TITLE: For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her Part I: Takes One to Know One 
AUTHOR: Maggie McCain
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask before archiving or forwarding to 
              mailing lists. I doubt I'll say no, but I want 
              to know where it is. 
FEEDBACK: All feedback will be welcomed with open arms at 
          jainaps@my-deja.com. 
SPOILERS: Slight ones for "Donoterase"
RATING: PG 
CLASSIFICATION: SP
DISCLAIMER: "The Pretender" and all its characters and situations
            belong to NBC
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Carolyn for great beta services.



~~~~~~~~~~ For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
       Part I: Takes One to Know One


The corridor was bright with alphabet posters and smelled 
of Play-Doh and peanut butter. The glassed-in tops of 
classroom doors revealed groups of children involved in 
playing, reading, napping, and the myriad of other little 
activities that make up the school day.

The dark man smiled, bending nearly double as he took a 
drink from a tiny water fountain. As he stood, something in 
his posture eased. This place was so normal, so peaceful. 
He looked around the hall again and sighed.

"Is something wrong, Dr. Sullivan?" 

"No. I was just... this place makes me feel nostalgic."

His companion grinned. "I know what you mean. Every time I 
come down here, I get a sudden urge to eat paste and sing 
the alphabet song. I think that's one of the reasons we've 
been so successful here. Parents like to feel that their 
children aren't missing out on a normal school experience. 
The kids get the special attention they need without 
feeling like guinea pigs. I'm sure you can understand how 
important that is. A cold, clinical atmosphere does more 
harm than good in cases like these. We can't help these 
kids if we don't allow ourselves to care about them for 
more than their research value."

The dark man was silent for a moment, some strong emotion 
glinting in his deep eyes.

"Dr. Sullivan?"

He shook his head, as if to banish an unwelcome thought. "I 
couldn't agree with you more. And please, call me Jarod."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Dr. Harrison?"

The young woman looked up and smiled. "Hello, you must be 
Dr. Sullivan. I'm Jessica Harrison- but everyone around 
here just calls me Jessie."

He grinned. "Only if you'll call me Jarod."

"It's a deal. So, Jarod, I hear you're doing some great 
things with autism treatments. Your last article was 
fascinating."

"Actually, Jessie, one of the main reasons I came here was 
your last article."

"The case study?"

"Yes, the little girl- Gracie. Your description of the case 
was fascinating; I have never encountered a case that was 
quite so resistant to treatment before."

"I know. I've been working with autistic children since I 
was an undergrad at Columbia, and this is the first case of 
this kind I've ever run across- her real name is Maggie, by 
the way. She isn't hostile or uncooperative like some of 
the children; in fact she is wonderfully behaved. But no 
matter what therapy we use, her condition remains the same. 
Her tests have been practically without fluctuation since 
she came here, and that's simply unheard of. Her symptoms 
are actually not severe. All the patients I ever seen with 
similar ones have responded well to treatment. I just don't 
understand why she hasn't. It's such a shame. Her 
intelligence scores are very high, but it's as if she's a 
prisoner inside herself."

"Jessie," asked Jarod, "would you be willing to let me take 
over Maggie's treatment while I'm here? I've had some 
amazing successes in my work before, and I would like to 
try to help her."

"Of course," Jessie replied. "I'll take you to her this 
afternoon. I hope you can do something for her. She is such 
a sweet child."

"Is she here now?"

"Yes, she's in the all-day program. They're napping right 
now, but if you like I could give you her file and you 
could look over it before you go see her."

"That would be perfect, thank you."

Flipping her dark braid over her shoulder, Jessie rummaged 
in a drawer, extracting, after a slight struggle, a hefty 
file, bound with rubber bands to prevent the contents from 
escaping. She handed it to Jarod. "Here you go. You can 
look this over until about two... it has some information 
that wasn't in the article. I'll be by your office then to 
take you to meet Maggie."

"Thanks, Jessie. I'll see you at two o'clock then."
	
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Naptime was ending as Jarod and Jessie entered the 
classroom. The class was small, three children being cared 
for by two teachers, who were putting away sleeping mats 
while their charges pursued their own interests for a few 
moments. The demeanor of the students, whose normal 
appearances made their behavior seem even more abnormal, 
cruelly undercut the resemblance to an ordinary schoolroom.

These were the difficult cases, the ones that weren't 
responding to treatment. A cherubic boy with blonde curls 
sat in a corner, clutching a tattered stuffed dinosaur. He 
rocked back and forth as if to an inaudible rhythm, making 
a chuffing sound to himself. A girl who was obviously his 
sister was seated in front of a stack of oversized blocks, 
piling them atop each other in a fantastic tower. When one 
of the teachers, pausing to speak to her, placed her hand 
on the child's shoulder, she jerked as if the touch were 
painful and screamed in fury.

The third student was Maggie. Jarod recognized her from the 
picture in her file; she was a beautiful child, with a head 
full of red ringlets and startling green eyes that were too 
large for her tiny pale face. She was standing in corner of 
the room, seemingly oblivious to the commotion surrounding 
her. She clutched a large book to her chest as though it 
were a teddy bear. Jessie crossed the room to her. 

"Come on, Maggie, let's take a walk." The child did not 
respond, but when Jessie placed a gentle hand on her 
shoulder and guided her forward, she came without 
resistance. Jarod followed them out the door and into a 
smaller room, furnished with low-lying tables and chairs.

"Here, Maggie," Jessie said, "sit down and you can read 
your book." She gently led her to a chair, and, taking the 
book from her hands, opened it to a marked place and laid 
it on the table. Jarod looked at the title: *Little Women.* 

"Does she read?" he asked in surprise.

"Oh, no, but she loves to look at books. She seems 
fascinated by the shapes of words. She will sit and 
concentrate on a single one for hours. She even turns the 
pages. It's the only thing we can get her to focus on."

"How do you know she doesn't understand what she's 
reading?"

"Well, actually I can't say for certain. But she has been 
with us for over a year and she has never spoken or reacted 
to verbal stimuli. If the medical tests hadn't proved 
otherwise, I'd have diagnosed her as a deaf-mute. But she 
can hear us; she's just buried so deep inside herself that 
she doesn't seem to realize we're even here. It must be 
heartbreaking for her poor mother... to have such a 
beautiful little girl and have to live knowing that she 
doesn't even seem to know you exist."

Jarod sighed. "Yes, it must be."

"Well," said Jessie, "I'll leave you with her for a while. 
I know you want to make some observations before you begin 
treatment."

"Thank you." He watched in silence as Jessie left, shutting 
the door behind her. How many doors were shut on Maggie? 
Was there any way for him to open them? He knew only too 
well the tragic existence of a child who was locked away 
from its family by doors and armed guards... but what if 
Maggie's guards were in her own body, her own mind? What 
if, somewhere inside herself, she wanted to escape as badly 
as he had? Jarod vowed to himself that, if there were any 
way to help her, he would do it. He would do everything he 
could think of to take that dull stare out of her big eyes. 
He sat at the tiny table across from where she sat, 
focussing at the pages of her book.

"Maggie," he said softly. "I know you can hear me. My name 
is Jarod. I am here to help you."

She made no response. 
"Dr. Jessie says you like to read. What are you reading 
now?" He leaned over the book. "*Little Women.* I like that 
book. It's about a family, with four sisters. Do you have 
any sisters? Or brothers maybe?" He watched her carefully 
as he spoke, searching for any sign that she heard him.

"I have one of each. A brother, and a sister," *had,* he 
added silently, but pushed the wave of sorrow for Kyle away 
as he continued. "Do you want to know their names? My 
brother's name is Kyle, and my sister's name is Emily." A 
subtle movement caught his eye. Did he imagine it, or had 
there been a flicker of change in her expression? He paused 
a moment, then continued. "So there were five people in my 
family; my Mommy's name was Margaret, and my Daddy's name 
was Major Charles, and they had three children, Emily, 
Kyle, and me, Jarod. We-" he stopped abruptly. The child 
who had never responded to verbal stimuli had jerked her 
head up with a gasp and was staring at him, a look of 
shocked recognition on her face. Before he had time to do 
anything but stare, her head had dropped back to the book 
and her eyes, momentarily so clear, were again vacant and 
dull.

"Maggie?" Jarod was shaken. He reached across the table and 
gently cupped her chin in his hand, raising her face from 
the book. Her expression was unchanged. With a sigh he 
released her, and her head again dropped toward the page. 
He returned her to classroom and hurried to his office, his 
mind seething with questions. He needed answers-answers 
that this school didn't have. He was going to have to get 
his research team to work on Maggie Mackenzie.  

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Jarod sat hunched over his laptop, oblivious to the 
gathering shadows outside his window as the day slipped 
into dusk. He had never given as much concentration to 
anything as he did every day to ensuring that his father 
and "brother" would stay safe. He sighed. This life was 
lonely, of course, but without the desperation he had begun 
to feel before he had found them. The fact that he could 
call them, talk to them, made the ache bearable. It was 
still far from the normal family life he'd always dreamed 
of, but it was so sweet. And someday, he was sure, there 
would be a time when they would be together-all of them-
free at last from the echo of pursuing footsteps.

He picked up the phone and dialed.
	
"Hello?"

"Five minutes to trace, Dad. How are you?"

"We're doing fine. We went fishing yesterday."
	
He smiled. "That sounds great. I wish I could have been 
there."
	
"So do we, son." Major Charles was silent for a moment. 
"Have you found anything?"
	
"Maybe. I want you to find out everything you can about a 
girl named Margaret Emily Mackenzie, date of birth 
September 22, 1993. Send the information to box 23."
	
Jarod heard his father gasp. "Margaret Emily?"
	
"I know, I felt the same way. It may be coincidental, but I 
can't just let it go."
	
"I'll do what I can. Expect it tomorrow afternoon."

"Good." 

"I love you, son."

"I love you too, Dad. Both of you."

"Goodbye."

Jarod hung up with a smile. Tomorrow morning he would try 
talking to Maggie again. Tomorrow afternoon he would have 
her history. And tomorrow evening he intended to visit the 
Mackenzie home.

His eyes turned to the picture of his mother, holding the 
infant Emily in her arms. "I'm getting closer, Mom," he 
whispered. "I can feel it."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Jarod could feel his stomach churning as he parked outside 
Maggie Mackenzie's house. The information his father had 
uncovered had confirmed his suspicions. He was sure that 
Carolyn Mackenzie knew something about his family. But from 
what he had learned about her, she would be extremely 
unwilling to part with any information. Her behavior was 
that of a woman with a secret, but no one could keep silent 
forever; there had to be a way to convince her to talk. 
Taking a deep breath, Jarod started up the walk.

The house was a pretty little two-story, with a big yard 
that was perfect for a child to play in. It was neat, but 
there was a certain air about it that spoke of making do; 
Maggie's tuition couldn't be cheap. Jarod made a resolution 
that the Centre was due to make a charitable donation soon. 
He knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Carolyn Mackenzie answered the door hesitantly, 
holding it in front of her like a shield. Her eyes, green 
like Maggie's, were wary and concerned.

"Hello, Mrs. Mackenzie. I'm Dr. Jarod Sullivan. I have 
taken over your daughter's treatment at Ferncrest," he 
said, smiling in an attempt to put her at ease.

"I was unaware that Dr. Jessie was leaving," she remarked, 
her voice tense.

"No, she isn't going anywhere. She has asked me to consult 
on Maggie's case. I have had some remarkable successes in 
treating autistic patients in the past."

"So then why are you here? Don't you see enough of her 
during the day?"

"Mrs. Mackenzie, I would like to speak with you about your 
daughter. I spent some time with her today, and I think I 
can help her.  Please, may I come in for a little while?"

She was quiet for a moment, examining Jarod with a look of 
appraisal. Finally, she nodded. "Come in."

Jarod entered the front hall, and watched as Carolyn 
fastened several locks on the door.

"From outward appearances, I wouldn't have picked this 
neighborhood to have much of a crime problem," he remarked 
mildly.

"I have to protect Maggie," she said quickly. "She's... 
different from other children, I have to be very careful."

Jarod followed her into the living room. "Family is the 
most precious thing we have. You're wise to protect her; 
when you lose your family it makes a hole inside you."

"You sound like you speak from experience." Carolyn's voice 
had softened.

"I was taken from my family when I was very young."

"Taken?"

"Yes. I-" he was interrupted by a crash and a scream from 
upstairs. Carolyn bolted from her seat and ran towards the 
sound, Jarod close behind her. They followed the sound of 
crying to a little blue-and-yellow bedroom upstairs, where 
Maggie sat in the midst of a vast pile of blocks, holding 
her wrist and sobbing.

"Sweetie, what is it? What happened?" Carolyn was frantic 
as she tried to catch hold of her daughter's injured arm. 
To Jarod's amazement, she answered her mother.

"I was trying to finish my building," she wailed,  "And I 
stood on the chair to put the top on and it fell over and I 
hurt my arm!"

Jarod cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said. "I think we 
have some things to talk about." Both the Mackenzies 
whirled around with looks of shock and horror on their 
faces. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm not going to turn you 
in. But I would like to know why a treatment-resistant 
autistic is suddenly able to communicate."

Maggie had stopped crying and was staring at him intensely. 
She tugged on her mother's sleeve and whispered something 
in her ear that seemed to startle her. "No, Maggie, that's 
impossible," she said. 

"It *is,* Momma. I know it is. I can tell."

"Mrs. Mackenzie," Jarod interrupted, "I don't know what is 
going on here, but I promise I am not here to hurt you or 
Maggie. I just need to ask you some questions."

Carolyn regarded him with suspicion. "You can ask, but I 
can't promise to answer."

Jarod reached into his pocket and pulled out the pictures 
of his mother and sister that he carried with him 
everywhere. "Have you seen either of these women?"

Carolyn shook her head in disbelief as she looked from one 
picture to the other. "Who are you, really?" she asked, her 
voice sharp with suspicion. "Where did you get these 
pictures?" 

"My name is Jarod. I was taken from my family when I was 
very young. I have been searching for them for years. This 
is all I have been able to find of my mother and sister."

"I can't believe this," she said. "This is impossible. 
You..."

"You know them, then?" Jarod's voice was high with 
excitement. "You know Mom and Emily?"

"Know them? Emily is my best friend. We were roommates in 
college; we even got tattoos together on her twenty-first 
birthday. She used to talk about you all the time. I never 
thought... I never even dared to hope I'd see you someday."

Jarod felt his heart beating as though it would tear 
through his ribs. "Do you know where they are now?"

She shook her head regretfully. "Something happened about 
three years ago and they had to go into hiding. I get a 
card or an email every once in a while, but never anything 
I could trace."

Jarod squeezed his eyes shut to hide the disappointment 
that hit him like a strong left hook. Three years ago... 
Boston. He could see it playing on the backs of his 
eyelids: the cab, the shots, and his mother pressing 
herself to the back window as she drove away from him... 
after a moment, he raised his head.

"Mrs. Mackenzie-"

"Carolyn."

"Carolyn, would you- please, could you tell me about them? 
What are they like?  Do they-" his voice wavered. "Do they 
miss me?"
	
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Seated in Carolyn Mackenzie's living room, Jarod felt his 
happiness surround him with an almost palpable warmth. 
After a lifetime spent with two old pictures and a few 
indistinct memories, he had found a priceless gift-- a 
woman who had known his lost mother and sister intimately 
for many years, and was prepared to spend hours in happy 
reminiscence of the time she had spent with them. Carolyn 
had dug out a box of mementos and scrapbooks for him to 
look at, and as Maggie played contentedly on the rug beside 
them, she told him the story behind each theater stub and 
snapshot in the box.

"What on earth is this, Carolyn?" Jarod held up a small 
piece of glossy cardboard. It was a replica of the Land O 
Lakes margarine logo, with certain changes. The logo now 
read, "Land O Tats" and he was certain that the kneeling 
Indian maiden had not been bare-chested the last time he 
had looked at a margarine tub. The bottom of the card read, 
simply, "Colette."

Carolyn took the card from him and laughed. "This is the 
business card of the tattoo artist Emily and I went to," 
she said, pulling up her pant leg to reveal an intricate 
design etched onto the skin of her ankle. "Em had wanted a 
tattoo for ages, but your mom was scared she'd catch a 
disease from the needle. So do you know what she did?"

"What?" Jarod was fascinated.

"She started doing research, and found out more information 
on tattoos and tattooing than I even realized existed. Then 
she told Miss Meg that the last recorded case of anyone 
contracting a serious disease while getting a tattoo was in 
1964, that reputable artists used autoclave sterilization 
and disposable needles, and that she was over eighteen and 
there was nothing that she could do to stop her, so she 
might as well stop worrying."

Jarod grinned. "How did she talk you into going with her?"

Carolyn shrugged. "It wasn't hard. Em's very persuasive. 
Besides, she was my best friend. There was no one I would 
rather have with me."

"So, what kind of a tattoo did she get?"

Carolyn shook her head, a wicked grin on her face. "I'll 
leave that to her to tell you," she said. "I want you two 
to have something to talk about." Her voice caught a 
little, and she blinked back tears. "I can't believe you're 
still alive, Jarod," she said. "They thought you were 
dead."

"Who told them that?"	

"Apparently your dad had tried to rescue you once," she 
said, looking to him for confirmation. He nodded.

"Well, apparently he told your mom that if he hadn't met 
them at a pre-arranged spot in three days, that they should 
assume that he was dead and go into hiding. Em was really 
little then, but she remembers it. A priest came and told 
your mom that they had found a car that had crashed and 
exploded on a road leading away from the Centre. It held 
the bodies of a man and two small boys. They were burned 
beyond recognition... the car had been run off the road." 
She took a shaky breath. "Miss Meg was devastated, but she 
was even more determined to keep Em safe. She was like you, 
you know?"

"Like me?"	

"Smart like you, I mean. Miss Meg was terrified that the 
Centre would find out she had another genius child and take 
Emily too."

"So what did she do?"

"Well, stayed on the move and kept a low profile. Miss Meg 
worked a little but your dad had some money for emergencies 
and it was enough to support them. When Em started school, 
she dumbed herself down on purpose. Your mom spent hours 
teaching her things like how to mispronounce words and make 
mistakes on her math problems. She made herself seem 
average enough that nobody took much notice of her."

Jarod smiled, picturing a tiny girl with dark, intense eyes 
laboring to master the art of mediocrity. "I think that the 
whole family has become experts at blending in."

Carolyn smiled sadly. "When I first met Em I thought she 
was the most normal person I'd ever seen. Then I got to 
know her a little better and thought she must have had some 
deep emotional problems, because she was incredibly 
paranoid. Eventually I realized that she was one of the 
more stable people I knew, so if she took precautions, she 
must have a good reason. When she told me about her family, 
though, I was so amazed... I mean, she's had so much to 
cope with, and she's still such an incredible person." 

"Tell me more about her," Jarod asked, entreaty edging his 
voice.

"She's extremely intelligent, but you probably know all 
about that," Carolyn began. "Apparently it runs in your 
family."

Jarod nodded, encouraging her to continue.

"Emily is so strong. You'd never know it to look at her, 
but she can fight like some kind of action hero. When we 
were in college she took all these classes-- every form of 
martial arts she could think of, kickboxing, self-defense... 
anything. She didn't have to study much, so she spent a lot 
of time training. She was always at the gym or the firing 
range, practicing. She's a great shot."

"I'm glad," Jarod said. "I recently found out that the 
Centre has been trying to track her. I was afraid she 
wouldn't be able to defend herself. It's good that she took 
precautions."

Carolyn shook her head. "You don't understand, Jarod. She 
wasn't taking precautions. She was training."	

"Training?"

"She was trying to make herself into some sort of female 
Rambo so that she could punish the Centre for what they did 
to her family."

"I don't understand," Jarod said. "If she thought we were 
dead, why didn't she just go on with her life, live 
normally?"

She shot him a piercing glance. "You wouldn't have."

He sighed in resignation. "No, I wouldn't have. Not once I 
knew what the Centre had done... what they continue to do. 
They can't be allowed to do to other families what they did 
to ours."

"You sound just like Em." She was silent for a moment, 
thinking. "Jarod, have you ever read any fairy tales?"

"A few."

"There's a story by Hans Christian Andersen called 'The 
Wild Swans.' It was about a princess whose eleven brothers 
were turned into swans. To break the enchantment, she had 
to pick stinging nettles and use them to weave coats for 
her brothers. When she placed the coats on their bodies, 
the spell would be broken; but from the time she began her 
task until the time she finished, she could not speak a 
word, or her brothers would die. The nettles burned her 
hands, and she was imprisoned for being a witch, but she 
never tried to defend herself. She spent all her time 
weaving so that she could save her brothers, and they could 
all be together again."

Jarod was silent as Carolyn paused for a moment.

"Emily told me that 'The Wild Swans' was her favorite 
story. Your dad used to read it to her when he tucked her 
in at night. She told me once that the morning he left to 
try to rescue you from the Centre, the last thing she said 
to him was that if he couldn't save you, she would... just 
like the princess in that story."

He shut his eyes, trying to restrain the tears that pressed 
at them. 

Leaning forward, Carolyn laid a warm hand on his, clenched 
into a fist on his lap. "They thought you were dead, Jarod, 
but they never forgot you," she said softly. "Every year 
they had a holiday for your birthday, your dad's birthday, 
and Kyle's birthday. They did the same thing every year, no 
matter what else was happening in their lives. Every year 
on your birthday, as soon as Emily got out of school, they 
would go to church and light a candle for you. Then they 
would find a park, someplace beautiful and peaceful, and 
they would talk about you. Your mom would tell Em all the 
stories she could think of, anything to make her feel like 
she had known you. Then they would go home, and your mom 
would make your favorite dinner..."

"Chicken and mashed potatoes," Jarod said, suddenly and 
unarguably sure as a vivid memory swept him. For a bare 
moment, he could taste it... Mom would pick the chicken off 
the bones for him and drop it into the hole he had made in 
the center of his fluffy potatoes, and she would cover them 
with golden brown gravy, salty and tangy on his tongue.

"Yes." Carolyn's voice was soft. "Our senior year of 
college, Em got sick and she couldn't go home for Jarod's 
Day. I went to church and lit the candle for her, and found 
a diner that made chicken and mashed potatoes and brought 
it back to the dorm. While we were eating, she told me 
stories about you... you would never know that she was born 
after you were taken. She told me about a time that you 
fell off a ladder and cut your back..."

"I still have the scar," said Jarod quietly.

She looked at him, her perceptive eyes deep and green and 
still. "I think you still have a lot of scars," she said.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"There's one thing I don't understand, Carolyn," he said, 
when she had talked herself hoarse telling him about his 
sister.

"What?"

"Why does Maggie pretend to be autistic? She's obviously a 
normal child."

Carolyn smiled ruefully. "That's where you're wrong, Jarod. 
Maggie isn't a normal child. But she's not autistic, 
either." She beckoned to the girl, who had been amusing 
herself quietly while they talked.

"Maggie, tell Jarod what you've been studying with Mommy."	

The child pushed a red curl out of her face, regarding him 
with curiosity. "When I go to school, I read fun books and 
take naps. I have my lessons with Mommy at home at night 
and on the weekends. Right now we're learning geometry, and 
I'm studying the French Revolution for history. For 
homework I have to write an essay comparing how the French 
Revolution was portrayed in books written by English and 
French writers."

Jarod stared at her in amazement, then turned to Carolyn. 
"Why?

"I'm afraid." She turned to her daughter. "Sweetie, your 
favorite show is coming on in five minutes. Why don't you 
go watch it in Mommy's room while Jarod and I talk some 
more?"

Maggie nodded and picked up *Little Women* before leaving 
the room.

"What's her favorite show?" Jarod asked curiously. 

Carolyn grinned. "Biography."

He shook his head. "So you have a genius child, but you 
send her to a school for children with severe learning 
disabilities?"

She leaned forward, suddenly intense. "My husband David and 
I were having trouble conceiving a child, so we went to a 
fertility clinic. It worked; I got pregnant with Maggie, 
and we were so happy..."

"What happened?"

"I hadn't seen Emily in a long time, but she appeared on my 
doorstep one day out of the blue. She made me come with her 
to a loud restaurant, where she was sure we couldn't be 
overheard, and she told me that my baby was in danger. She 
found out that the Centre owned the clinic where we had 
gone for treatment. Her research into your kidnapping had 
led her to believe that the clinics were being used to try 
to find children that the Centre could use. She was afraid 
that something terrible would happen to me, like it did to 
Miss Meg. She was snooping around in some computer records 
and found a list of children's names, with percentages by 
them. Maggie's name was on the list, and she was rated at 
eighty-seven percent."

"What do the percentages mean?" Jarod asked intently.

"We don't know. We think that they were trying to determine 
how likely the children were to be like you and Emily are, 
so they would know who... who to take." She looked over her 
shoulder as if reassuring herself that there were no 
intruders in her house.

"So what happened then?"

"Emily convinced David and me that the only way to keep our 
baby safe was to disappear like her mom had done, and try 
to hide Maggie's intelligence if we could. She got us false 
identities to use; she set it all up. I left first... I 
told everyone that I was going to visit my mother. Then a 
few days later David was supposed to meet me." She 
shuddered. "He never made it to the meeting place, Jarod," 
she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "They said it was 
a drunk driver..."

"I'm so sorry about your husband," he said gently. 

She gave him a watery smile, swallowing back the tears that 
threatened to spill. "After that I was terrified. I lived 
with your mom until Maggie was born... she and Emily helped 
me so much. I could never have made it without them."

"So Maggie is named after my mother and sister?"

"Yes." Carolyn drew a deep breath, steeling herself for the 
end of her story. "When Maggie was just a tiny baby, your 
mother recognized the signs. I never thought I would be 
sorry to hear that my daughter was a genius. But all I 
wanted was for her to have a happy life, a normal life like 
a normal little girl. I knew that if I sent her to school 
it would only be a matter of time before the Centre found 
us. I didn't think she could fool standardized tests as 
young as she was. So we taught her how to be autistic. When 
she was two we moved here, with falsified medical records 
that Em gave us, and enrolled Maggie in Ferncrest."

"Forgive me if this is too personal a question, but how do 
you pay her tuition? It isn't cheap, and you have so much 
else to worry about."

"I don't have to pay anything," she said. "Emily took care 
of that. She set up a dummy foundation that gave Maggie a 
'scholarship.'" She grinned suddenly and managed a chuckle 
as she wiped away her tears. "I have a strong suspicion 
that the Centre is inadvertently funding my daughter's 
education."

"I hope so," said Jarod. "They owe you much more than 
that."  He sighed. "I'm worried, though, Carolyn. How is 
this affecting Maggie? It can't be good for her to live 
like this."

"I know. I've worried about that too. But for now, it 
seemed like the best plan. We're planning on trying to move 
next year, go to a new town with a new identity. In the 
meantime, we're going to practice Emily's tricks and see if 
Maggie can successfully pretend to be a normal child. We've 
already started misspelling lessons."

Jarod smiled at the idea of the six-year-old sitting down 
gravely to practice making errors in her schoolwork. "That 
sounds like a good idea, Carolyn. Before I go, I'll give 
you a way to contact me. If I can ever help you, or if you 
find out where Mom and Emily are, please get in touch with 
me."

"I will, Jarod. I promise."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=


Jarod sat in his dingy hideaway for long hours, turning 
over a precious little box of pictures and keepsakes that 
Carolyn had given him. He hadn't found his mother and 
sister yet, but he was closer than he had ever been. He had 
gotten so much information about Emily from her friend that 
he felt, for the first time in his life, as if he knew her. 

He was leaving Ferncrest in two days, called back by a 
manufactured family emergency. Before he moved on, there 
were some things he wanted to take care of. Somehow, he 
wanted Emily to know that her father and brother were 
trying to find her, that they loved her despite the years 
that widened the gap between them.

The syncopated tapping of computer keys was the only sound 
in the room as Jarod typed far into the night.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


With a sigh that spoke of bone-deep fatigue, a young woman 
dropped her luggage onto the lumpy mattress of yet another 
musty bed in yet another seedy motel. She drew the blinds 
tightly shut, and moved through the room with deft hands 
and keen eyes, searching for hidden cameras, minute 
transmitters, hidden assassins, anything that would 
threaten her privacy. When she was assured of her solitude, 
she removed her tousled blond wig and laid it on the 
scarred chest of drawers. As she removed the pins that held 
her dark hair close to her head, she removed a slim 
notebook computer and switched it on. Unplugging the room's 
phone from the wall, she plugged in the modem and began 
working.

Hours later, frustrated by her fruitless efforts, she 
decided to take a break. She clicked "home" on her web 
browser, and was returned to a page on Hans Christian 
Andersen. She wanted to read her story tonight, to remind 
herself of her father and the promise she had made. When 
she located the text of the story, however, there was a new 
link beside it. "Hear this story," she read. "Link provided 
courtesy of Eldest Swan Productions." Curious, she 
downloaded the file. When it began to play, she heard a 
rich voice with a touch of Britain around the edges. 

"Far away in the land to which the swallows fly when it is 
winter, dwelt a king who had eleven sons, and one daughter, 
named Eliza. The eleven brothers were princes, and each 
went to school with a star on his breast, and a sword by 
his side. They wrote with diamond pencils on gold 
slates..."

As the first words of the story filled the room, she had 
gone pale and still, listening as though she could force 
the sound to coalesce into a person by the sheer force of 
her will. As the story took its well-remembered course, she 
reached a trembling hand to caress the speakers of her 
laptop. "Daddy," she whispered, choking back a sob. "Oh, 
Daddy..."

Her fatigue forgotten, she sat on the sagging motel bed and 
listened to her father's voice, as he read her favorite 
bedtime story over and over to her in the quiet of the 
night.


END (01/01)