Over an hour later, she stretched, looking out at the view from the back of the conference center. She changed into winter running clothes before she tapped lightly on the bathroom door.

"Paul, are you okay? I am going for a run, or do you want me to stay?"

"Go... now." He groaned. "It's... red," He gagged again. "Tide."

"Alabama is winning by fifteen points with one minute to go. I'll bring you back some PowerAde. I love you."

He didn't answer as the sound of flatulence mixed with his gagging groans became louder followed by a squirting noise. She hurried down the hall to the vending machines, got the drink, and hurried back. She listened as more sounds of being violently ill came from inside. There was no use insisting she take him to the doctor; he wouldn't go, not yet, not until after forty-eight hours. "It's by the door."

Swallowing against her nausea, she left, using the stairs and her key card to leave through the back. She clicked a picture of the trail map with her phone, set her jogger geo-tracker app, then stretched. Looking back at the resort, she glimpsed Hades standing by a vending machine on the first floor, getting a packet of something out. He turned toward the window, and then waved at her.

She grinned, then pantomimed as she mouthed, "I'm escaping." She held her body like a running emoji, then motioned with both hands for him to come to her. "Come with me."

Hades grinned broadly. She could tell he chuckled, but he shook his head. He responded in mouthed silent words and motions, "Go. Save yourself."

She giggled and waved back before turning and jogging away. The day was cool, but exercise warmed as did the thoughts of the handsome man. He made her feel things she hadn't felt ever. She didn't understand why she was flirting with him. She was with Paul. Still.

The last word groaned in her thoughts, like the aftertaste of those horrid crabcakes clung to her tongue. Joan reminded herself they were balanced. But as the steps ate the miles, she realized balanced was killing her. Balanced meant the constant ache of bored unhappiness, loneliness, and monotonous routine. She admitted to herself that her greatest obstacle to leaving Paul was she didn't know how to be with anyone else. That was why she stayed, it was expected by her mother, but her mother was dead. Joan froze and almost stumbled mid-stride. She stopped putting her hands on her knees, panting in epiphany as tears filled her eyes. She stayed with Paul for the same reason her parents stayed married until their deaths; mutual affection that wasn't love, and their comfortable routine. She didn't have to live her mother's life. It was like a punch in the face and her eyes filled with tears. A sob surprised her. She staggered over to a bench and sat down, crying uncontrollably.

"Are you okay?" A light feminine voice asked as a tissue was held into view. An arm draped over her shoulder as Joan held it to her face, shaking her head.

The gentle person continued to comfort her. "There, there, don't cry. Things happen, but we all can overcome our grief. It helps to talk it out."

So, Joan blurted out her realization and misery at realizing she was living her mother's life and how much she didn't want that. She talked and cried for over an hour without ever lifting her head to see who she was talking to, as the stranger listened, she murmured comforting observations and reassurance. When Joan recovered from her emotional breakdown, she felt lighter but also exhausted. She blew her nose, and whimpered her gratitude to the stranger, "Thank you... I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, Joan. My mother and I share the gift of listening. I'm Persephone, by the way."

A memory from college classical literature class came back and Joan's head came up and she realized the stranger resembled Hades. "Uh... Are you at the conference?"

Persephone smirked and shook her head, "No, my brother is there. He has a date thing for our dad, but I escaped to wander in the beauty of nature and springtime. It's my grandmother's favorite time of year."

"Is your brother Hades?" Joan was suddenly horrified that she spilled her guts to sister of the man she wished she could have accepted a dinner invitation from.

"Do you know him?" She looked unsurprised as she revealed, "Technically, his name is Thane, but he goes by our surname with people outside the business."

"Your name is Persephone Hades?" Joan asked in shock.

"Yes, our parents are in the Greek Theatre." Persephone rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively.

"My parents were into French Opera that's why my name is Joan Eponine after Joan of Arc and Les Mis."

Grinning, Persephone giggled, "So you understand having a name that makes everyone look at you twice." She held her hand out at the view from the lookout point, and Joan followed her gaze. "I love this view. The beauty of the earth in spring can heal the most wounded soul."

The view of the breathtaking panorama was inspiring. Paul would never have hiked up here to see it. After a golfcart ride, he only would have seen undeveloped land as wasted potential.

"It's so beautiful here, but I have to get back. My... Paul got sick from the buffet," Joan announced.

"You'll miss him when he's gone?" Persephone asked with sad eyes as she tipped her head.

"I..." Joan hesitated then answered honestly, "I don't know... I think I'll miss the idea of having someone to come home to more than him... Maybe I'll get a cat." She made herself stand, deciding once Paul was recovered from his food poisoning, she would take the step she ignored the need to take for years. The hardest part would be finding an apartment or maybe she would just move out of Manhattan or New York City entirely. She looked sheepishly at Persephone. "Thank you again for listening. Please don't tell your brother about my breakdown."

"I won't and you are very welcome. Maybe I'll see you around some day."

The young woman jogged away in the opposite direction of the resort as Joan blew her nose again. She noticed the soft tissue smelled faintly of sandalwood and lavender. It was a soothing scent. She tucked it in her pocket so not to litter. Stretching her stiffened muscles to warm them up, Joan decided to run the two and a half miles back. As she crested the hill between the trails and the resort, she was shocked to see a dozen ambulances with police cars and fire engines. Panic set in and she sprinted.

Panting as she swiped her card to get in, pulling open the door, she demanded, of an officer, "What is going on?"

He looked terrified as he grabbed her arm like he was afraid she would collapse, asking hurriedly, "What did you eat and how much?"

Startled, she pulled away. "What are you talking about?"

"The buffet, what did you eat?" His eyes held worried fear.

"J-just a bite on a crab cake but it was awful, so I spit it out, I didn't eat anything else."

"Are you certain?"

She tipped her head at him, "I think I know what I didn't eat. What is going on?" Past them down the hall the elevator opened, and several firemen carried out groaning or passed out people toward the ambulances.

The officer sighed in relief, revealing, "The buffet was tainted. Several have died and dozens are sick from..."

She turned and sprinted toward the stairwell.

"Where are you going?" he hollered after her.

"My boyfriend is sick too," she yelled over her shoulder as she started running up the four flights of stairs to her room. The officer followed. Swiping her keycard, she rushed into the room.

The officer followed her, speaking breathlessly into his shoulder mic. "Room 414... we have a confirmed case."

"Paul? Open the door!" She rattled the locked knob then she stepped back and kicked the door by the doorknob as hard as she could.

It splintered inward. Paul was in the bathtub with the shower spraying him. There was vomit and feces on the floor and the side of the tub like he crawled into it. His face was turned toward the corner away from the spray.

"Paul!" She knelt in the filth and shook him. She grabbed his chin and forced his head toward her. His muscles were stiff and dead eyes stared at her as she heard the officer yelling at someone to hurry.

"Oh gawd, oh gawd," Joan chanted.

A lithe woman in an EMT jacket threw a towel on the floor before she knelt next to Joan. Gloved fingers pressed into Paul's neck as Joan just stared, then the EMT reached past her and turned off the water. Joan was almost too shocked to listen as the EMT spoke to the officer.

"Tag this room for the coroner like the other twenty-nine. There's nothing I can do for him; he's already starting to rigger." She stood and dragged Joan to her feet; gently leading her into the room and setting her on the bed.

"Ma'am, did you eat anything from the buffet?"

"No... no, I didn't." Suddenly, her shock evaporated, replaced by cold purpose, and Joan shook her head violently before looking at the officer. "I'm A.D.A. Joan Hannah, from New York. How can I help your department with this investigation?"

The EMT looked at her oddly, "Miss Hannah, you've had a shock, perhaps you should take some time."

"I'm fine." Joan spat the words, then closed her eyes for a moment, repeating in a colder, calmer tone, "I'm fine. I can help. I specialize prosecuting in mass illnesses and health code violation cases, such as this event. I have a ninety-five percent conviction rate on restaurants that violate heath codes and sicken the public knowingly. It is obvious the buffet was tainted; the caterer will blame the resort or the supplier or the event coordinator and host; they in turn will try to place blame on the others to avoid being convicted of negligent homicide or involuntary manslaughter. They will use the chain of possession to try to create doubt in a jury pool as to where the food went bad. All will get off if we don't make certain all are held accountable equally. The food needs to be processed by a CSI before they can get rid of it and the kitchen sealed before the evidence can be washed down the sink or bleached away."

A man she had not noticed was standing in the doorway, he stepped into the room. "I'll take your help, ma'am." She noticed he was covered in vomit and liquid feces, like it dripped or splattered on him. "Jake, take the lady to the kitchen and secure the evidence she will need to prosecute this care while we start clearing this floor of the sick. Emma, there is a woman three doors down who needs you. We have more ambulances coming from the surrounding counties." He nodded his head to Joan. "I'm Sheriff Donavon."

"A.D.A. Joan Hannah, New York City, New York," she introduced herself and her credentials.

"Welcome to Appalachia, A.D.A Hannah."