An identity is bigger than a single action. Everyone lies, but you are defined by your lies. That is what makes you a liar. – Felicity’s unsent letter to Brendon, March 30

Now is the dramatic moment of fate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life, and you know not whether for good or ill. – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Midday, March 22

Glancing in her rearview mirror, Felicity sighed in relief as she left the bucolic border town and the strange tan man behind. At least, she hoped she had left the man. The terrain did not allow for much concealment, so Felicity began to breathe a little easier when, after ten minutes, she still saw no sign of him.

After the allotted 15 minutes, she picked up her new phone and dialed Nick, preparing herself for both his fear and his fury.

“Felicity?” the panicked voice bellowed into the phone.

“Nick, I am so sorry!”

“You better be! Where in the world have you been?” anguish tempered the irritation in Nick's tone.

“Nick, I'm okay. I just ran into a....” she paused, not wanted to cause Nick more anxiety, “a complication.”

“Don't play with me, Lissie. I've been going out of my mind.”

“Look, a guy followed me. Someone from ProtoComm. It just took me some time to ditch him.”

“But you did?” he quizzed, relief obvious in his tone.

“I've been looking over my shoulder for about 20 miles now, and I haven't seen any sign of him.”

“How can you be sure? This is really important.”

“Nick, it's pretty flat here. All I see are fields, grass, and yucca plants for miles.”

Nick hadn't asked why she would want to avoid someone from ProtoComm. Either he had put two and two together, or he knew some new information. Felicity waited for her brother's response, but he didn't speak for several minutes. When his voice came, he sounded imploring. “Lissie, come home. I know I can't do much, but....” he paused again, “You know I'm pretty competent to take care of you. I don't want you to be alone right now.”

“So, what, Nick? I come home and put you in danger?”

“Lissie, I wouldn't be in the same danger you are.” He sounded sure.

“What are you talking about, Nick. You think ProtoComm will develop a conscience when it comes to hurting you?”

Nick hesitated, and when he spoke his tone was sardonic, “Well, for one thing, if they do anything to me, a nasty virus will spread in their computer systems within the week. It’s going to happen eventually either way, but I’ll use it as a bargaining chip until I have you back.”

She scrunched her face in exasperation. “Nick, why would you do that? You don't want to go up against these people.”

Felicity heard Nick let out a deep sigh. “Yes, Felicity, I do.”

She didn't know what to say, so she waited.

“Remember how I told you about the password protected files on Brendon's computer?”

“Yes.”

“Lissie, ProtoComm is into some pretty bad stuff. Um, really bad.”

“You told me that before, but I didn't want to listen to you,” she admitted. “I’m pretty sure I get it now. Tell me what you found.”

“Well, for one, they're involved in human trafficking.”

Though she had suspected, the confirmation made Felicity feel physically sick. She pulled to the shoulder and waited for her heart to start again. Opening the door, Felicity leaned over the side of the car, her empty stomach clutching for something to expel.

Now she knew for sure. Someone had sent her to Mexico to become a slave.

All of her life, Felicity had feared death, not because she worried about her eternal soul, just because it would prove so difficult and inconvenient for those around her. She had children to take care of, her parents relied on her, her husband counted on her steadiness, or so she had thought. For the first time, Felicity pictured a fate that felt much worse than the death she had feared – a fear much more personal. She knew what happened to women who ended up in the modern-day slave trade.

“Lissie? Lissie?” she heard distantly, and she recognized that the note of panic had returned to Nick's voice. “Please, answer me!”.

“I'm okay!” Her voice choked on the lie.

“Is it ProtoComm? Did the man find you?”

“No, Nick, no,” Felicity assured him. “I'm just really upset. That was just really hard to hear.” She paused, not quite able to continue. “That's why I'm here,” she finally whispered. “I had my suspicions, but you confirmed it for me. I was being taken to the slave trade.” A fresh wave of nausea followed the words from her mouth.

“Lissie,” he comforted, but she couldn't respond.

She made no reply for several minutes, finally causing Nick to call her name again.

“Lissie?”

“Yeah, Nick. Um, I need to think. I'm gonna have to call you back.”

“Wait, Lissie? You need to know...” he seemed reluctant. “ProtoComm seems to have a lot of side businesses. And don't get mad at me, Felicity – I'm just the messenger - but Brendon has his hands in at least several of them. I can't get to all the information yet, the material is behind serious security, but what I've already found is shocking. He has been monitoring a lot of activity, maybe managing it.”

“Why would I be mad at you, Nick? There are several things I’ll be telling you about Brendon when I’m ready. Not much you tell me could shock me. Just keep talking.” Might as well get all the trauma over with at once.

“Well...it looks like drug smuggling, slave trade, and illegal weapons trade to name a few. I'm not sure what all the technical terms mean, but I think ProtoComm is kind of a middle man. Buyers approach someone named Jack Buckley, and Jack or his people find a supplier. ProtoComm never actually touches any contraband; they just make phone calls, push paper – communications.”

Of course. Jack Buckley. And Brendon possibly managing it all.

Every imaginary bulwark which had surrounded Felicity's pretend mundane world had washed away with an ocean of reality, all in the past couple of days. The corruption, to an extent she had never imagined, explained Brendon's deception. She felt something splinter in her heart. How much more could it suffer before it stopped beating altogether? Maybe that would be the best option, said a voice in her head. Still, her practiced optimism had scoured her mind for some rationalization, some excuse that would offer an explanation for Brendon and the events of the past few days. Maybe Brendon had started out a better person, or maybe she had never really known her husband.

“Nick, I'm okay. Really.” She considered for a moment, drawing a fortifying breath. It wasn’t true, exactly, but she had shoved the darker thoughts far enough down that she could ignore them for a while. “Honestly, I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I just know I need to get moving in case the man from before is coming after me. I took the main highway north out of Quido. It won't be hard for him to follow me.”

“Then come home, and I'll take care of you.”

“Nick, no…I love you. You're the best baby brother ever. For now, I’m safe. Going home is what they'll expect me to do. I'll call you next time I stop for gas or something.” Felicity paused. “Don't tell mom and dad. I don't want to bring them or my kids into this until I figure out how to get some help.”

“At least call the police.”

“I will, just not yet. I have to think. Once I call the police, if they bring ProtoComm into this, there will be no hiding for me. There will be statements and checks for evidence. And who do you think is going to control the evidence? All I have is the two people in Quido, and all they know is that I showed up and asked for help. Brendon has Bill Henry, a powerful company, a slew of witnesses whose livelihoods depend on the company. I haven’t really told you what happened exactly, and once I do, you’ll understand. But I need to think right now.”

Felicity understood the value of the police, but she also understood a lot of other things. She had seen it too many times. Usually, the police did their job. They tried to protect people. Then they sent their evidence to the courts, and all hell broke loose. The liar – whether the accuser or the accused perpetrator – would do what he or she did best: lie. Lawyers would do their best to get the evidence they wanted in and the evidence of the other guy kept out or misconstrued. The truth wasn’t totally irrelevant, just largely. With the right kind of evidence, though, even the best lawyers were stuck facing the truth. Just fighting the odds to get there was something Felicity could not endure at the moment. She was not ready to be put on the stands and forced to defend her accusations. Suddenly, her stomach turned sour. The thought of being laid bare – in her current state of vulnerability – felt a whole lot like the worst possible violation she could imagine. Except, of course, slavery, she corrected.

“I don't like it,” Nick admitted, “but I know better than to believe I can change your mind. If I don't hear from you by tomorrow morning, though, I'm coming to look for you.”

“Of course,” she placated him. “Bye.”

Turning back onto the highway, Felicity looked at the clock. 2:25 p.m. The afternoon sun streamed onto her unprotected skin, exposed because of the convertible. Though the wind felt good and the music on the radio soothed her mind, her heart alternated between hollow ice and raging fire. Like a response to her wavering emotions, the terrain began to heave up and down, the foothills to the Rockies starting their gentle undulations. Felicity stopped once in Colorado for gas and something to eat, but her appetite had not yet returned. The never-ending road and the rising moon began to lull her anxiety and cast a trance-inducing hue over the mountains.

Hey you, standing in the road, always doing what you're told, can you help me? the radio requested.

I can't even help myself! she lamented to the unhearing radio.

Hey, you...don't tell me there's no hope at all, it answered.

I'm all alone, betrayed by those who should love me best, in danger, afraid. What hope can I have?

As if in answer to her unspoken demand, Felicity's phone rang. 10:27 p.m.

“Thank God,” a familiar deep voice sighed when Felicity answered. “You're alive.”

Felicity's hands began to shake making it difficult to maintain control of the wheel. A dozen emotions flitted through her mind, but she suppressed them.

“Jase?” Felicity queried shakily. Her voice failed her as several memories

intruded upon her at once. His hands on her when she lay drunk in the chair, his apology, his gentle touch, his reassurances. She couldn't decide if the hollow pit in her stomach drew from the excitement in hearing his voice or her suspicions. He had knowingly laid her in the car that would take her to slavery.

“What do you want?” she barked, her voice cracking on uncertainty.

“Are you kidding?” he scoffed. “I've been sick, waiting to call you, afraid that when I did, you wouldn't answer.”

“How did you get my number?” she asked, furious at his feigned concern.

“It's in company records. Not the public level, of course, but insiders can get to it. I have a few privileges at ProtoComm because of my job title.”

“Privileges like groping me before you hand me into slavery? I remember, Jase.” The heat of her anger mixed with a different fire that rose in Felicity's cheeks as she remembered his hand on her thigh. What is wrong with me?

“Liss,” his voice was appeasing, “Please let me explain myself.”

What made him think he could use an endearment for her name? She considered hanging up on him, but something restrained her.

“I had to do that!” he insisted, urgent persuasion in his tone. “Bill and Brendon were keeping tabs on me. They were literally standing over me.” Felicity's hissed involuntarily when she heard Brendon's name. “I had to do what I did, but I told you I would come get you.”

You had to touch me? she scoffed disbelievingly. “And where are you now?” she accused aloud.

“I couldn't get away, but I paid Perry to stay with you and stop the truck before the men crossed over the border. I figured the further south you were, the harder it would be for Brendon to track you when Perry got you out.”

“Got me out?” she interrupted, confused.

“Did you think I would let them sell you?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

Felicity paused, then proceeded doubtfully, “Why would I ‘think’ anything about you? I don’t even know you? You’re saying the tan man was trying to help me?”

“The tan man...” Jase chuckled. “Well, Perry was helping me.”

Felicity hesitated. Why would she dare believe Jase? “You knew I didn't have my phone. Why would you expect me to answer it?”

Jase paused, “Look, you're on ProtoComm's phone account now, not your own. All I had to do was monitor your number through the website records. I’m the only one who would have expected your phone to show up. They think it’s being pirated to some street dealer. As far as they know, you’ve already been delivered to the buyers.”

Felicity swallowed hard. She had to hope he was right about no one else monitoring her.

“Since Perry told me that he had lost you, I've been watching - hoping really - that you might think to buy a new phone. I wasn't sure you would get past the security, but...” he trailed off.

For some reason, Felicity felt very clear-minded; every thought seemed to flow through her mind in slow-motion. Right now, she was alone. She only had one way to know if she could trust someone – see if his words matched his actions. When she thought about Jase, all his words lined up with circumstance. He had said he would come get her; he hadn’t come himself, but he had ostensibly sent someone, and Felicity had seen that someone. Jase had said he wouldn’t let them hurt her; somehow, her kidnapping had been so bungled that she was able to escape. How often did that happen? It wasn’t proof, but it was circumstantial. He had called her within a few minutes of her cell phone coming online. He could be her monitor, or he could be her savior.

Felicity passed through all of these realizations in the amount of time it took Jase to call her name three times. Finally, she heard him. “Yes?” she queried as his voice reached her mind.

“Let me come get you,” he pleaded.

The clear night sky over Wyoming contrasted with the foggy memory in which she felt Jase's arms lay her gently down into the car. She really didn’t want to involve Nick in the danger she would encounter in the near future. From what she could discern, Jase knew enough about dealing with her situation. And she couldn’t escape the fact that he had no self-serving reason to help her. Until a week ago, he hadn’t even known her.

You'll be okay. I'll come and get you. I won't let them hurt you. Her memory told her he had spoken in earnest, and her senses told her the same now.

A sudden contrasting memory surfaced which decided her fate: Brendon's face as he watched her captors place her into the car. For many years, she had not sensed that much concern from her own husband. As she now knew, people could prove very convincing in a lie. But her mind had new data she could process and hold up against Jase’s words. Brendon’s waxen words had for many years left her insecure, standing on air when she needed solid ground. The contrast between whatever her instincts were taking in could not have been starker.

For now, for what she needed, she decided to trust Jase.

“Come and get me.”