The Secret Visitor

by Arthur Roberts

Monica sat in the curve of her perfectly round window, staring out into the blackness of the cavern beyond. Night had fallen over Na’Til, and the lamps over the Causeway below had been dimmed. Their glow no longer reached the heights of the cavern overhead, and a heavy shadow stretched out infinitely in all directions beyond the scope of normal vision. Monica could only just make out the roof of the Archives, but it was mostly lost to the void beyond the lantern light.

For hours, she had been drifting in and out of sleep, lying uncomfortably on the couch in her quarters. When she woke, she lay there fretting over the events of that afternoon. When she did sleep, her dreams took her back to the beach. She was once again dodging the rampaging Serra, trying like mad to save her companions. Only, it was not Nicodemus who was with her this time. There were four in her company. Her brothers dashed in all directions across the sand, narrowly escaping the hungry jaws of the creatures around them. She tried to run to their aid, but she seemed to be running in place, gaining no ground. She opened her mouth but could make no sound. As she watched, a Serra ducked its head, closing its jaws around Lucas, the youngest of the four.

She shuddered at the thought of it, forcing the memory of her dreams from her waking mind. This left her with a hollow feeling in her chest, empty as the surrounding cavern. For a moment, she considered allowing the memory to return, just to feel something else.

There was a sharp knock on her door. Grateful for the distraction, though she knew it would be short-lived, she moved to answer. Iteru stood on the landing outside, and he greeted her at once. She absent-mindedly returned the gesture, performing the traditional Na’Til greeting of placing her hand over her heart and bowing slightly.

When she had first moved there, it had taken her weeks to remember the Na’Til did not shake hands.

“Were you sleeping?” Iteru asked, as he stepped inside.

“No,” Monica said. She twisted a dial next to the door, and the lamps in the room brightened to a more hospitable level. “I tried to, but...it didn’t work. I don’t sleep very much these days, anyway.”

“So I’ve been told. Codin, at least, still gives me regular reports.”

“I know what you’re going to say—”

“What is all this really about?”

Monica looked incredulous, “I’m sorry?”

“This behavior, this... neglect. It’s very unlike you. For three years now you have lived and worked with us, and I have never seen you act like this.”

“Okay,” Monica said, slowly. “I apparently did not know what you were going to say. Act like what? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Iteru began, “Could we sit, perhaps? It’s a long climb to your front door.”

“Of course.”

Monica looked around at the state of her quarters. She would have been embarrassed by the piles of papers and books stacked randomly on any surface that would hold them. The general state of Na’Til was not much better, however, especially in the Archives. She spent so little time in her quarters, they had simply become a storage space where she occasionally slept. She quickly removed the pile that occupied a chair beside the window and set it on the floor. Iteru took a seat, and Monica sat on the couch opposite him.

“Your recent recklessness,” Iteru continued, “is the sort of thing I would have expected from Nicodemus. While you have had no fear of trekking into unexplored and hostile worlds before, you have always done so with appropriate caution. As distracted as you’ve been from your assigned duties, I feel you’re just as distracted from the ones you choose. After three years, I can tell when something is weighing on your mind.”

At first, Monica said nothing, and avoided meeting Iteru’s eyes. She took note of the room’s round shape, the round doors and windows. The stone tile floor, barely covered in a threadbare rug which Nicodemus had found during one of his expeditions to the ruins on the surface. The piles of papers, books, discarded clothes, and assorted clutter. Her eyes landed on a side table, the one surface she had kept pointedly clear. The only thing there was a single picture frame. Her brothers made goofy faces back at her, with her own face in the center, smiling from ear to ear.

Iteru noticed the tiny smile, which played wistfully as the corner of her mouth. He followed her gaze to the picture frame and nodded to himself.

“Of course,” he said.

“What?” Monica said, snapping out of her reverie.

“I’m sorry. I truly am. I should have known. When you came to us, I took you in and offered you refuge. You needed a place to escape from your father. I named you a citizen of Na’Til without a second thought. But I was so concerned with protecting you, I didn’t think about the cost. You gave up something else when you came here.”

“I don’t regret coming to you,” Monica said. “You shouldn’t regret letting me. It was a horrible situation, and I am eternally grateful for how you, Nicodemus, and Codin have helped me. The Na’Til have been wonderful, and I never once felt unwelcome.” She paused to collect her thoughts, “But I can’t stop thinking about them... my brothers. I haven’t seen them in three years. I haven’t even reached out to make contact. They don’t even know if I’m alive. I thought if I just buried myself in work, then I wouldn’t have to think about it. We see how well that worked out.”

“I understand. It would be the height of hypocrisy for anyone in Na’Til to blame you for mourning what you’ve lost—what you were forced to leave behind.”

Monica simply nodded. Over forty years ago, the entire civilization of Na’Til had collapsed, destroyed by civil war. Their once massive city, which spanned the whole of the continent and several miles underground, now lay in total ruin. Only a few small settlements of survivors remained. The Spire was only one of them. A population which once numbered in the trillions had now been reduced to less than ten thousand. Working in the Archives, Monica knew the history of Na’Til very well. They were a people well acquainted with the notions of grief and loss.

Iteru thought in silence for a moment. “I suppose, then,” he said, at last, “there’s only one thing to do about this.” Monica nodded again. She did not know what he had in mind, but she braced herself for some sort of punishment. She was prepared to accept whatever he deemed appropriate. “You will just have to return home and see them.”

Monica looked up at him again, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Again,” she said, “not what I thought you were going to say.”

“What else would you suggest? I don’t feel it would be right to punish you for missing your family. Even so, things cannot continue as they have been. It seems to me that the only way to resolve this matter is for you to reach out. Go see your brothers.”

Monica squinted at him, incredulous. “Are you sure?”

“I truly am.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“I understand you’re worried about accidentally seeing your father,” Iteru guessed, and Monica nodded in confirmation. “I do believe you have at least one friend back home, who I have no doubt would be willing to help you. How is Ben these days?”

“Very well, from what I hear. What about the reports? They were so important.”

“Nicodemus is injured,” Iteru reminded her. “He can’t go anywhere, so what else does he have to do?”

~

“Thanks for that,” Nicodemus said. He lay in his bed in the headquarters of the Healers Guild, Monica and Codin by his side. Heavy bandages had been wrapped around his injured leg, which sat propped up on a pillow. He had been in good spirits until Monica broke the news of his new assignment. Even more so after she explained why.

“I’ll be gone for at least a day,” she said. “Perhaps slightly longer. It might take some time to arrange things so the visit... goes smoothly.”

“I wish I could go with you,” said Nicodemus. “I’ve always wanted to see your world.”

“I promised you that you could someday. Just not this day, even if you weren’t injured.” She paused, her expression shifting. “I really am s—”

“If you apologize again, I will break your neck,” Nicodemus warned her, smiling playfully. “I’m fine, really. There will be some scars, but I’ll heal quick enough.”

“Okay.” Monica turned to Codin. “Keep an eye on him while I’m gone?”

“M-me? What-what do y-you exp-pect me to d-do?”

“Tie him down if necessary.”

“How much trouble do you expect me to get into with my leg like this?” Nicodemus cut in.

“You?” Monica laughed. “After they brought you in here, the first thing the Healers asked me was, ‘What did he do this time?’. I have every confidence that, if you set your mind to it, you could find a way.”

“What can I say? It’s a talent.”

“T-too bad f-for you th-there’s no g-guild for th-that,” Codin added.

Nicodemus and Monica both cast him a look. “Did you just make a joke?” Nicodemus asked.

“It hap-happens,” Codin said, scandalized.

“You’ll both be fine,” Monica laughed. “I’ll be back soon.”

“G-give B-Ben our b-b-best.”

“I will.”

“And maybe bring back some more of those...what do you call them again?”

“Donuts,” Monica said, “I’ll try to remember.”

“And also,” Nicodemus said, seriously, “Be careful.”

“Promise,” Monica said.

She carefully hugged them both, then left to return to her quarters and pack a bag.

~

It was a bright, warm spring day in Beaver, Pennsylvania. The sky was clear and blue, and Benjamin Garrett bopped along as he made his way down Main St., his thoughts lost in the music blaring through his headphones. He turned down the path that led through Irvine Park and made his way to the other side. There, across the street, a small shop sat with its front door open, inviting anyway who passed by to come inside. A sign over the front windows introduced the shop as “The Tower: Comics, Games, & Collectibles”.

Ben stepped inside and removed his headphones. He looked around at the shelves for a moment, then turned his attention to the front counter. There, sitting like a statue behind the register, sat a man with long, shaggy grey hair and beard to match. He stared straight ahead, unseeing with blind eyes, but smiling at Ben all the same.

“Good morning, Ben,” the man said.

“Morning, Fletcher. It’s still impressive that you always know it’s me.”

“You still shuffle your feet,” Fletcher replied. “Your order’s ready.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Fletcher got to his feet, his full height towering over Ben. The fluffy grey cat that had been sitting on his lap, unseen behind the counter, hopped up onto it and seated herself beside Ben. “Hey, Mary Jane,” he said, giving her a scratch behind the ears. Fletcher moved to a shelf behind the counter, and produced a paper bag tied neatly with twine and marked with Ben’s name in black marker.

“Here ya go.” Fletcher resumed his seat, and Mary Jane returned dutifully to his lap.

“Thanks.”

As Ben began to remove the twine from the bag, Fletcher leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“If you go over and close the door for me, there’s something else I think you should see.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“I think you, of all people, will find it of particular interest.”

Ben paused for a moment, then did as Fletcher asked.

“Did something new come in?”

“Something you’re already familiar with actually,” Fletcher said, still keeping his voice low. “It’s there in the back. Head on in and give it a look.”

“In the stock room?” Ben asked, “What am I looking for?”

“Trust me. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Ben looked around the shop, eyeing up the various items on display. Classic comic books, replica props from movies, costume pieces, and vintage action figures covered every visible surface. Ben’s mind raced excitedly as he wondered what new marvel Fletcher had turned up that was impressive enough to warrant special attention.

He made his way into the stock room and quickly looked around. At first, he saw nothing but stacks of cardboard boxes, an empty display case, and cleaning supplies. What caught his attention was the sound of someone’s voice.

“Shi’vel, Ben.”

He stopped in his tracks, heart in his throat. Of all the things he might have expected to find in that room, this was certainly not on the list.

“Monica?”

He turned around as she stepped out from behind a stack of boxes.

“Ih beah ó nuol sumé,” she said.

“It’s only been three years,” Ben said. “I know you didn’t forget how to speak English.”

“Is your Na’Til getting rusty?” she teased.

“Maybe a little. I haven’t had to use it in a while.” He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. As they pulled apart, Monica took a minute to take him in. It had been several months since they last saw each other. His dark brown hair had grown out a bit, and it appeared he was having trouble keeping it in place. The tan he sported the previous summer had faded back to his usual olive-skinned hue. She wrinkled her nose at the fact he had grown a goatee.

“Not that it’s not great to see you,” Ben said, “but what are you doing here? I know it’s been a while since my last care package, but the donuts at Kretchmar’s aren’t worth risking a trip on your own.”

“I’m not here for donuts,” Monica insisted.

“Nicodemus did ask, though, right?”

“I wouldn’t risk coming if it wasn’t important.”

“I don’t doubt that, but it’s a really small town, Monica. You running away is still the biggest news in a long time, and people are still talking about it like it happened yesterday. Where did you land when you got here? Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so. I landed down by the river and came straight here. I knew I could trust Fletcher.”

“Well, yeah. If he tells anyone he didn’t see you it’s not a lie.”

“Iteru sent me.”

“Why? I’m not working for the guilds anymore. What does he want with me?”

“It will actually come as a surprise to you that you are not the reason I’m here.”

“Okay. You said it’s important, though. What’s up?”

Monica hesitated. “I had to see them.”

“Okay,” Ben sighed. “That’s borderline important.”

“They’re my brothers, Ben.”

“Yes, I know. But have you factored in the possibility of running into someone else?”

“You know I have. That’s why I came looking for you. I need your help.” She proceeded to tell him the whole story about what happened on the beach and Nicodemus’s injury.

“Is he all right?” Ben asked.

“He will be,” Monica answered, “You know how he is.”

Ben shrugged and nodded his agreement. He had been on enough excursions with Nicodemus to know what sort of mischief he could get into, with or without help from anyone else. Ben, like Monica, had spent a great deal of time in Na’Til. In fact, he had been there even before her, and it was through him that she had come to know the place at all. The two of them, along with Nicodemus, had their fair share of adventures. At the time when Monica moved there permanently, however, Ben had resolved to return to his life here—in their world.

“Can you help me?” Monica asked.

Ben thought for a moment. “It might be doable,” he said, “It’s gonna take some time, though.”

“How much time?”

“How much do you have?”

“Enough.”

“Okay,” Ben proceeded to explain, “the fact is, your brothers are pretty sick of your dad, too. Oliver is already gone. He’s at college now. The others are starting to get anxious about getting out, too. They have some time to go for that, but they’ve gotten into the habit of meeting up away from him. Your dad is still highly involved in your old church. Every Sunday, after mass, he hangs around to schmooze and gladhand. Your brothers, however, go out for breakfast at the Towne Square.”

“Just the three of them?”

“Just the three of them. Your dad can’t be bothered, I guess. Busy man and all. I can’t guarantee how crowded the place’ll be, but it’s the only time I can promise they’ll all be in the same place at the same time.”

“You couldn’t call them and ask them to meet me here or something?”

“Not without drawing attention. We never hang out and they never come here. People would notice.”

“Okay. Sunday. What’s today? I haven’t been keeping track in Na’Til.”

“Friday. Think you can chill out until then?”

“Patience has always been one of my virtues.”

“Apparently not anymore, if your story is true.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Monica punched him playfully on the arm.

“Why not? It’s one of my best qualities. I’ll be there with you on Sunday in case you need to make a quick getaway.”

“Thanks,” Monica said. “I just don’t want to have to deal—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Ben assured her. “I get it. I was there. I’m not afraid of him. I’m not his kid. If he comes at me, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Monica smiled at him, “Do you have time to catch up a bit, or do you have plans?”

“It’s Shabbat. I came for my usual comics, but there’s stuff to do at home.”

“Right.”

“I have some time off coming up, though,” Ben said. “I’m sure I can manage a visit.”

“Good. If nothing else, you’ll have a chance to relearn the language.”

“C’un qi eis ó b’adicir katosi-inu?” Ben shot back.

“Of course you remember all the bad words,” Monica chuckled, “It was good to see you.

 “I’ll see you on Sunday,” Ben said, “You look good, Mon.”

“So do you,” Monica replied, as he turned to leave, “Except for your goatee, that looks stupid.”

Ben called back over his shoulder on his way out the door. “I didn’t grow it for you!”

~

Beaver was the sort of town that rolled up the sidewalks as soon as the sun went down. Sneaking from the store to Fletcher’s apartment, therefore, was not difficult. He and Monica stuck largely to back alleys and minor streets, but that was hardly necessary. There was no one around to spot them anyway.

Fletcher had readily agreed to let Monica stay with him until she and Ben could enact their plan on Sunday. He set her up on his couch with a blanket, pillow, and the promise of fresh coffee in the morning. After making certain that Monica was comfortable and had everything she needed, he excused himself to bed. Mary Jane, however, remained in the living room, wide awake and constantly shifting her glance between Monica and the street outside the windows.

While her accommodations were suitably comfortable, Monica found it difficult to sleep. She could not decide whether she was more anxious or excited at the prospect of finally seeing her brothers after being apart for so long. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the clock ticking nearby, playing out different versions of the meeting in her head.

She imagined the moment when they finally saw her. She pictured an overjoyed, possibly tearful, reaction as William swept her up in a bear hug, Stephen fumbling between a hug of his own or simply shaking her hand, Lucas beside himself, literally jumping for joy that his sister was home. It saddened her to think that Oliver would not be there, but she was glad to think that he was doing well somewhere and was certain the others would tell her all about it. She wondered how Oliver would react when they told him she had been to visit.

It occurred to her then, that he might be angry. Certainly, he would be upset at not having been there to see her, but would he be mad at her for not coming to find him? More than that, would he be angry with her for having left at all? Her imagination conjured images of the others now, their smiles turned to an ugly grimace as they turned on her in rage. They did not ask her where she had been or what she had been doing, but instead demanded to know why she abandoned them. They accused her of selfishly running away and leaving them to clean up her mess after she’d gone. They cursed at her, tossed her out, and told her never to come back again.

Monica sat up and shook the image from her head. She stood up from the couch and moved to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face.

You should be ashamed of yourself, she thought as she reached for a towel. You should know them better than that, even after all this time. Even if they were upset with her, they would never be that cruel.

Still, that anxious feeling had only increased now, and she could not shake it. She lay back down, wrapped herself in the blanket as tightly as she could, and tried once more to find sleep. She only finally dozed off when Mary Jane came from her perch on the back of the couch and curled up at her feet, purring softly as if singing a lullaby.

Fletcher left early to open the store the next morning, leaving a steaming, fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen as promised. Monica made herself a cup, and sat at the kitchen table, staring idly out the window. Even well rested, she could not quiet her nerves. As the first sip of coffee hit her tongue, she made up her mind...

She could not wait until Sunday.

~

A bright Saturday morning in spring meant she knew exactly where to find the boys. Unless things had changed dramatically in the last three years, soccer season would be in full swing, and William would be on the field.

The bright light of day made it much more difficult for Monica to sneak her way through town. Even as she approached the grounds of Beaver High School, she was not entirely certain that no one had seen her. There was a narrow escape as she passed a line of backyards behind Dauphin Street. She suspected old Mrs. Stauffer might have spotted her, but she could not say for sure.

All the same, she made it a point to stick to shadows and backways until she reached the campus. At the top of the hill leading down to the main entrance, she paused. The parking lot was completely full, of course, but the crowd had congregated in the bleachers on the field in front of the school. She could see through the chain link fence surrounding the field as the game she was hoping to see began.

A quick look around determined the way was clear, and Monica slipped across the street and amongst the cars. She kept low, avoiding being visible through the windows. It felt like it took hours for her to reach the other side, but she finally stepped off the asphalt and onto the lawn beside the tennis courts. From there, she made her way around to the grassy path between the field pavilion and Breezewood Creek. Shockingly, the pavilion was empty. Usually, there was at least one small group of students there for a smoke break, but it seemed that luck was on her side.

She dared to creep closer, moving behind the low stone wall of the pavilion as she approached the field. From there, she has a direct view from behind one of the goals. As she peered up over the edge of the wall, a familiar chant rose from the spectators, “Slider! Slider! Slider!”

Monica smiled as, sure enough, a familiar figure came racing toward her from across the field. William Snyder moved the ball with the precision grace of a trained dancer. It was almost an artform the way he dodged the opposing players who stood in his way. As they closed in around him, he faked a kick to his right and instead sent the ball left. One of his teammates picked it up, and it moved from player to player, and ever closer to the goal. William broke away from his guards, tearing his way to the end of the field. Two players moved to block his way, as his teammate sent the ball back to him.

At the last possible second, William “Slider” reminded Monica how he got that name, by throwing himself at his opponents’ feet. In one smooth motion, he dropped almost completely flat, and slid underneath them. They leapt over him, narrowing avoiding being tripped, and William used his momentum to rocket the ball into the net. The crowd erupted as he pulled off his signature move for the millionth time, and Monica joined right in. Her heart raced at seeing him in action, and she smiled even wider as he got his feet grinning.

He looked so grown up now. He was definitely taller than he had been when she last saw him. His hair, black like hers, had grown out to the base of his neck and she could just make out the beginnings of a beard on his chin. Monica sighed wistfully, seeing the missing years so clearly defined on her brother’s face.

An announcer said something about the score, and Monica glanced at the board: one to zero. She could not help but laugh; William had scored the first point of the game, his other signature move. She saw him wave into the crowd, and followed his gaze to see a girl waving excitedly back at him.

Does he have a girlfriend? she thought, suppressing the protective urge to find out more. Her heart leapt to her throat again as she saw who was seated next to this girl. Waving just as excitedly were Stephen and Lucas.

They wore gray t-shirts, emblazoned with maroon lettering and the image of the Beaver High School bobcat. Stephen looked much the same as he had before; sitting up as straight as an arrow and his hair combed neatly in a style that would not have been out of place in the 1950s. Lucas, however, was almost unrecognizable. He had grown his hair out into a long ponytail and had finally lost the last of the baby fat from his face. Even seated, Monica could tell he was getting unbearably tall. She would probably have to look up at him for a change.

Her eyes scanned further along the row, and a cold chill ran down her spine. Seated beside Lucas, applauding along with the others, was her father. Roger Snyder smiled down at his son; an expression which did not so much denote pride, but rather expectations met. He was dressed in a green polo shirt and khakis, for he dared not appear unprofessional, even at his son’s soccer game. Monica noticed his features seemed more apparent than usual. His receding hairline revealed the extent of his heavy brow, accented by his large nose and high cheek bones.

A deep, burning loathing rose in her chest. She could hear his clapping, even over the rest of the crowd, a sound so familiar to her and so full of pain. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a memory of an old bruise surfaced, and she touched the spot on her cheek.

The last time he had ever touched her.

She repositioned herself, almost rising to her feet. A part of her suddenly wanted him to see her. She wanted to dare him to come after her. Memories of her explorations over the last three years flooded her mind, and she knew. Three years of climbing mountains, hiking through forests and across deserts, scaling cliffs, and hiding from wild animals that desired her for a meal, nights spent in a predator’s territory, samples collected in the middle of a blinding storm. Experiments in the basement of the Archives which could just as easily have exploded as turned up something useful—and a few that actually did. Her cracked knuckles, weathered hands, and a few scars on her legs and back spoke to the lengths she was willing to go just to see what lay over the next ridge or around the bend in the river.

She thought about all this, and she knew.

Come at me, old man. I can take you.

More important than her anger, was her fear. Particularly, that she did not feel any. There was a time when his face alone, even devoid of emotion, could send a thrill of dread down her spine. A time when he could simply walk into the room, and that was enough to make her drop her gaze obediently, while her brothers subconsciously put themselves between them. Despite her rage, she smiled as she realized that after all this time, she was not afraid of him anymore.

The referee’s whistle brought her back to the game, and she turned her attention back to the field. Her smile vanished instantly. Her blood ran cold in her veins. The shot for the goal had gone wide, and the ball was being tossed back into play. The players were all chasing after it, except for one. William stood stock still, his eyes wide and his jaw slack.

He was staring straight at her.

Monica dropped behind the wall and out of sight, cursing under her breath. Had he really just spotted her? There was no way he could have. Or could he? Either way, she dared not lift her head again to find out. Instead, she threw herself onto the concrete floor of the pavilion and crawled in between the picnic tables to the far end. She then scurried in the direction of the parking lot, quickly darting between the vehicles again. Keeping herself as low as possible, she ran toward the field house, past the tennis courts, and back out toward the alleys that led back to Fletcher’s apartment.

She did not look back as she went but kept cursing herself all the way.

~

Monica never left the apartment for the rest of the day, nor did she mention the incident to Fletcher or Ben. On Sunday, she woke to the familiar sound of church bells wafting in through the window on the morning breeze. Instinctively, her hand moved to the cross she used to wear around her neck. She had not actually worn it in a long time. It hung on a corner of her desk back in Na’Til.

By the time Ben knocked on the door, she was dressed and ready. Fortunately, he was driving, so they did not have to sneak through alleyways to get to the Towne Square Restaurant. The little diner was tucked into the row of shops that ran down the northern side of Third Street. As they drove through the middle of town, Monica gazed wistfully out the window, a thousand childhood memories flooding her mind.

“Not a lot’s changed,” she pointed out.

“It’s Beaver,” Ben said. “Not a lot has changed since the ‘50s. The Five and Ten closed, though.”

“What!”

“Yeah. It’s a Starbucks now.”

“That’s just wrong.”

Ben pulled into an open parking space two store fronts over from the diner. “Ready?”

“No.” Monica had her hand on the door handle, but did not move. Her heart was racing, and she felt like she could not breathe.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ben said, “You can always come back another time.”

“I’ve put it off long enough.”

“I’ll be right here. Just go in, and wait for them. If you don’t feel like you can do it, then just come right back.”

“Did you bring your crystal?”

“You didn’t bring one?”

“They don’t come with you when you travel, Ben, you know that. I figured you probably have enough trouble hiding the one you already have. I wasn’t going to leave you with another.”

“It’s back at my place. We can always go get it.”

“Are you sure no one else is going to come in while I’m here?”

“Highly unlikely,” Ben assured her. “The after-church crowd doesn’t hit until closer to lunch. You should have at least two hours before it’s a concern. Here...” He reached back into the back seat and produced a ball cap and sunglasses. “You can at least wear these. I don’t know how much it will help, but it’s something.

“Thanks.” Monica took them, tucked her hair up under the hat and put on the glasses. “There. No paparazzi.”

“Go get ‘em, movie star.”

“How do you think this will go?” Monica asked. She fidgeted with a hole in her jeans. “Do you think... Will it be worth it?”

“I guarantee,” Ben said, setting a hand on her shoulder, “It can’t possibly be as bad as you’re thinking. You got this.”

Monica took a few breaths to steady herself, nodded to Ben, and stepped out of the car. A quick look around revealed only a few people in the vicinity, mostly on the other side of the street and too far away to really see her. Hands in her pockets, she moved quickly to the steel and glass door of the restaurant and stepped inside.

A sign just inside the door told Monica “Please Seat Yourself”. A row of booths lined the front area of the diner, and she quickly slid into one as far away from the door as possible. A quick glance into the back dining area, full of round tables and tall windows, indicated that she was the only customer for the moment.

A few seconds later, a waitress appeared by Monica’s side. She looked up and felt a small wave of relief that it was no one she recognized. The waitress smiled pleasantly and handed Monica a menu.

“What can I get you to drink?” she asked.

“Coffee, please.” Monica lowered her eyes and pretended to read the menu as the waitress departed. She did not look up when the waitress returned with the coffee.

Minutes seemed like hours. Twice the waitress appeared again to ask if Monica wanted anything else, but she politely waved her away. She drummed her fingers on the table while she added cream and sugar to her coffee. She did not even notice that she had put in too much. Her fingernails clinked nervously on the side of the mug, and she rocked back and forth slightly. The waiting was killing her.

The sound of the door opening made her jump, and coffee splashed onto her hands. She bit her lip to keep from reacting, and slowly turned to see who had walked in. Then she immediately turned back around again.

“Good morning, boys!” the waitress called. “The usual?”

“Thanks, Katie,” Monica heard Stephen say. Out of the corner of her eye, Monica saw her brother waving to the waitress as the three of them sat down in a booth on the other side of the room. She resumed holding her hot mug between her hands, turned slightly away from the boys while keeping an ear in their direction, and took another sip.

“Don’t order big this time,” William said to Lucas, “or I’m not covering you again.”

“I don’t!” Lucas protested.

“You got a double order of pancakes last week,” Stephen reminded him, “It’s not my fault you spent your entire allowance already, so please don’t make it my problem.”

“Fine. I’ll just get eggs or something.”

“Thank you.” Stephen opened his menu, “And I wanted to ask you about Wednesday. Will you be able to drive me to the debate, or should I find another ride?”

There was no reply, and Monica realized he was not speaking to Lucas anymore.

“Earth to William,” Stephen said.

“I’m here,” William insisted.

“You’re a million miles away,” Stephen said. “Are you still on about yesterday?”

“I’m telling you guys, I saw her,” William pressed, “She was right there.”

Monica almost choked. He had seen her. And he had told Stephen and Lucas. Now here they were, mere yards away, and she was the topic of their conversation. Monica could not move. She just remained where she was and listened.

“I looked when you looked,” said Stephen. “There was nobody there.” “I’m not going crazy.”

“I never said you were.”

“Dad would,” Lucas added.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Stephen asked.

“No!” William sounded offended. “Even if I was crazy, I would know better than that.”

“You’re not crazy,” Lucas said. His voice had changed while she was away, and Monica was amazed at how grown up he already sounded. “I used to see her, too.”

There was a pause in the conversation as they received a round of coffee.

“When?” asked William.

“Right after she left,” Lucas explained. “For a while there, everywhere I looked I could have sworn I saw her. Just out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked, she was gone.”

“You never said,” Stephen replied.

“Because I thought I was crazy,” Lucas told him. “I was only nine! I just missed her so much that...” He trailed off, stirring a mug of coffee he had not yet added anything to.

“I thought I saw her once, too,” Stephen said. “At the mall. Scared the crap out of this poor woman. I only saw her from behind, so I thought... but it wasn’t her.”

“Do you ever wonder where she went?” asked Lucas.

“Only all the time,” said William. “Where she went, what she’s doing, how she’s doing.”

“Why she hasn’t reached out,” Lucas said, to no one in particular. Monica’s chest tightened. “I mean, three years... no letters, not even a phone call to let us know she’s okay. She’s just gone, and we got left behind to worry about her.”

“To be fair,” William pointed out, “We were worried about her even when she was still here.”

“For the very same reason she’s not here,” added Stephen.

“I get why she left,” Lucas said. “I never questioned that.”

“I don’t blame her,” said Stephen.

“I tried to,” said William. “I actually tried to be angry at her. I guess I thought it would make it easier, ya know? I tried so hard to be mad, but every time I got riled up I just remembered what she ran away from, and suddenly...”

“You were mad at someone else,” Stephen offered. William said nothing but nodded and took a sip of his coffee.

“Oliver told me once,” Lucas said, “that he blames himself. He kept thinking that we could have done more for her. That if we had just protected her more, stood up for her more, then maybe she’d still be here.”

“I had that same thought,” William admitted. “I train constantly. I am strong. I am fast. I am skilled. I have years and years of medals and trophies to prove it. But the night she ran out, I have never felt weaker.”

“If she really was here,” Stephen said, “I don’t think I’d even know what to say to her.”

“You?”

“Yeah. I’m great at making speeches, but for Monica... I can’t even find the words.”

“Damn,” said William, allowing himself a small laugh. “If you can’t talk to her, then what hope do we have? I was really counting on you to speak for the rest of us, man.”

“Sorry.”

“I wouldn’t be able to say much either,” Lucas said. “I just...I just want to tell her how much I miss her.”

“We all do.”

“When I think about where she went,” Stephen said, “I like to think that she’s somewhere really far away from this place.”

“And doing something great,” said William.

“With people who are actually good for her,” said Lucas.

Monica nearly dropped her cup. Her shoulders were shaking as she fought back a wave of tears. She took a breath, drank the last of her coffee, and steeled herself to stand up and tell them she was there.

The door flew open.

Roger Snyder burst into the diner, his long jacket billowing behind him like a cloak. His slender frame filled the doorway to the top, looming through the entrance. Monica barely turned, half standing, and immediately sat down again. The boys stared at him, as shocked as anyone by his sudden appearance.

“Dad!” Stephen managed to be the first to speak. “Um... We have an extra seat if you want to join us.”

Roger scowled down at his sons, eyes burning with controlled fury. They met his gaze, none of them wavering. They had seen that look before, and knew it was not meant for them.

“Where is she?”

William, Stephen, and Lucas now looked at each other, searching for an answer. William shook his head and shrugged.

“Who?” Stephen asked.

“You know perfectly damn well,” Roger shot back. He slowly strode further into the room, scanning every corner as he spoke. “I’m up at the church, discussing council matters with Father Moyer, when Mrs. Nichols comes up to me and tells me something very interesting. She tells me that she saw Monica the other day, walking up the street from the river.”

He turned to face the boys, his eyes attempting to pierce through them, searching for answers. When they said nothing, he continued.

“This was then confirmed by Peter Geist, who swears he spotted her at the soccer field yesterday. Right about the time when you missed that goal, William. So, where is she?”

“You’re guess is as good as mine, dad,” William said.

“We haven’t seen her,” Stephen confirmed, glad that he was speaking the truth. Lucas simply nodded along.

“She’s here,” Roger stated. “I know she is.”

“The whole town’s been on the lookout for her,” Stephen said. “We got a lot of false reports in the first few months after she ran away. I wouldn’t just up and believe what anyone tells us.”

“Especially Mrs. Nichols,” William added. “I wouldn’t trust her to tell me the sky was blue.”

Roger moved closer to their table, leaned down close and lowered his voice.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said. “Where is your sis-”

Monica made to stand again. Her shoulders squared, teeth clenched, jaw set, and ready to throw a punch.

“Mornin’, fellas! Beautiful day, am I right?” Ben stepped in behind Roger, beaming merrily at Monica’s brothers. Roger slowly turned to face him, and Ben waved cheerfully at him. Monica slowly sat back down again.

“Benjamin,” he said.

“Yo.”

“Funny you should turn up,” Roger said. “Right as we were talking about my daughter.”

“I was under the impression that was not a new topic for you guys,” Ben said, then turned to the boys and added, “Too soon?”

“What’s new,” Roger boomed, forcing Ben’s attention back on him, “is that my daughter has apparently been spotted in town recently.”

“Really?” said Ben, adopting a note of surprise and overdoing it, “Rude of her not to tell me.”

“Indeed,” Roger said, regarding Ben suspiciously. “Where were you this morning? Not at church.”

“I guess you didn’t get the memo,” said Ben. “I’m Jewish. Kind of always have been. Sunday mornings are for bagels, my dude.” As he gestured towards the front counter, Ben caught sight of where Monica was sitting. He quickly turned his attention to William and edged closer. Roger never took his eyes off Ben.

“I hear you guys won yesterday,” Ben said to William, playfully punching his shoulder.

“Good to know the old alma mater’s still killing it,” Ben glanced at Roger, who had now turned his back to Monica.

“Garret, if you’ve seen my daughter—”

“What, exactly?” Ben snapped. He locked eyes on Roger, almost challenging him. “Do you honestly think I would tell you? Whose side do you think I’m on?”

“If you-”

“You can’t intimidate me,” Ben continued, not letting Roger get a word in. “I’m not a child, and I’m not your child. I haven’t seen your daughter. I wouldn’t tell you if I did, but she’s not here.”

“I’ve alerted the police,” Roger said. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. If Monica is in town, they will find her.”

“And they will be pissed when they hear you’ve wasted their time,” Ben retorted, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m craving cream cheese.”

Ben sidled past Roger, and cast a glance to the far booth. Monica was gone.

Satisfied, Ben nodded to William, Stephen, and Lucas. Then he went up to the counter, ordered a bagel, and left.

Monica was already in the car when he got back, lying flat in the back seat.

“You okay?” Ben asked.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

“What were you going to do?”

Monica only huffed a reply.

“Did you really want your reunion with your brothers to go like that?”

“Just another thing he ruined for me.”

“There’s always next week.”

“No. I can’t come back again. Not anytime soon. He called the police, didn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“Just drive.”

Monica remained in the back, lying out of sight while Ben made his way home.

“You at least got to see them, right?” Ben offered, trying to sound hopeful.

“I did.” Monica smiled, in spite of herself, “They miss me.”

“Was there ever a doubt in your mind?”

“Actually, yeah,” Monica admitted. “I thought maybe my dad had gotten into their heads. I was wrong, though. They still...”

“I know.”

Monica stayed in the car as Ben went into the house. He returned a few minutes later, and pulled the glowing, purple crystal from his pocket. Monica took it from him as she climbed into the front seat.

“Thanks,” Monica said. “For everything.”

“Of course,” Ben told her. “Oh, don’t forget these.” He reached to the floor in the back and pulled up a white, cardboard box. The words “Kretchmar's Bakery” were printed on it in bold letters.

“I don’t think Nicodemus would have forgiven me if I did.”

“I’ll be around again soon,” Ben promised. “Maybe I’ll talk to your brothers at some point, actually let them know I’ve been in touch with you.”

“I think that would be okay.”

“Good. Now go. Get out of here and make sure Nicodemus didn’t burn the place down while you were gone. Codin is probably losing his mind.”

“Oddé aur tu osé, Ben,” Monica said.

“Anim os ined, Monica,” Ben replied.

“Your accent is off,” she teased.

“I can still take those donuts away, ya know.”

Monica grasped the crystal between her hands, and vanished. Ben picked the crystal up off the seat where it fell, put it in his pocket and went back into the house.

“I’m back,” Monica announced as she strode into the Archives. Codin and Nicodemus were bent over their work at the table as usual. Only Codin stood to greet her. Nicodemus had his injured leg propped up on a bench and waved as she approached. “They let you out and about.”

“Only this far,” Nicodemus said, then noticed the box she was carrying. “Is that what I think it is?” Monica nodded and set the box on the table.

“How-how d-did it g-go?” Codin asked.

“Not as well as I’d hoped,” Monica said, “but better than I feared. Ben says ‘hi’.”

“D-did you s-see...did y-you ru-run into...”

“Very nearly,” said Monica. Codin looked slightly panicked, so she added, “I’m fine. Nicodemus, did you happen to get to those...reports...”

She turned to face him, but he could not answer her, his mouth full of donut such as it was. The best he could do was shrug and shake his head. “I thought not.”

“S-sorry,” said Codin. “We-we’ve...I m-mean he...”

“It’s fine,” Monica said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“A-are you s-s-sure?”

“Yes.” She grabbed a donut from the box, eyeing Nicodemus as she did so. “Make sure you leave me at least one more.”

“No promises.”

Monica went into her office and shut the door. She sat down at her desk, pulling the half- written report closer. She paused then, her stylus hovering over the paper. Once again, thoughts of her brothers filled her mind. This time, though, she smiled. There was no anxiety. She still missed them, but now without fear.

She did not think of her father at all.

They’re okay, she thought. We’re okay.

She took a deep breath and began to write, the words flowing freely.

Arthur Roberts is majoring in secondary education. In addition to his work in Pitch, he is also working on a full-length novel series.