New York, January 9th, 2016

“Hey, A? Are you okay?”

Aidan leaned her forehead against the cool glass door of the shower without answering Elsie's mousy inquiry from outside the bathroom. No doubt the other woman had just listened to her emptying the already non-existent contents of her stomach after leaping out of bed and limping at top speed down the hall in the pre-dawn hours. Her leg and elbow were still plenty sore from the incident the day before. She hadn't told Elsie, and she wasn't going to.

The hinges on the door squeaked ever so slightly as the blonde let herself in. At least she didn't turn on the lights. Aidan's head already hurt without the sudden brightness stabbing her in the eyes. With her eyes closed, she didn't even try to resist Elsie's fussing when the other woman felt her forehead and brushed her hair back.

“Do you want some juice? Maybe some crackers or toast?”

An accidentally disgusted sound escaped Aidan's lips as she shook her head in the negative. The thought of any sort of food at all made her stomach lurch rather unpleasantly. The floor had never quite stopped feeling like it was moving, but the tilt-a-whirl action picked up a bit more.

“No. Just some water would be good.”

Aidan wasn't picky about water, and Elsie knew it, so the blonde just grabbed the little cup out of the medicine cabinet and filled it up there in the bathroom sink. The cool touch of the ceramic against her lips felt nice. She even let Elsie tilt the glass for her instead of reaching up to take it. For the moment she was too tired to turn away the care. The cold water made her feel just a little bit better after having a few careful sips.

“You still haven't really slept, have you?”

“No, not really.”

Aidan couldn't be arsed to lie at the moment.

“What's going on?”

Well, on second thought, maybe she could.

“I've got a big title defense coming up toward the end of the month.”

The ease with which she could make something up and pass it off as truth in the blink of an eye had stopped bothering her a long, long time ago. Honesty was rarely the best policy. The truth was a weapon and one did not arm forces of undetermined loyalty—or competency—in war time. The line of thinking brought something else to mind, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Hey, can you go get my phone? I just realized that I forgot to make hotel reservations for LA.”

Hotel reservations had been made weeks ago, but Elsie didn't even pause to question her, just made sure that she had a firm grip on the cup of water before going to get her cell for her. Aidan had at least managed to finish off the water by the time Elsie returned and passed off the glass in exchange for her phone. The brightness of the screen hurt her eyes, but she shrugged it off.

“You can go back to bed, El. I'm good. I'm just going to sit here for a while and make sure.”

Aidan could practically see the incoming protest, but she had to get rid of Elsie to make the call, so she headed it off.

“If I don't come out in ten minutes you can come back and help me.”

That seemed to be enough to assuage the blonde, thankfully. Once she heard Elsie disappear completely down the hallway and to the couch where she was still sleeping, Aidan looked back down at her phone. It was a long shot, a really long shot, but she punched in the number she still remembered after almost eight years.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Mason Bennett?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“I'm not sure if you'll remember me. My name is Aidan Carlisle...”

Several long moments of silence passed as he tried to place the name on the other end of the line. She was just about to explain when he remembered on his own.

“Miss Carlisle. Yes, I do remember you. To what do I owe the pleasure after so long?”

“Well, I've actually been putting together an autobiography and I'm getting to the part about my time in the UK.”

The lie rolled out so casually.

“I decided I would dedicate a chapter to that whole crazy mess, and I was wondering if you ever found out anything more about the guy that was calling himself Blake Ross.”

Another few moments of silence dragged out.

“Let me go pull out my case notes. ...It's awfully early there, isn't it? Kind of an odd hour to be calling.”

“With shows running late and having to travel afterward, I've been a night owl for years. Three AM is just another time to me.”

“Alright. Well, I've got a few minutes, let me find these notes and we'll go over everything.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

 

 

- - - - -

England 2008

Aidan stared up at the front door of the old terrace house from where she stood at the bottom of the well kept brick steps. Her heart was fluttering softly in her chest and there was a small knot in her throat, but she had come this far. She wasn't about to turn back now.

There had been no sign of Blake Ross for days. Constable Bennett had no further information. Though he said he had already paid a visit to the address on the fake ID, she had to investigate for herself. The set of throwing knives was tucked into the back of her waistband, hidden beneath her jacket. Truthfully she didn't think she'd even remember to use them if it came down to it.

With a deep breath she ascended the two stairs and reached out to ring the doorbell. It didn't take long to hear the shuffling of movement from within. Though she wasn't sure what she had been expecting, the little old white-haired lady that answered the door was not it.

“Um... hi. I think I have the wrong address. I'm looking for an old friend of mine. I think he used to live here...”

The elderly woman did not seem put off in the least. Instead, she smiled and opened the storm door right up.

“Oh, dear. I've been living here for years. You've come all this way, why don't you come on in? Do you drink tea? I just put a kettle on.”

Aidan hated tea with a passion.

“That would be lovely. I'm sorry to be a bother.”

“Oh, it's no bother at all. I hardly ever get visitors anymore. It did my heart some good to hear the bell ring.”

It was hard not to smile at the cheerful tone in the woman's voice. Aidan followed her through the quaintly decorated house toward the kitchen, taking a seat at the breakfast nook when she was invited to.

“Do you live here alone?”

“Oh, heavens yes. Once the kids moved out it was just me and Winston for years, but he finally passed two years ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that...”

“Don't be. Drunk old sot wasn't worth a lick. The money I've been getting since he went has done more for me than he ever did.”

It took everything Aidan had not to laugh at the old woman's moxie; the response certainly had not been one she was expecting. From the corner of her eye, something suddenly caught her attention. There was a slightly dusty framed photo on the wall of two young men, perhaps in their very early twenties. The hair was shaggier and he had the thick five o'clock shadow of a boy trying to prove he was a man because he could grow facial hair, but the one on the right was most certainly the same man, the one now calling himself Blake Ross. Her faith in Constable Bennett dropped a bit.

“Are those your sons?”

Aidan gestured toward the photo as she asked the question.

“That's my Lucas on left, and his friend Richie. Poor Lucas, he never did stop blaming himself. Richie drowned not long after that picture was taken. Lucas insisted on going swimming even though Richie didn't want to.”

Richie was dead, was he? Now that was interesting.