A riot. A gunshot.

            A loud thump against the floor. And more blood.

            "Don't move." William's lips move fast above me. My knee is jammed close to my stomach and his arms are still around me.

            "What's going on?" I try to get up, but his hand pushes down on the small of my back.

            "Don't get up, Evelyn." He warns, jumping to his feet.

In an instant he dives forward and disappears from my side, leaving me defenseless.

            I lift my hand to the gash in my head. Who was shot? Why? Who?

            People scurry around the room, falling left and right, treading on other people in search of an exit.

            It's complete bedlam. I find myself wondering how many of these townspeople have never heard a gunshot before.

            "Get her OUT OF HERE!" A raspy voice thunders.

            "NOW!" Another booms.

            At first I suspect William, but instead I see Chief Brynne and Tyse staring wide-eyed at my wrinkled figure. The Enforcer is still holding his black gun, barrel pointed into the crowd.

            A raking sound starts on my left as chairs and tables are pushed aside. Someone is walking toward me.

            "Evelyn," a harried voice whispers close to my ear. "Evelyn, can you hear me?"

            I remember William's instructions to stay down. A small hand cups the side of my head and I recoil at the touch.

            "Where's the blood coming from?" The voice whispers again, hands still searching. I still cannot place the voice.

            "I... I don't know. Charlotte?"

My head is spinning again. The room is spinning. Dizziness is the only thing in place.

            "Can you move? Can you get up?"

            "I don't–" My lungs feel empty.

Am I losing too much blood? I look at the floor, at the spot where my pool of blood collides with the river from the crowd.

            "I said get her out, NOW!" Tyse's voice is louder still.

            "Take her to the Refinery and tell Bishop what's happened. GO."

            "And if we run into others?" My savior asks.

            "Pray that you don't."

            "I'm going to pull you up now, okay?"

I feel arms beneath me, pulling up under my shoulders. I lean my frame against a slim body and stare down at the navy blue suit, now purple, soaked with blood.

            Katherine Kline supports my weight, half walking and half dragging me across the floor to the side door. We push through into the sunlight, leaving the commotion of the courtroom behind. I can feel the uneven cobblestones beneath my feet and can hear the faint flowing of the Square's sculpture.

            Why is she helping me? Who was shot?

            "Try to steady your feet, Evelyn." Kline urges almost pleasantly. I try, but to no avail.

            "I can't." My lungs are heavy again, my feet even heavier.

            Where's William? My heartbeat picks up.

            "Here. Give her to me." A low voice orders, coming out of nowhere.

            "You," Kline hesitates, her voice skeptical. "You shouldn't be here. There might be more. There might be others. If they see you–"

            "You can't carry her. I can," retorts the familiar voice.

            "You could be in danger," Kline stresses the last word. "Get away from here."

            "I can carry her," the voice insists. "Or would you rather we waste more time and get discovered while you decide?"

            "Very well."

Kline sets me down and drops her arms from my back. I hear her breathing ease.

"There's an entrance concealed in the side of the hospital. We can enter undetected."

            "Guide the way." A strong set of hands scoops me up in one swift motion.

            A few paces later, I hear the creak of a door and feel the draftiness of the stairwell. The canvas flap brushes against my legs as we enter.

            "Over there," Kline says.

            I'm placed on something soft and plush. My pupils dilate, adjusting to the dark confines of the Refinery.

            "HELLO? Help! Can you help me?" Kline raises her voice.

            I open my mouth in protest but realize she's looking behind her, shouting to someone else. I see a sheet of blonde hair fly by.

            "Oh my god!" Tria shrieks. "What happened? Was it a–"

            "Just help me. Go to the supply cart, third drawer down. Get me the ointment." Kline commands.

            "We need to lift her up." The low voice is back. "It's on her shoulder too. I'm taking this off." He rips the shoulder right off my blouse.

            A cool tingle settles over me. My heartbeat slows and my head regains control. I hear Tria sobbing somewhere. My eyes flutter. I see Kline holding a tiny blue jar above me filled with white ointment. And I stare up at Chase.

            "Take it easy, junkie," he whispers. "You're safe."

             Safe. The word is haunting. In this moment, by the sickening smell of metallic blood and the overwhelming pain in my neck, I'm reminded of the truth. I am not safe. This is how I was supposed to die the first time.

No, it is how I died the first time.

Kemper's atmosphere changed. It morphed into a hostile environment harboring unwanted tension. Everywhere I go people stare at me. It's like when I first resurfaced, only the exact opposite because now when they look at me it's not so much with interest, but with revulsion.

            I barely step foot outside, not that I have any reason to be out anyway.

            It was "recommended" by the C.R.I.S. that I temporarily cease and desist all Refinery visits and that I do my best to refrain from visiting the Square.

            I sneak off only to the cliffs, where I find alleviation from the town's discord. The bottom room of the ruins is now littered with two woolen blankets I brought from the house and an old pillow I found in the Refinery.

            The three days that followed my almost re-Evaluation consisted of total chaos. People in town started ganging up in not-so-pacifistic hordes.

            I remember William's words from after the ball: Breach riots are rare. Then again, the rules of normalcy do not apply to me.

            Jed Shaw was not a fan of mine –a statement he proved true first at the Berry Ball and again when he tried overstepping the crowd's boundaries and attacking Tin Todd.

            Shaw withdrew a 10-inch blade from inside his coat pocket and started forward, subversively hacking his way through the crowd like he was chopping cornstalks. It was monstrous.

            No one was seriously injured, except of course for Shaw. A few unlucky bystanders were bruised from being knocked to the ground and stepped on. The crowd's tumultuous uproar was all part of his diabolic plan. He wanted to create a diversion.

            Tin Todd came from behind and tackled him into the table where only moments before I was sitting with Smyth. Todd turned his knife into his stomach and that's where the blood came from.

            Shaw pulled out the blade and held it to Todd's throat and that's when Easton shot. Then Kline pulled me out of the room to safety –something I'm still coming to terms with.

            I asked William how he knew what was happening even before full-swing commotion. He said he just knew. He was watching every face... waiting for it.

            In the past, breach riots acted as catalysts –stimulating a sort of rebellion against integrating refugees. Of course, it's only the despicable select few misanthropic natives who are adamantly against it; they're the breachers. The lesser and non-violent haters are merely partisans along for the rally and ride.

            Things started to simmer down, but still I couldn't go anywhere without being suspiciously watched; a few people even muttered obscenities at me as I went through town. Another week has passed since then. Nothing's changed.

/  /  /

"You know I would have acted the same, if I were able. Brynne gave me orders." William argues with me.

            "Really, it's okay. I made it and that's all that matters."

            "Yes, I know. He saved you." William's face is sour.

            "If it weren't for him, Kline might have dropped me. I'd have been trampled on in no time." I try to laugh.

            William rolls his eyes. "Just as long as you know."

            "Are you," I laugh and grab my stomach, "jealous that Chase helped me?"

            "No."

            "You are!" I accuse, laughing.

            "Stop." He shrugs me off.

            "Chase risked his life! If any breacher saw him hanging around... and helping me no less! It was a brave thing to do," I insist.

            "Listen...." His mood swings, his usual smile replaced by a rigid line. I can tell something is wrong.

            "What is it?" I question.

            "I'm a Garner, Ev," William states strictly, as if I don't know this already. What is he getting at?  "It's my job to monitor the portal and predict its output, predict resurfacings. It's my job to collect refugees. It is not my job to protect them."

            "Okay." I breathe slowly. He seems agitated. Again I wonder why he is bringing this up.

            "Protection is left to the officials, the tinmen mostly and the Enforcer if necessary. My job description does not entitle me to the power of law." William looks over his shoulder like he's waiting for someone or something.

            "I know what you do as a Garner, William!" I spit out. "What I'm unsure of is why you're giving me a lesson in job description when you should be–"

            "As of late, I feel morally... conflicted. It is my job to protect you," declares William.

            "No it's not." I protest. "It's not your responsibility to worry about me!"

            "People are going to talk. One day soon they are going to grow anxious and when they do, no one will hesitate to point the finger at you. I'm afraid it is in your best interest that you aren't around when that day comes," William says flatly.

            Aren't around...

"You mean... leave? ... run away?"

            "I wouldn't think of it as running away," he argues. "I've been mulling the current situation and I think it may be in your best interest if you leave for a while. Until things settle down in Kemper."

            "William, you're kidding me, right?" I retort, staring at him sideways. He's insane!

            "No Evelyn, I'm desperately serious. With the aftermath of your re-Evaluation and with the breachers' hostility, I don't find reconciliation imminent," he admits.

            Not imminent. Okay. I study his face, his smooth native skin and deep eyes. I search his lips for any trace of a smile, but I see only a straight line.

            "I failed my re-Evaluation, William. I'm going out on a limb here and saying that means I'm not allowed to leave town! And you're suggesting I sneak out? Aiding and abetting is certainly not in your job description!"

            "You didn't fail. It was postponed due to complications." His voice sharpens.

            True. However, simply brushing off the inconclusive re-Evaluation as no big deal and taking a rain check doesn't seem likely.

            "Complications?" I laugh. "Someone tried to kill me in front of the entire town and you write it off as a complication. Someone died. You were there right or did you miss that part?"

            "There's a good chance Shaw wasn't heading for you, Ev." His voice breeds fallacy. "Breachers go after board members too, sometimes. Tearing down the infrastructure or–"

            "We both know who he was aiming for, William. I can hardly leave the house without being monitored. They won't even let me at the Refinery! I'm under strict orders, in case you haven't heard."

            I think of the Bridge. I'm sure Charlotte has updated her tab on me since all hell broke loose.

            "Well that is the other thing. It wouldn't be prudent for us to mention this to anyone." William looks down.

            I'm in disbelief! William is the last person I would ever expect to feed me ideas of running away or whatever you would call it.

            "It could never happen! We wouldn't stand a chance, especially with the heightened security. They can track our horses and we wouldn't get very far on foot," I offer.

            A sly smile lurks onto William's face as he crosses the room. He has a plan and I think I know just what it is.

            "It would have to be the middle of the night. Not early enough that the Wharf is still stocking carts for the next morning, but not as late as dawn because the Garners will be up by then. I believe 2:30-3 A.M. is our preferable window."

            "The riverroads," I utter.

            "You'll have to be packed and ready, of course. Make sure you conceal your satchel from Charlotte. We don't need any suspicions. We'll have to stay on guard and wait for the opportune night." He nods his head.

            I cling to his voice. William's every word is seething with excitement.

            "And when will all this be going down?" I sound ultra-spy.

            "Soon, I would think. We shouldn't waste too much time. Staying around here isn't helping you in any way," he says intelligibly.

            "Okay." I slump.

            He's right. I know he is, but still I cannot fathom leaving. There will likely be retribution for running away. Refusals run away. I can already envision the Post headline: Refugee on the Run.

            William ensures there won't be a manhunt –that I haven't posed any real threat to the society so it wouldn't be the town's top priority to retrieve me.

            Amidst all the bedlam, William has remained loyal. I cannot begin to describe the gut-wrenching sensation in my stomach I feel for involving him. It's true the escape plan was partly his idea, but his judgment is clouded.

            I have enough of a bad rep these days. I don't need corrupting a Garner added to my list of disappointments.

            "What do you say?"

            "Mmhm, yes." I sigh absentmindedly.

            Pleading will do no good; I know that –not with his stubborn nature.

            "It's decided then." He nods.

            "It is." I feel the words escape my mouth with an eerie finality. It's decided.

Déjà vu is my newest frenemy. I can now add it to the list just under the names of all the people in Kemper.

            I've been experiencing this mental phenomenon on a daily basis. It's always the same –the strange sensation that I've already been there or done that or have already seen something happen. I always wondered where the notion of déjà vu derived from. Now I know.

            I like it. It's in those fleeting moments that I remember I came from something other than this. I have a life other than this and every now and then, I get a moment back. I get a piece of my old self back.

I stare out across the deck at my second favorite view in the entire town. I have a direct line of sight to the cliffs –where I can just make out the corner of a stone edifice.

            "Evelyn," a muffled voice calls from inside.

             I shift uneasily against the wall.

            "Evelyn, where are you? Look who stopped by." Charlotte appears in the doorway. Tin Smyth walks in behind her.

            "Hello, Miss Katton. You're looking well," Smyth mutters.

            They sit on the vacant bench. I look up at Smyth's sharp crew cut.

            "Evelyn, Burke has a bit of news, an update really. He's been in contact with the... Archives." Her voice stammers on the last word. She breaks our eye contact.

            I can't help but smile.

            I know she more than anyone has the most updated news about my situation because she too is in contact with the Archives and her clearance level surpasses all of the Tin's combined.

            "What is it?" I ask eagerly. "What did they say?"

            "Slow down. Slow down." He waves his hand. "First, how are you feeling?" He asks.

            "I'm fine," I lie for the umpteenth time.

            "That's good to hear. I'm happy we were fortunate enough to keep you here. Usually, under these circumstances the C.R.I.S. reassigns the refugee to the Refinery."

            "But we wouldn't have allowed it," Charlotte interjects.

            I know it's only because of her that I was able to stay home.

            "I feel you must know that I'm breaking oath by talking to you. My fellow Tins do not agree that warning you is wise. They believe it violates protocol. That being said, I firmly believe you have every right to know what's going on," Smyth pauses.

            "And what is going on?"

            "First, do not think they point the finger directly at you for Shaw's actions and consequently, his death," he says.

            Good. They shouldn't.

            "What is going on, Smyth?" I ask again, ignoring proper titles.

            "This was not Shaw's first breach, though regrettably it was his first armed breach. He and his wife have a popular viewpoint in the world of nativists," he adds.

            "What about Pinky?" I remember she didn't actually attack me. "What will they do with her?"

            "The C.R.I.S. was and still is appalled by the Shaw's behavior. In light of the events, well, the C.R.I.S. does not often grant clemency for crimes like this. Pinky will be detained and most likely transported to Sycoma, where she will meet her fate," Smyth finishes.

            "Oh," I mumble. "It seems a tad harsh."

            "Evelyn, since the beginning of our time it has been Kemper's responsibility and duty to oversee the safe integration of our land's refugees. There is no exoneration for the attempted assassination of a refugee!"

            I look down again, slightly embarrassed. How can I be feeling sorry for her?

            "I'm afraid there is more," Smyth continues. "Due to your hearing's hindrance, the C.R.I.S. has ordered that you remain confined until your –well –your re-re-Evaluation." He hesitates.

            "Confined?" I yell, though I expected as much. "How long is it going to be?"

            "That has not yet been decided. As a precaution, we've been on alert for imminent breachers, ones who may have rallied with Shaw. We want to keep any future riots as incidental as possible," Smyth adds.

            "Of course," I chirp.

            "One last thing..." Smyth trails off.

            He wipes the backside of his hand across his forehead. "You technically did not complete your re-Evaluation. In this instance, we hand out temporary classifications." He pauses.       

            But I already finish his sentence in my head. I'm a refusal. I've known it all along but now the word tastes dirty on my tongue.

            "For the time being, your official integration status has been tagged, and I'm afraid you are, temporarily, a refusal." Smyth seems to choke on his own word.

            "And remember, Evelyn, this has nothing to do with you. It isn't fair. These people..." Charlotte's eyes wander awkwardly; her voice tightens.

            "They aren't like us," Smyth jumps in. "They're filled with unprecedented hate and animosity, waiting to burst at any moment. This sort of thing will happen given the circumstances. We cannot be certain where they invest their allegiance."

            Circumstances. I assume he's referring to refugees resurfacing, washing-up on the shores of a distant land –you know, the time-travel thing.

            "The next order of business is to wait for orders from the west." Smyth nods.

            "The Archives will decide the next course of action. For now, there is no immediate trouble."

            "What will they decide?" I ask.

            "That cannot be determined. Decisions vary depending on the breach. We should lay low for now and focus on our routine until this can all be resolved."

            "Routine? I'm not allowed to have a routine anymore." I implore.

            "We know this is disheartening, Evelyn. But for now, we wait." Charlotte's usual chipper glee is weighed down by somberness.

            "Miss Katton, it's vital to extract positive memories during times like these. Often times, this sort of adverse behavior can leave a lasting negative impression on the refugee of its infliction." Smyth nods, concerned.

            "You mean it could cause permanent damage to me?" I mumble. "It could mess me up?"

            "Not physically, no. Its power over you has only the strength which you award it," he urges.

            I mull it over.

            "Burke! What are you doing here?" Nicolas jumps sprucely up the staircase, followed by William. Parker and Riley pull up the rear.

            "Just dropping off to give an advisory, Nic. I should be heading out. I left Todd alone at the station." Smyth nods.

            "Well, I'm glad we caught you." Nicolas claps a hand on his shoulder.

            "I'll walk you to the door." Charlotte hops up.

            "Just stay positive, Evelyn," Smyth says, bidding farewell.

            Charlotte and Nic escort Tin Smyth through the house to the front door.

            "Hey, Ev!" Parker scoops me into a bear hug –his now usual way of greeting me.

            "Hi, Parker," I say, my voice muffled by his jacket collar.

            "Hi, Riley."

            "Evelyn." Riley is brusque.

            He's been on edge around me since the breach. I guess he doesn't handle conflict well.

            "How've you been?" Parker barks playfully.

            "Fine," I lie, biting my lip. "How about you? Have anything good to share? I haven't gotten out much lately." I laugh.

            An ear-to-ear grin masks Parker's face. "Never better. I actually do have something..."

            "Oh?" I raise my brow.

            The edginess seeping from his voice intrigues me, but before I'm given a chance to press for more, William cuts me off.

            "Riley and Parker will be joining us for dinner," William announces. "Thought we could use some company around the house."

            "Yea, that's great," I try sounding pleased. At least with new guests, Charlotte's attention won't be devoted solely to interrogating me.

            "So what's for dinner?" Parker asks.

            "You'll have to ask Charlotte."

            William leads the four of us through the back door and into the kitchen.

            It's no surprise to me that William has been concerned about my lack of human interaction.

            It's been almost a week since I've been at the Refinery and I haven't exactly frequented Kemper Square. I've been isolated.

            Riley and Parker are a distraction, William's last feeble attempt to offer me human interaction. I know this. He's been walking on eggshells all week, tentative, as though one word may flip an invisible switch.

            It might.

An hour into dinner, a sharp knock comes at the front door. It's Brynne.

            "What is it Lawrence?" Nic's voice travels into the kitchen.

            "There's been a disturbance. Out there." His voice is hushed, but still hoarse, and just loud enough for me to hear from the kitchen.

            "A disturbance... what kind of disturbance?" Nic asks.

            "The kind we don't want. We need to go now, all of us," Brynne urges. "The others, are they here?"

            Strange. What kind of disturbance would you want?

            I steal a glance at Charlotte.  Her head moves to the side the slightest fraction of an inch and I know she has no clue what is going on.

            I eavesdrop the best I can from my spot at the table. Apparently there is some unknown activity in the forest along the portal's perimeter. How Brynne knew what was going on in the forest, I am unsure.

            "All of you, let's go." Nic arrives back in the kitchen. "Now."

            William, Parker and Riley stand in unison, exchanging frightening looks.

            "We'll be back in an hour, two at the most," Nic tells Charlotte. His voice is urgent.

            William and I lock eyes across the table. He tries to tell me something but Riley and Parker are already dragging him to the front door.

            "Don't worry. I'm sure this is unrelated to your predicament." Charlotte voices the exact concern running through my mind.

            "Of course," I agree.

            I resent the portal, with a mind of its own, leaving me to sit awkwardly across from Charlotte and force uncouth conversation. Then again, the portal also intrigues me.

            I assume by out there he meant the forest and by disturbance he meant resurfacing. Still, the question remains, how did he know? Last time I checked, there was no radar system for the portal zone. That I know of.

            "Evelyn?" Charlotte disturbs my cognitive silence.

            "Yes?"

            "Since they're away, we have some time." She bites her lip, staring passionately at her potatoes.

            I pray she does not want to have another one of her infamous one-on-one chats. A lecture is not what I need right now.

            "You haven't been out of the house in a while; you haven't been into town. And since you already know and we have the tunnel..." Her voice trails off.

            "Already know? The room?" I perk up. Was she willing to take me back?

            "Well..." She shrugs her shoulders. "Yes, why not?"

            "Let's go!" I stand, quickly.

            I couldn't believe it. Could it really be this easy? She made me promise I wouldn't return. All along, all I needed to do was request to go back.

            "I knew it would cheer you up. I'll put this away and meet you outside in twenty minutes." She starts collecting dishes from the table.

            I don't waste time. I'm in my room and changing my socks in less than two minutes. My riding boots are in the back room downstairs by the side door –probably still wet from my afternoon excursion with William.

            In another 10 minutes I'm out in the barn, clearing the stacks of bales from the floorboard door. Ora, now without Niko and Onyx's company, whines when I pass her. I throw her an apple from the satchel tied around the center post, next to the sack of fodder.

            When I finally clear the tiny square door, I can't open it. The floor has completely iced over.

            "Don't bother trying," Charlotte says.

            "Huh?" I say, confused.

            "Pulling it open... don't bother. It won't help. That door is frozen shut." She holds up a pitcher of piping hot water. "Here hold this." I take the pitcher from her hands and she digs into her bag.

            "Bilberries. The sliminess works better than soap." Charlotte pulls out something green and glossy and mashes it in her hand. "Here."

            She drops the smashed root into the water and it foams. She cautiously pours the hot water over the cracks in the floor. The expanding floorboards creak beneath us.

            "Ready?" Charlotte reaches down and yanks on the rope. The hatch flings open.

            "Yes," I spur, and urge her down the ladder.

            The crawlspace is just as I remember, cold and airy with oil lamps blazing, casting light down the hallway. Charlotte walks steadily next to me, staring ahead. I pull on the compass chain around my neck to distract me.

            "Why are you doing this?" I ask. "You were so adamantly against me ever returning."

            "There's no sense hiding it from you anymore. You've already seen it after all and with the recent events..." She trails off.

            "Yes? With recent events what?"

             "Nothing. It was different detailing and tracking your life when you didn't know about it. Don't misinterpret me; I never enjoyed doing any of it, but it was only to my knowledge," she shrugs. "Once you stumbled across my path, it changed. Now the Archives is sending orders left and right. I can't try hiding it from you anymore." She almost shouts.

            "Why the sudden change of heart?"

            "You deserve to know everything," she says.

            "Thank you."

Ten minutes later, the ceiling begins to slope downward and the passageway narrows. We are close. We round the last corner and arrive at the door to the Bridge.

            "Just remember," Charlotte pauses, her hand on the door. "No matter what you see, I wasn't given a choice."