I’ve started to see that God doesn’t necessarily give answers; he gives strength. – Felicity’s Journal, March 31

Esa es una mujer poderosa. Nunca confundas amabilidad con debilidad. – Esmeralda’s conversation with Carlos after they helped Felicity Miller

Early morning, March 21

A light streaming in through the flimsy white shade roused Felicity from her fitful slumber. Dreams had riddled her sleep, causing her to wake feeling only slightly more rested than when she had fallen into the uncomfortable bed. Though the sun had not risen, its glow offered her a shrouded view of the room around her – the outline of the curtained window, the night stand, the bedside lamp, the television across the room. For several seconds, she strained her eyes to acclimate them to the sparse light. After a moment, forms grew a little more distinct, and she started to push down the covers to get out of bed. She froze the motion almost instantly and smothered a cry of terror. Just inside the room, his silhouette barely visible against the crack of light from the door, stood a man. Felicity's mind whirled with options. Should she pretend to be still asleep? Should she grab the lamp and wield it as a weapon against the uninvited guest? Should she speak and find out the visitor's identity?

When she heard his voice, it awakened both hope and terror in her chest, and Felicity held her breath as she remembered the words. I told you I would find you, came her last memory of Jase. Once she had pulled the blanket back up to her neck, she found that she couldn't move. For the next few minutes, she had to force herself to remain aware of her surroundings as she pressed her leaden limbs to respond. The blue tint of moonlight filtered through the thin, gauzy curtains and filled the room. Not yet day, she realized. She stopped her struggle against her paralysis, confused by the loss of time. Hadn't the sun shone in a moment before? In the moonlight, Felicity could just see a reflective sheen across Jase's eyes, and she tried to read their expression. Certainly, he did not seem malicious. As he crossed the room and bent over her reclining body, her mind screamed for her to be afraid, but her body still did not react – not even when Jase leaned down to her, placing his cheek against hers and caressing her hair with his hand. It could have been strange, invasive, but instead it was familiar and right. Though she could see him and hear him, she could not feel any warmth when his lips touched her skin.

When Jase rose, Felicity heard a sound from behind him, and she became vaguely aware of Brendon's cold expression glaring at her over Jase's shoulder; of Brendon's frigid, angry face peering down just as it had that night.

Jase placed himself defensively between Felicity and Brendon, an action which infuriated Brendon further. With murder in his eye, Brendon cleared the distance from the door in two steps, quickly sliding between Jase and Felicity. Her confusion overtook her momentarily, and the images dancing before her eyes blurred into meaninglessness.

When she again became aware, Jase lay unconscious on the floor at Brendon's feet. Brendon stalked to the bed, lifting Felicity's still immobile body up into his arms. Just leave me alone! she screamed silently. Why can't you just let me be! Why do you hate me so much!

‘It has nothing to do with you,” Brendon insisted.

When he stepped through the doorway of the small room, Felicity found herself inexplicably in their cabin near Canmore, and she realized that the fight, Jase's kiss, Brendon's interference, all of it – Felicity dreamed. Thank God, she panted, though she still fought against the paralysis. She couldn’t wake.

She watched Brendon with new eyes, a spectator in hope of finding out what her mind really had determined about the situation. After laying her on their bed, Brendon bent down to her, and mimicked Jase's affection, cheek to cheek, the caress, the kiss. With Brendon, though, Felicity felt the distinct burn of his lips on her skin. The pulsing light in Brendon's eyes sent a terrified shiver through Felicity, finally freeing her limbs and wrenching her awake.

Felicity glanced out the real window, realizing that the night hovered somewhere between its depth and its end. Her heart raced and her mind whirred with the questions that she had repressed but that her mind had revisited through slumber. Was Brendon as evil as he seemed? Certainly, her dream had denied it. Was Jase? The dream offered no answer, only a suspicion of what Brendon thought. Of what Felicity felt. If Jase really came to help her, would she accept what he offered? She knew Jase’s complicity in the kidnapping. She only suspected Brendon’s. Of course, she had very credible reasons to doubt everything about Brendon, so she had no qualms about distrusting him.

Her eyes flitted nervously around the room, irrationally expecting Brendon or Jase to show up, or even the tan man from the party. When she became fully conscious, Felicity remembered that she was in the middle of nowhere, and no one knew her location. Felicity lay back in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Though she wanted to lie around and ponder the meaning of the dreams, she knew how thoroughly she needed her sleep. She couldn't put it down, though. Why had the dream Brendon taken her to their cabin? Why had she felt Brendon's lips and not Jase's? Awake, Felicity had no trouble remembering the feel of Jase's mouth on her skin, and the memory brought chills to her spine. Maybe because Brendon was a very concrete danger, and Jase was an image of rescue with little substance.

It wasn’t the memories that disturbed her if she thought about it. It wasn’t even the gaps in her memory. If she analyzed the situation, she would have said the gaps were no different than how her memory always worked – patchwork pieces of life’s timeline and tapestry. Instead, what really disturbed her was that her mind told her she should remember the gaps, that somehow every instant of her experience had significance, and if she couldn’t remember something, it would hurt her. And how each vivid memory wore a jagged lambent outline, a shard that had so obviously been ripped from a whole – a whole that, if she could piece it together, would explain why her life had ended so suddenly and without explanation.

Felicity abruptly stopped the thoughts. She did not have time to wander down useless paths of fancy. Brendon wasn’t hers anymore, not unless she misunderstood the situation, and even then, not unless he completely altered his life. Jase was irrelevant, an imagined fancy, either of hers or of his. Either way, not terra firma. For now, Felicity was terra firma. She would just have to do. Having no idea what the morning would hold, Felicity forced herself to close her eyes, and surprisingly, she fell into a dreamless slumber.

Though she should have expected it, the knock on her door sent Felicity scurrying across the room and into the tiny bathroom in fear. Stopping herself, she breathed deeply and forced herself to be reasonable. It's Angela and her son, she assured herself. Still, she crept cautiously toward the door, unable to suppress a shudder. Peering through the peephole, Felicity prepared to see Angela and Eulogio. When she saw a familiar male face instead, she froze. Peter, Patrick, something with a “P,” Felicity tried to recall. So much from that night seemed lost in a mist, completely swallowed in fog. Her strange distrust of the tan man had definitely deepened to terror, though, and she felt her knees weaken for a moment.

Without prelude, the man turned and hurried away. Almost on his heels, Angela and Eulogio arrived. Felicity closed her eyes, able to breathe again. Before they could knock, Felicity opened the door and pulled them inside. Angela could see the anxiety on Felicity's face.

“Que pasó?” she queried, looking around the room nervously.

Felicity's stomach clutched. Was she putting Angela and Eulogio at risk just by asking them for help? Perhaps, she realized, but unfortunately, Felicity couldn't allow herself to worry too much about some nebulous threat to Angela. Surely the woman was no threat to ProtoComm or to Brendon. Felicity would soon leave Angela and her son behind, and Felicity did not imagine that anyone would look twice at the poor, Hispanic woman afterwards. When Felicity left, so did the danger. Felicity, on the other hand, would carry danger with her, and she wanted to hash out a way back to see her own children and leave the danger behind.

“Nada,” she finally answered Angela. “Estoy bien.,” Felicity breathed deeply, “Al banco, por favor.” Felicity calmed her mind and, glancing both ways down the hotel balcony to assure herself the man had gone, she steadied herself to walk calmly out ahead of Angela.

The bank building lay two blocks south of her hotel, and the hurried walk proved uneventful. As soon as Felicity had the money, she took a bank envelope and, turning away from Angela, stuck two fifties into it. She then sealed it and gave it to the woman, instructing her to open only when she arrived home - Felicity didn't want Angela to refuse the money out of some unnecessary sense of nobility. Felicity could never really repay the debt she owed to the poor woman and her son. With the thought of the little, tan man in her mind, Felicity took her leave from her rescuers. She reached timidly toward Angela and bestowed on her a gentle hug. Then, she mussed Eulogio's hair before she walked away. She didn't allow herself to look back to her refuge. Instead, she stalked on with intention.

The money bought her independence, and that independence bought her some relief. Felicity sauntered more confidently, despite her disheveled appearance, to a teller at the bank and asked where she could find the nearest clothing store.

“Well,” the woman responded, a slight Mexican accent softening her words, “we really don't have much in Quido. We usually go to Las Cruces for that.” Then eyeing Felicity ruefully, the teller acceded, “You could try Juanita's. It's two blocks down by the coffee shop.”

Even now, Felicity's heart leaped at the word coffee. Not that all of her problems would be solved, but to have a pair of jeans and a cup of coffee would feel fairly close to heaven at that moment. She abruptly remembered one more thing. “Anywhere I can get a cell phone?”

“Sure. We got One Stop Cell Shop over a block south of Juanita's.” Felicity guessed that everything extant lay within a few blocks in a town this small.

“Thanks,” Felicity beamed, and going barefoot rather than wear stilettos, she stumbled out of the bank into the baking Southwestern sun, glad she had found herself there in March before the summer heat had hit. Recalling herself, she glanced nervously around her, searching for some sign of the tan man. She saw none so turned in the direction indicated by the bank teller and strolled as casually as she could in a blue evening gown down the two blocks to Juanita's.

Juanita's was not Felicity's cup of tea, but she guessed it fit well with lying as close to the border as it lay. Stereotypically, the store held racks of bright, colorful dresses with full skirts. Probably intended for tourists. All were made from a frilly crepe-type material which made sense for the oppressive heat. Juanita's seemed almost more of a costume shop than a clothing store. Thankfully, she did find jeans, though her unusually tall frame required her to buy a size too small – they didn't carry a long size. She settled on a white shirt with billowy sleeves, the least costumey she could find. Stepping into the dressing room, she quickly slid the impractical dress from her shoulders with relief, stepping into the jeans and slipping the shirt over her head. Her hand brushed against the beads that still framed her neck. Betrayal beads, she snickered, covering her sickness with an attempt at humor. Remembering the moment he gave them to her, she simmered. He had bought them for her as an afterthought when he was shopping for Amy.

Unlatching the necklace, she compressed it into her palm, sliding from the dressing room and over to the register to pay for her purchase. She did not notice any visible trash can within the store, and she would not ask the woman to dispose of such an obviously expensive item. Instead, she stepped from the small shop, determined to trash the memorial to Brendon as soon as she could.

Again glancing cautiously up and down the street, Felicity began to head next door to the coffee shop. After only a few steps, a voice arrested her movement. She hurriedly shoved the beads into her jeans pocket and concentrated on what she was hearing. The voice held nothing familiar, but its words held a very personal meaning to her.

“She has contacted someone. They know where she is,” the tenor voice stated. “The blond? No, but we have contacts on her team, and they've proven very helpful. Don't tell him. No, Bill doesn't trust him completely, but I am to finish this job for him.”

Felicity peered around the corner of Juanita's and spied the characteristic beige shirt, khaki pants, and brown shoes of the tan man as he stood, his back to her, still speaking into the phone. Though Felicity could not discern all of his meaning, she felt certain that he referred to her recent call. If so, how did he know she had called Nick?

“So, he still doesn't know what happened to her? Will he find out? I don't want to get crucified for this.” Standing in indecision, Felicity considered. She would have loved to be back at Angela's little respite instead of anywhere near the tan man. Had he followed her from Canmore? Had he been the passenger in the truck that had brought her to Quido? Unwilling to stand exposed any longer, Felicity retreated back into Juanita's, apologizing to the salesperson for forgetting to buy shoes.

“Oh, you poor thing. I can see you didn't bring the right shoes for walking,” the woman smiled sympathetically.

Petrified, Felicity couldn't force her tongue to function again. Keeping her eyes on the front store window, she sidled to the small rack of shoes. She realized that she had only a slim chance of finding her size, and she realized that she really didn't care. If she could avoid the man outside until she got a cell phone and a rental car, she would drive shoeless wherever she needed to.

The saleslady, Esmeralda, noticed the direction of Felicity's gaze. She must also have noticed the fear on Felicity's countenance. “Um, what size do you need?” Esmeralda asked, still watching the trajectory of Felicity's eyes.

“A nine,” Felicity stuttered. She heard the sound of her words as if from a far distance, and she felt certain that she looked stoned.

“Oh, I don't think we have nines right now,” Esmeralda offered placidly. “Um, maybe an eight and a half sandal?”

“Sure, that'll be fine,” Felicity muttered.

Just then, Felicity met Esmeralda’s gaze for a moment as the woman finally turned away from the window. Felicity watched through a crack in the shoe rack as Esmeralda returned her eyes to the storefront where Felicity's pursuer strolled slowly in front of the store. Rushing to the front door, Esmeralda pulled out her keys and began to lock the door. The man hurried to her, looking a bit irritated, and Felicity's heart thudded heavily against her ribs.

“Que paso?” the man demanded angrily through the glass.

“Estamos cerrados,” Esmeralda retorted through the door in the rich, beautiful accent from the deep south of Mexico.

“¿Cerrados? ¿Porque?” The man pointed to the sign denoting the store hours.

Closed, Felicity sighed in relief.

“No tengo ayuda. Necesito almorzar cuando puedo,” she shrugged.

The man looked as if he wanted to resort to violence, but then he seemed to relent, wandering slowly toward the coffee shop. He glanced covertly back toward Esmeralda several times, but she didn't unlock the door.

“I don't know what happened to you,” Esmeralda declared returning to Felicity, “but that man looked dangerous. I can see it in his eyes. We have a few men like that who come through here sometimes. I let you out the back, and you go straight to the police.”

As soon as the man had walked away, Felicity's breath had calmed, and the world had returned to its proper perspective. It seemed that she had grown somewhat accustomed to the fear, and her heart slowed more rapidly than she would have predicted.

The police? Felicity considered. Strangely, she hadn't considered the possibility. Her mind was reeling from the revelation of the affair. Once she awoke on the side of the road, she hadn’t taken the time to do anything but run from danger. She had only once in her life called the police, to report the crash near her house, and that had not been when she was in danger. Somehow, strangely, it wasn’t her first instinct.

Once she went to the police, there would be no turning back. She didn’t know exactly what she would tell them that would make them believe her. She had passed out with one set of people. She had woken in a truck. She had no evidence of that fact. Did she think Brendon, or Bill if he was involved, couldn’t make up a believable enough story? She drank a lot. I lost sight of her when I was called to a meeting, and I’ve been looking for her ever since! It’s just now been 24 hours, and I knew I couldn’t report her until she had been missing a while.

Brendon Miller was certainly a liar. Brendon would do whatever served his purposes. Brendon may or may not have engineered a plot to have her kidnapped and sold into human slavery. And Bill Henry, arguably as intelligent and definitely as unscrupulous as Brendon, was involved. They would have no problem covering their tracks.

When the vision flashed before Felicity’s eyes, chills erupted on her skin. Briel gripping the hand of the detective in Phoenix. The extremely wealthy are beholden to no one, except those who hold their secrets. If Briel helped guard the secrets of men like Bill Henry and Brendon, maybe going to the police was opposite to Felicity’s interests.

Of all the people she considered appealing to, the police were probably the least concerning – less power therefore less necessity for corruption – but even so, if she went to the police and she was wrong, there would be horrible ramifications. For her and for the kids, especially in a divorce. No police. Not just yet. Maybe if she could find out more.

What she really wanted was to get her giant of a brother on the phone and have him come act as bodyguard, and if Brendon had been the only consideration, she certainly would have. ProtoComm, though, brought a much more monumental element to the mix. Nicholas Alexander, colossal or not, was not as colossal as ProtoComm.

“Thanks,” she finally offered noncommittally. “I'll look up their number at the phone company.”

“You're sure?” the woman questioned skeptically.

“I'm sure,” Felicity dismissed. “The cell phone shop?”

Without further discussion, Esmeralda turned and paced to the back of her store. Luckily, Juanita's backed on a small docking yard that it shared with the cell phone store, so Felicity wouldn't have to venture to the street. Esmeralda knew the owners of the cell phone store well, so she left her front door locked and accompanied Felicity to the back door of the phone shop.

“Soy Esmeralda,” she responded to the inquiry when she knocked. After the salesman answered, Esmeralda began a soliloquy most of which Felicity didn't understand. At the end Esmeralda told him, “Este hombre aparece peligroso. Ella está sola. Comprendes?”

“Si, si. Entiendo. Hasta luego. A las seis?” the man asked with a smile.

“Si, a las seis.” Esmeralda smirked. “Hasta luego.”

Turning to Felicity, the cell phone salesman - his nametag read “Carlos” - declared, “Esme said you need a phone. Your's been stolen or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, well, what do you want?”

Felicity started to say she wanted the cheapest thing he had, but then she realized that she didn't know where she intended to go, and she needed maps and data to help her find her way.

“Um, could I get the cheapest thing you have with maps?”

“You don't want a plan? It's pretty expensive if you don't buy a plan.”

“Oh,” she lamented, and her expression became so glum that the man seemed to take pity on her.

“Look,” he said, “I give you my employee discount. That's like forty or thirty percent off.”

“I can't let you...”

He interrupted, “Hey, look, missus. I like Esme a lot. She likes you. You let me do this for you, then she likes me. We all win, okay? So, just say yes.”

“Okay, yes,” Felicity chuckled. Once again, the generosity of a few seemed in such stark contrast to the treachery of others. “May I use a phone to call my phone company? They'll need to switch my service.”

“No problem.”

Carlos remained in the back with Felicity through the duration of their conversation, keeping her hidden in the stock room. Obviously, something Esmeralda had told him communicated that he should keep their business low key. Felicity began to relax. Ironically, she had almost foregone asking for help; how differently her day would have unfolded had she tried to go it alone! Taking a deep breath, Felicity forced herself to relish the moment of calm. Who knew how few such moments she would have in the near future?

Steeling herself, she dialed the customer service for her phone company and began the security procedures for replacing her lost phone. After keying in her number, Felicity heard a pleasant female voice. “Hello, welcome to Janus Cellular,” it crooned. “May I have your name please?”

“Yes, thanks. It's Felicity Miller.”

“Could I please have the account holder's name and phone number?”

Felicity relayed Brendon's number and identifying information.

“Um, I'm sorry. That doesn't match our records.”

Felicity felt the blood flush her cheeks, irritated at the bureaucracy ubiquitous in large corporations. Why would Brendon have changed the phone setup? Oh, she realized. She wracked her brain for some idea of how Brendon might have listed the account, but she could come up with nothing. She didn’t want to sign up for a new plan and lose her number.. “I am on the account, right?” Felicity reasoned with the woman. “It's my phone. I can give you any information you might need about it, even phone calls I've made. Isn't there some other way I could pass through security?”

Felicity heard a long pause, and she prayed that the service rep would have pity.

“Well, let's see if you can answer a few questions for me. Maybe there's something I can figure in the process.” The woman bombarded Felicity with several account-specific questions, which Felicity answered correctly, and the interview finished with, “Well, I can't change the phone for you unless you know the main account holder,” she paused again. “But I can give you a hint.”

“Thanks so much,” Felicity gushed, relief apparent in her tone.

“This is a corporate account, right?”

“No...” Felicity began, but trailed off. A flurry of thoughts rose like yesterday's dust storm. Brendon had changed the account. Why leave her name and number functional, though? Probably he wanted to track her number as a precaution. Felicity felt sick. Should she forgo the phone completely? Though she had no determined destination, she knew with certainty that she must leave Quido and the tan man behind her as soon as possible.

“Ma'am?” the voice on the phone repeated for Felicity didn't know how many times. “Ma'am, are you there?”

“I'm here,” Felicity admitted. She wiped her palms on the legs of her jeans.

“Do you know the company's name?”

Resignedly, Felicity drew a breath to answer. She had no choice; she needed to get out of Quido fast. She would figure out how to change the phone later. “ProtoComm,” Felicity almost whispered, her fear and fury stifling the strength of her voice.

“Um, that's right. And the contact name for the account?” the woman urged.

Felicity wavered. The woman had said Brendon didn't hold title on the account, so who did? She cleared her throat, trying to speak confidently.

“Bill Henry,” she declared, suddenly certain of the answer.

“Right, and the password?”

Well, at least now she felt certain. The inconspicuous CEO, the mild-mannered politician with the veneer of civility, had signed off on her kidnapping. Signed off and, if she interpreted Nick’s words correctly, probably spearheaded.

For the first time, the scope of the forces coming against her hit Felicity, and she felt a hysterical laugh bubbling to her lips. Who would ever have thought that Felicity Miller could be on the wrong end of a plot involving so many people willing to commit crimes against her? It seemed so unlikely as to be near an impossibility. This isn't really happening, her mind tried to deny. Before she started imagining spies and blackmail again, she shrugged out of her dissociation. No such luck that she lay hallucinating in some sickness-induced delirium that had manufactured the entire situation.

Felicity shook her head and refocused on the current conversation. She tried thinking through logical options for a password that would pertain to ProtoComm. She tried simple words first: communications, fortune500, BillHenry. The possibilities were endless. Maybe something specific to Brendon.

When she had the idea, the hysterical laugh she had before repressed finally escaped her lips. She couldn't help but see the irony - if she were right.

“Calvario,” Felicity finally exclaimed. The representation of Brendon’s philanthropic heart. And now Felicity realized, the possible source of his least philanthropic endeavor. Calvary. Of course, she could be wrong. Bill could have made the password and used some company standard. If Brendon had chosen, though…

Though the woman had no doubt felt shocked to hear the manic laugh on the other end of the phone, she replied with total composure. “That's right.”

Relief mingle with anxiety when Felicity heard, “We can transfer your phone. It will take about 15 minutes to update the software.”

“Thank you so much,” Felicity offered sincerely.

“My pleasure.”

Hanging up the phone, Felicity turned back to the storeroom door. She would unpack her epiphany later. Now, she had to make at least a short-term plan. She probably had a while before anyone noticed she had reactivated her phone. As long as she could avoid the tan man, she might get a couple of hours ahead of them and reach a large city before ProtoComm started searching for her. Maybe the guys from the truck hadn’t yet reported that they had lost her.

Carlos returned from the front of the store where he had been helping someone else purchase a phone.

“So, did you get that all worked out? I can't comp you a service plan and a phone.”

“Yeah, thanks. I got it. Now where do I get a rental car?” Suddenly she looked chagrined. “Oh...I don't have any ID.” The realization also meant that she couldn't get another phone plan even if she wanted to.

After a moment's thought, Carlos smirked casually at Felicity. “I actually think I can help you with that,” he began, startling Felicity. She squinted at him quizzically. I got friends. A buddy who works rental cars. I'll have him deliver a car to you here, in my name, and you can just take it wherever you need to go and drop it off there.”

“I can't let you do that,” Felicity protested. “What if I can't turn it in? It'll cost you a fortune. And if I get pulled over driving a rental car in your name...”

“I’ll take out the insurance. And my friend will cover for me,” he responded, a knowing smile gracing his features.

“But what if the men who are looking for me...”

“Look, I've sold cell phones to a hundred drug dealers, not because I want to, but because they come to me. I have friends enough to stay safe. No one is going to come to my barrio and mess with me, I promise. Just let me get you a car,” he insisted. “I won't let you say no.”

“Okay,” she finally agreed. His insistence melted her resolve.

As she waited for word from Carlos that she had a car, she considered her next step. Her first course of action would be to call Nick again; he must be going crazy. She glanced at the employee clock – 1:45 p.m. She had promised she would call in the morning, but the appearance of the tan man had pushed her commitment to the extremities of her consciousness. Now, she realized that her brother would be busting a gut.

After what seemed an eternity, Felicity exhaled as Carlos reentered the back room, smiling and extending his hand.

“Come on,” he grinned.

His reason for mirth escaped her until she saw the shiny black convertible in front of his store. That's inconspicuous, she sighed resignedly, and determined to trade the eye-catching vehicle for a more modest one if she could find a way. Still, she thanked Carlos sincerely, promising to return the car to a rental shop as soon as she could. She could not predict where the car would take her, but she had little hope that she would enjoy the ride, despite its superficial appeal.