The ability to now raise both my legs free of hindrance restored a sense of confidence.Unfortunately, the second step was going to be several times harder because my hands weren’t really tied to the bed columns. Instead, the rope was tied around my wrists with the other end fastened to the bed directly in-line with my shoulders reducing leverage. I was faced with choosing a more upright position or a more prone one. The closer I got to sitting upright reduced the leverage in my arms and body but while it closed the distance from my hands to the framework of the bed it cut power to my arms and shoulders. Lying prone maximized my lower body and core strength but the question was to what end?

Closing my eyes, yeah I was blindfolded but it created a safe space to work in as I imagined the next step and then the next and so on. I ran the risk of wrenching a shoulder or two. Jeannie stirring beside me added another unknown; would her awakening bring someone in sooner to check on us.

Bringing my legs together I raised them over my head lifting my butt off the bed wedging my toes against the iron framework and bringing my hands up with the motion and gripping the round railing. The next step was securing enough grip to swing out and up to perch on the railing.
Taking a deep breath I swung my legs out and up much like a gymnast does on the bars landing my feet crouched low feeling the wall against my back. That answered the question if the bed headboard was in a corner. I giggled at the image that cropped in my mind of perched on the railing of crouching tiger tethered dragon.

Carefully using my legs and back I pushed the bed a few inches farther from the interior wall giving me added flexibility. I knew they had turned the lights off and the room was in darkness but I wanted that blindfold off. While my low light vision washed out colors and details it would still give me a sense of space and dimension.

A couple of questions would be answered with some vision returned to me; how far was it to the floor from the railing and how strong were the columns my wrists were bound to? Raising myself off the rail and bracing my feet against the wall I then lowered myself back onto the rail resting on my knees and hunched over.

Bobbing my head I finally located the upraised thumb on my right hand and after repeated tries hooked my nail under the blindfold’s edge lifting it up or down depending on your viewpoint.

With the blindfold off I saw that in maneuvering onto the bed railing I had twisted the ropes to my wrists. Not enough to cut off circulation in my present position but had I opted to complete the turn 360 degrees and land on the floor I would have garroted myself.The round rods that I was tied to looked to be about a half-inch in diameter, hopefully, hollow and fastened at either end by decorative nuts.

Jeannie was now fully awake and terrified at waking up half-dressed in a strange setting and her lower body unencumbered began flailing on the bed searching for something solid to connect with.

I didn’t know if that would bring our captors sooner to investigate or if they would wait until she had worn herself out.My muscles were starting to cramp from excess lactic acid soon making the timing of their return a moot point.

After anchoring my backside against the wall, tightening my grip on the headboard frame, and securing my feet against the round columns I began to push with my legs while pulling back with my arms. I incrementally increased the pressure evenly hoping for a clean and even break.
Suspended and stretched tight my body began to tremble and shake from the exertion. Closing my eyes, I groaned at the brink of desperation before feeling a rage springing from my gut: calling an indomitable will that refused to quit or admit defeat. I felt an energy rush seemingly pulled from the ether that refueled and refreshed my muscles. Metal began popping and cracking reaching their stress levels splitting the decorative nuts freeing the columns from their moorings.

Luckily the top end broke first freeing my hands though my feet were now on the bed. I didn’t care I was free and felt like roaring at the top of my lungs at the feral burst of energy as I ripped the tape from my mouth. I hustled to the top of the bed springing down to land lightly on the floor beside Mrs. Nelson who had stopped her struggles.

Leaning over her I whispered, “Jeannie it’s me, Atalanta. I’ll have you free in a minute but I have a few things to tend to first. Just lie still.”

Straightening up I noticed the diffused light under the door rendering one plan less than useful. A quick glance revealed no cameras activated and a door at the far end that I assumed led to the bathroom. Padding quickly across the room I did find that it was the bathroom. As I moved I unwrapped the paracord bracelet.I held it’s length between my fingers. Inside the room, I quickly took down the shower curtain and rod as the beginnings of a plan took shape.

Striding into the bedroom I removed Jeannie’s blindfold and tape before untying her wrists and helping her to sit.

“What happened, where are we?”

“I’m not sure where we are,” I whispered, “but things are going to get crazy here real soon and I need you to do exactly as I say. Okay?”

“What are you going to do?”

I rolled my eyes in the darkness feeling my lips part thinly, “Payback is a bitch and I’m about to exact some payback.” Helping her to her feet I guided her to the bathroom, “Stay in here and don’t come out until I come to get you.When the excitement happens, get into the tub and stay there.”

Moving quickly I gathered up the pieces of rope used on me and Jeannie tossing them on the bed beside the other useful items. Snatching the cordage I tied to the foot of the bed leaving the end dangling over the frame. Removing the curtain rings I piled them in a heap on the bed then ripping the curtains into six-foot lengths forcing the rings through the flimsy material and the two ends together to form a circle.

I didn’t know what they’d be useful for, but hey, can’t use ‘em if you don’t have’em.I separated the rod into its two separate sections each about four foot long hefting each piece. One section held the spring mechanism; the other section that fit into it was tapered. Neither was ideally weighted.

Lifting the desk I moved it closer to the doorway and using the longest length of rope tied it to the furniture about three inches off the floor.

Moving the chair I used it to remove the overhead light and its covering. In the bathroom, I only removed the glass covering leaving the light in place but handing Jeannie the light from the other room.

“Here hold onto this for now.”

“What are you going to do with that,” she asked pointing to hefty glass bowl left in my hand.

Shrugging into the darkness I mused, ‘have no idea, sister, but I whispered, “They’ll be into check on us at anytime and I want anything not bolted down to create as much confusion and chaos as I can. Meanwhile, I want you to stay put until I come to get you. That’s very important no matter what you hear or imagine happening don’t leave here until I come to get you.”

“Couldn’t we just barricade ourselves in and wait for help?”

I had considered and discarded that plan, “They’ll eventually starve us out or bust in depending on their goals. We need to take the fight to them.”

“I’m not exactly dressed for battle in my underwear.”

“Well for some battles,” I giggled in response then immediately somberly adding, “Okay back to the matter at hand; you get settled in back here and I me out there.”

Jeannie hugging me, “I’m praying for you.”

“Thanks, I can use all the help I can get.”

Once back at the outside door I reassessed parts of my plan removing the trip line and moving the desk to nearer its original location. Waiting I adjusted my bra settling my breasts into their cups and feeling Jeannie’s card. I certainly didn’t want an equipment malfunction and at the worst possible time. Waiting I began rethinking my options;breasts are a focal point and a man’s groin was their Achilles heel in a fight, but Jeannie was correct; bra and panties weren't ideal battle gear.

Why was I even thinking it?

Was there something besides chlorophyll in the chlorophyll? Or was it something else entirely interfering with decision making.

Now that I had moved to the side of the door opening away from the light switch the trip line made more sense and I moved quickly to reset it.

What was going on?

Satisfied at long last with my preparations I began slow probe of the room using my senses. We must be near either high tension power lines or near factories because a slight and steady hum permeated the air.

Hearing voices I flattened my body against the wall as a key turned in the lock releasing the latch and both men walked through the partially opened door, “—check on our sleeping beauties.”

“Sarah said—“

“—No names remember,”

“What difference does it make,” he remarked as his partner found the light switch at the same instant his foot found the trip line.

Hearing the switch click I charged ahead swinging the rod like a club hitting the second man in the temple sounding like a scattershot as it connected, cracking in my hand. He stumbled into the first man who was entangled in the rope and they both went down and I was on top.

My hand reached inside a coat pocket hoping they were packing heat, breathing a sigh of relief as my fingers closed on the handle of a semi-auto handgun. Pulling it free I used the butt to knock the squirming man on the bottom out and rolling off their limp bodies sent two warning shots down the hall. Using the momentum I rolled to a sitting position and reaching back with my free hand tossed the glass globes in the same direction following them with two more quick shots that shattered the spinning glass orbs sending pieces of broken glass flying. I snapped off a third at a shadow that peered from a doorway. A fourth broke the bulb and globe at my door.

Moving swiftly I closed the door dragging the bed against the wall and in front of the door. Continuing my frantic pace to secure our entrance way, and using the cordage,looping it around the door knob and then lashing it tightly securing the bed to the door.

Stepping back, over, and around limp bodies and overturned furniture I called to Jeannie, “Bring me the light bulb but be careful and oh you can turn on the light in there.”

A soft glow emanated from that room throwing shifting shadows against the wall and floor as Jeannie reemerged handing me the light bulb. Righting the overturned chair and dragging it under the overhead fixture I stood in the chair and replaced the bulb. The room was instantly bathed in light.

Seeing the prone bodies Jeannie gasped, “Are they—“

“Nah,” I replied flippantly, “they’re just resting. Here help me get them into an upright position.” Dragging one of the guys I propped him against the bed and then moving to help Jeannie with her cargo.

“Good, now let’s take off their shirt and coat. We don’t have time,” I admonished adding, “just toss them on the bed for now. We soon had the men stripped to their trousers which was about to change. Looking around I spied the desk and drawer and hustling over to it pulled out the drawer and set it and its contents on the floor between us.

“Jeannie I need for you to unbuckle their pants and then re-buckle them above their knees while I tie these bad boys up…and go through their pockets and take out everything you find and place it in the drawer.”

Retrieving the undamaged shower rod I tied their hands to the rod and each other limiting individual movement. Carrying the clothing to the desktop where Jeannie had placed the drawer I added the contents of the jackets and shirts to the loot.

“Here,” I handed Jeannie a jacket, “put this on and go through their wallets, look for ID, money, and anything else that catches your eye.”

The smaller of the two shirts fit tight in the chest while hanging loosely at the waist and hung halfway to my knees, and when buttoned up looked like a dress.

“That’s cute,” Jeannie smiled.

“Not the look I’m going for,” I snarked rummaging through the items. Another Ruger 9mm and two full magazines were much more critical and interesting. As was the 5” folding lock blade knife Jeannie had found in one’s pants pocket.

“Their ID,” Jeannie replied holding two Virginia driver licenses cards up and $2,000 in 100 dollar bills.”

Taking the cash I stuffed it inside my bra remarking, “I’m starting to fill out,” adding to her lifted eye, “Tuition is expensive.”

Among the loot, we found a small pocket notebook, pen, and two burner cell phones. Our initial excitement tempered at the poor reception bars and the weak batteries. At that moment the background buzz or hum died. My ears popped and crackled at the sudden quiet similar to altitude changes.

A woman’s voice, Sarah’s, her tone clear and precise emanated from each of the room’s four stereo speakers. I felt the delayed sound of her speech as it radiated in quick succession to each ear. I also now noticed the rhythmically measured beat hidden in the white noise played earlier.

“Mrs. Nelson you need to open the door and come out quietly. Your situation is hopeless and when we’ve received our demands you and your young companion will be free to go.”

Placing a forefinger to my lips I pulled her into the bathroom and relayed some of what I’d heard. “We’re in this together,” I began tersely, “but I think our best bet is to push their hot buttons; to get them to wondering what we’re up to and second guess their actions. Their speaker setup is a brainwave entrainment designed to induce… cooperation.”

“Brainwashing,” Jeannie asked her voice pitched.

“A component of it, sure, but let me do the talking okay.”

She nodded and we walked back into the center of the room, “Young companion here; I don’t believe you, and I have a counter demand.”

“Oh, and what might that be.”

“I believe you should call 9/11 and just give up.”

“And why would we do this?”

“I don’t believe you understand the severity of the situation,” I returned flippantly and shooting Jeannie a lopsided grin, “You have messed up my social calendar and I don’t know how I’ll ever live it down,” ending in a high-pitched nasal singsong cadence, “This was supposed to be my coming out party this weekend and now you’ve ruined it all and I’ll never get invited to any cool parties.”

“Mrs. Nelson let me talk to you,” she cooed.

“Sarah, you’re time is running out,” and on hearing her sharp intake of air I pushed even harder, “Yes that’s right Sarah your minions have already given up your name—such tame fellows—marshmallows really you do need to do better vetting, and soon I expect to extract a list of contacts and numbers.”

I felt a cool breeze flow through the room as an influx of excited energy filled me with power and strength, “Sarah I don’t care what you do; the game is up and whatever plans you had is now DOA. And we have your accomplices who I’m sure will rat you out. Of course, you can try and break in but it’ll be costly. You can try and hide but I know who you are and you don’t have a clue about who I am. Your best bet is to give yourself up and turn State’s evidence.”

Silence greeted my monolog, “What do you think she’ll do?”

Shrugging I replied, “beats me but let’s see if we can use the phones.”

“I can’t get through,” Jeannie declared her voice quivering.

“I can’t either but a text might get through.”

“Yes, that might work,” Jeannie replied smiling broadly.

“You text your husband and I’ll get hold of Manny; one of us should get a message out. You send their ID numbers and I’ll send Manny our location.”

“You know where we’re at?”

“Close enough for government work,” I quipped adding, “We should probably hit redial and send those numbers too.”

I punched Manny’s number in and the message: “Fun Party: Having a Blast: Wish You Were Here: Loc. 40-50 miles N. or N.N.E. A.”

Then we waited for a reply; Jeannie clenching and unclenching her hands and breathing softly while I was busy working out a plan B. We needed to buy time and while I had planted seeds of doubt in Sarah she would take action. Breaching the door at the lock side or even at the hinges was a logical first step followed by shooting through the walls which I felt sure wouldn’t stop a bullet. The porcelain tub was the only item affording any protection in the apartment and only then by lying prone. A ricochet can wound or kill as effectively as a direct hit and we’d be pinned down.

My ruminations were interrupted by our cell phones ringing in concert which we quickly answered. Swiping the reply icon I read Manny’s message; “Recvd Loc clear: J’s text Also clear: The #s help: Tracing Phone Signal: Stay Put.”

Jeannie sent me a thumbs up, silently miming, “They’re tracing my number.”

I nodded ‘okay’ and sent Manny a reply, “Too dangerous: Have to move soon: Send Perp’s Info.”

Sun Tzu warning’s to know your ground ran through my mind; the apartment wasn’t an ideal Stand Your Ground type but it may have to do. Another of his recommendations was to Know Your Ground and now seemed like a good opportunity to do that though it seemed fruitless.
I handed Jeannie my phone, “I’m going to poke around a bit. Why don’t you take a few pictures of our abode and send them the best two or three? If you can send them that is.”

“We’re going to get out of this, aren’t we? They will find us in time.”

Her last words seared my consciousness and let me see the world through her eyes and most of the world as well. Rescue was a part of my plan but not the plan.

“Yes,” I replied, “we will make it.”

I crossed the floor to the desk examining the drawer contents again and looking for anything hidden but only rewarded with finding a penlight. Stepping lightly over obstacles I examined the room including the door and frame and finding nothing that swayed my opinion that it was a weak link.

The closet—really a recessed area in the far corner and near the headboard measured four foot by four foot with a curtain nailed over its opening. Pushing it aside I moved inside greeted by murky darkness as the material swung back into the entrance. Grinning I gripped the little penlight tighter pushing the plastic on button shining its narrow beam over the three walls and seeing nothing. No nails protruding to be used as hangers, no beefcake photos I thought grinning at turning the term pinups on its head. After striking the walls I was satisfied it was solid and not hiding a secret door.

What the hell was its Purpose?

Taking a mental step back I again examined the walls looking for anything that seemed out of place. To stomping my foot against the floor and finally to stepping to the rear of the alcove shining my light above the area behind the tacked up curtain. The beam of light fell on the ceiling that also didn't seem to serve any other purpose than a cap. But something seemed off.

I again swung the flashlight’s beam over the boxed-frame the curtain was fastened to and then up to the ceiling which seemed awful high. Stretching my hand over my head and standing on tip-toes I was short of touching the ceiling by at least 18 inches. At six foot on tip-toes,I could touch an eight-foot ceiling. It had to be ten feet off the floor but the apartment hadn’t felt that spacious.

Stepping out of the cramped space I stood on my toes my fingers briefly touching the ceiling. I was right the apartment’s ceiling was eight feet and the alcove a ten foot one? Positioning myself directly under the opening and comparing each side directly, the framed opening was about a foot short of the ceiling on the apartment side, but over two feet of space inside the boxed structure.

Perplexed I rubbed the back of my neck; there seemed to be an 18 inch to two-foot platform over the ceiling. The question was why and to what purpose? And could it help us? Walking back into the room and retrieving the chair I barely touched the wooden ceiling panel.
Muttering I walked back into the room locating the knife and damaged rod.

“Find something?” Jeannie asked one arm bent at the elbow while gripping the other arm.

Seeing her pained look I explained, “I think so; there seems to be a platform above our heads and if I can access it we can walk out of here.”

“Really that’s good news. Anything I can do to help?”

“Talk to Sarah when she comes back on the speakers; feel her out and see if you can learn anything, ask her why she kidnapped you.”

“Kidnapped us,” she corrected me.

“Nah, you were the one they wanted; I just happened to get in the way.”

Carrying my tools I climbed on the chair prodding the planking with the knife blade and then with the cylinder using it to push harder against the ceiling. Several points indicated some give but it wasn’t until I pushed at the edge opposite the room’s outside wall that my heart leaped as the board raised revealing a doorway.The door was hinged about 12 inches from the wall with enough of an angle to let it rest against the wall and not slam shut.

My little flashlight revealed 2X4 framing the trapdoor rested on and a solid wooden floor above that. The darkness ate up my mini light’s attempts to stab further into the dark pit that lay beyond.

Stepping off the chair I walked over to where Jeannie stood, “Ready to go?”

“You found a way out.”

“Yep, let’s gather up our stuff and get out of here,” I replied taking the shirt, shoes, and coat to the closet.

Not an ideal place to break but the next logical chapter break would double the length of this chapter. I do hope you enjoy this chapter and leave us plenty of kudos and comments. Thanks