I open the door a crack, prepared to see Gianna's face. What welcomes me is the brooding back of someone I know too well, looming over Gianna as she does a drawing. I fling the door inwards, my smile gone.

How does he know about her? What does he want? On impact with the wall, the door makes a resounding boom, alerting the two of my presence. There can't be a bigger contrast as Gianna beams at me and August glares.

I walk to Gianna protectively. Securing her to my chest, I look levelly at my brother demanding that he leaves immediately with my eyes. Flippantly, he disregards my demands. Instead, he advances to touch Gianna's hand. Instinctively, I slap it away. On seeing this exchange, Gianna leaves my arms and goes to hold his hand.

"Auggy told me that he is your brother." She says jovially. The fact that she calls him Auggy is not the most shocking thing there is, the fact that August cared enough to befriend a human, more over a child, is more than a red flag that he has bad things in store.

"He is." I answer tensely.

August looks at Gianna with a smile that may be passed off as doating but in truth is menacing. "And as siblings we care about each other deeply. I'll make sure she doesn't get lonely when you're gone." he says so frigidly, I lose it. How dare he say that to Gianna? She is only a child!

In a fit of rage, I get up and forcefully push his wheelchair away from Gianna, making him lose balance. He settles back in the chair and tries to stop me but I have him out of the door before he can resist much.

"What do you want?" I say looking him straight in the eyes. I was fine with his games but coming to Gianna is crossing a line.

"Nothing." he chuckles dismissively.

"I know you want something, say it and leave us alone." My voice, though low, is sharp as ice.

His countenance morphs into one of disdain. He looks at me with annoyance. "Return the files you took." he says coldly.

For a second, I am thrown off balance by the accusation, I didn't think he would catch on so quickly. "What files?" I ask after regaining my composure.

"Tara, I want those files in three days, if not you are never seeing Gianna again, permanently." he utters the threat nonchalantly.

I am lost for words how one second he is demanding his files, in the most childish ways, and the next he has me under his clutches with threats I doubt he is jesting about.

"You're not getting the files, and Gianna is not going anywhere either." I reply resolutely. A couple passing by glares at me for talking to him so coldly. I wish I could yell at them that despite that he is in a wheelchair he is the most malicious person I've ever met. This kind of front is what always got him out of trouble and the reason he hates me so much.

He scoffs a short laugh. "Don't be naive, you don't need to feign bravery with me, I know you're weak and stupid." His wheelchair moves forward, almost trampling over me, "I'll be expecting those files by tomorrow." He says and drives off towards the elevator.

My mind is reeling. When the silence of the empty hallway sets in, I realize that by befriending Gianna, I unknowingly mixed her into my ugly family matters. I slump into a chair, resigned. With my head in my hands, I try to think of something to do. Should I move her to another hospital or just give in to August's demands like I always do?

I am cooped up in my room for the rest of the day, trying to conceive a way to get August off my trail without forfeiting the only chance I have of knowing the truth about my mother. Night falls with no such answers manifesting.

My phone rings from the night table. I pick it up languidly, wondering who can be calling me. An unknown number shows on the screen. I hesitate to answer, it can be Auggy who is calling.

"Hello." I answer. There is a brief pause on the other end, which further concretes my idea that it's August. A remote part of my brain echoes; 'or your father.'

"You want answers?" A woman's voice says hurriedly. Her tone indicates the danger of her consenting to my request. "Come to my apartment in an hour. I'll tell you all I know." The phone clicks off and I scramble out of bed immediately.

Fiona ushers me in stealthily. Behind me she double locks the door before turning around and facing me. She is a woman in her mid forties, her physique alludes to an eternity of munching on goodies with her plump cheeks and sizable midriff. Her gaze is a contradiction to the wise cold looking woman I heard on the phone, her gaze is so mellow, befitting a mother. Does she not have children?

I follow her to a vast sitting room, whose view would have been immaculate if not for a portion of it being blocked by another highrise estate. The interior is well kept almost spotless but for a bag of chips laying crumpled on the floor. I was right about the snacks.

She produces a pot of tea from the small adjoined kitchenette and pours me a cup. I accept it graciously and finally sit down to listen.

For a moment we are silent, I presume she is clearing her thoughts before we start but it's not so. Her gaze is trained on me; analyzing. "You are just like her." She says in an ice shattering tone. I am thrown off by her standoffishness. "I mean why would she not just bag his money and disappear. She had to cause trouble." With her words it starts to dawn on me that maybe Fiona is not doing this out of sympathy, she is guilty too.

"What do you mean?" the journalist in me kicks in, I keep my emotions in check because i need her more.

She takes a languid sip of tea, a sign that she knows what I am doing. "Well, for one, there wasn't any way to peg all those accusations on your father." she smiles with amusement, "He is too invincible." Coming from a woman who is leeching off of him at this moment, it's easy to believe. I don't buy it though. Her whole face changes then, "and going to the police with mere files only made it worse. What could the police do to the mighty Mr.-"

"Do you know anything of use?" I ask impatiently. Her monologues have gotten tiring. She seems like a woman used to entertaining herself in solitude, monologues must be her only way of communication. A news reporter trapped in the exile of a measly New York apartment, away from the action, it must be degenerating.

Her posture straightens and she sets down the mug. With her arms crossed, she starts to talk. "On the night before she died, she came to me." Shock course through my system. What could this woman have that my mother wanted? "We had been seeing each other for three months and I knew a little of what was happening." she scratches her head vigorously. "At the time, she came to me with a memo from her husband's company, it was filthy to say the least. He was planning to demolish a neighborhood in the Bronx to set up a condo, but he wouldn't pay a dime to the current residents." I nod my head calmly, but within I am appalled beyond belief. "Your mother with all her foolish righteousness, wanted to publicize it to the media and she came to me." Her venomous tone reveals another dimension to this relationship; she hates my mother, a lot. "She left shortly after promising to get me more evidence since I was cynical then as I am now. But it would come back at me like a fucking train." she flails her arms miserably.

"A few days later, I read about her passing in the NYT. she had it coming for her, I thought at the time. But before her ashes even cooled, her husband's company published the plans of demolishing the condo in the Bronx." She plops her legs onto the chair, drawing her knees closer to her chest. Leaning back into the chair she continues, "I was terrified. I knew that before long her husband would come for me and I had no money at hand, just a reputation that, now that I look at it, wasn't worth two pence." Her tone is calmer than ever, almost sympathetic.

I wait for her to continue but she doesn't. "Do you still have the papers?" I do not want to sound too anticipating but getting a hold of them would lead me closer to understanding.

"No." she is lying. I do not press her. She'll tell me in due course before the guilt drives her insane.

"Is there someone else I can talk to?" I opt for another course of action since Fiona, at the moment, isn't of much use to me.

She is hesitant to answer. Her gaze flits towards the door, "There is this one man, Bob Mesovic. He worked with your father a long time ago. I heard him from your mother, he might-"

Her head snaps towards the door. Her face aghast she looks intently as though hearing something approaching. I open my mouth to speak but she signals for me to be quiet. A loud crash at the door has me curling on the sofa with fear. Devoid of propriety, I feel my body shake as I draw my feet to my beating chest, matching Fiona's posture. Before long, we hear footsteps retreat from the door, and the room is quiet again. We wait for a few minutes before getting up and going to the door.

Fiona slowly opens the door and peers out, a gasp escapes her. I push her to the side to get a view of what has her trembling. On the floor by the door is a meaty head, oozing blood from the severed neck onto the brown rug. Empty eyes of a goat that only saw the butcher recently, look back at me, searing fear into me. Whoever left this very depictive threat, wanted to get the message across, in the most grotesque, illustrious way. I close the door with my hands shaking. My legs that should be supporting me buckle uselessly.

"You should go." Fiona says from across the room. She is back in her seat, looking at me miserably, her face white. She looks like it's the first time she has seen blood, but not for me, it's the implication that has me stunned.

I nod and collect my bag quickly. I walk out of the lobby with shifty eyes. I look at the passers-by wondering if one of them isn't the forsaken messenger. I step forward and join the stream of home goers, hoping the cover of night will make me invisible to the perpetrator of that act. In the corner of my eye, I catch a figure looking at me. I look back but see no one there. It's just my mind playing tricks on me, I tell myself. Before long, the same gloomy figure appears this time much closer than the last time. I hear a click that's unmistakable; the sound of a safety going off. My eyes widen as fear settle into the pit of my stomach. I stand at alert waiting for the sound to manifest again. A few moments pass by and people start shoving me in all directions, I am forced to resume my path without discovering who was tailing me. The hairs at the back of my neck stand on edge. I feel rather than see it approach me. Balling my hands into fists, I close my eyes and turn swiftly, ready to strike.

My hand is caught expertly midair. I open my eyes to meet dark chocolate eyes, pertaining to Nathan. He looks thrown off by my whitened knuckles and gritted teeth. I loosen my hands and smile with relief. "Oh, thank god!" I utter, finally at ease. "You scared me."

"Well, you almost bashed my face in, so we're even." he replies, his face breaking into a smile of his own.

"Sorry about that." I say letting my hand out of his grasp. His eyes look at me with worry.

"Are you okay?" he asks, pulling me aside so that we do not stand in the way of others.

I nod. "Yeah. I am fine." He seems to believe me.

"Where are you coming from at this late hour?" That question startles me more than it should. I lose a moment to hesitation.

"I was with a friend." I recite the half truth without a hitch.

A shadow crosses his face, " I hope they are well." He replies, "are you planning to join the protest?" he asks easily maneuvering between topics.

"No." I reply. In light of the losses caused by NASA'S false predictions many people around the world planned a mass protest to force the closure of the agency and hopefully, optimistically, get reimbursements from the sale of all of NASA's assets to other countries. My opinion that these people inflicted the harm on themselves still stands and I will not stand abreast with such a crowd, neither in this life, nor in the next.

A frown crosses Nathan's face. "Why not?" His wrinkled forehead and squinted innocent eyes make him look kind of cute, a stark contrast to how he was the first time we met. "I never pegged you for being so-" he stops looking for the right word.

I supply it, "opinionated? Pig-headed? Yeah, that's me." I add. He chuckles with bewilderment.

"That's too harsh." he says goodnaturedly. His easy humor brings a smile to my face. Unknowingly, I no longer feel on edge. Tme has passed us by without a notice, the street that was swarming with people is only mangled with a few people moving leisurely about. My watch reads 11:39 pm. I have to go home.

Nathan notices me peering at my watch, "How time flies! You should go home." He says but makes no move to leave.

"Yes. see you." I finally utter, turn and leave him there. I hurry along to catch a cab. From time to time, I feel eyes again. I wish Nathan had come with me. I feel so exposed here. Luckily, I spot the top of a yellow cab. I stick out my hand praying to god it stops. The driver, distracted, passes me by. My face falls. A few feet ahead, it comes ahead. Hope rejuvenates within me, until I notice a man enter it; it stopped for him. I slump onto a tree nearby, waiting for another one.

"Tara." someone ahead calls my name. I look up and see Nathan hanging out of the window of the cab calling to me, "Get in." I run to the cab instantly, thanking my lucky stars for Nathan.

Guilt assuages me in the elevator. For reasons unknown to me, I feel like I have been cheating on Carter by spending time with Nathan. I remind myself that that part of our relationship was dead long ago, no need to worry about the dead. I smile to myself, at the memory of Nathan literally hanging out of that window. He's such a simple guy, very funny and caring; not as hard to decipher as someone I know.

Said person meets my eyes the second the elevator opens. He has been waiting for me. He handsomely clad in a bejeweled black blazer and matching dress pants. He is wearing a white tee within.

"Get dressed." He grunts. What's with the foul mood?

"Why?" I reply getting defensive. I don't take kindly to being ordered around.

"We are going on a date." His nonchalant tone makes it harder for me to believe him. The door to the elevator starts to close. I forcefully press down on the open button.

"What do you mean we?" I ask while passing by him. I make my way to my room, "last I remember there wasn't a 'we' around here." I answer spitefully. His taking liberties with my time makes me bitter again. Can't he just be normal, maybe like Nathan.

"Just get dressed. No need to get worked up." he says irately. By this time, I am at the door to my room. I enter and slam it in his face. Let him take that.

I sit on my bed, still fuming. I take in a deep breath, then another. I shouldn't let him get to me. I am a grown woman, I should act like it. But still, he just plays my buttons so expertly, he knows how to make me tick, even if intentionally.

In my haze, I don't notice my phone ring until the fourth ring. "Hello." I answer.

"Tara," The rough 'r's instantly tell me who it is. "He is dining at Le Bernardin on 155 West with a man who might know something useful."

"Who is?"

"Your father." He replies with sarcasm dripping from his voice. I feel stupid at the little slip up. I overwhelmed my head with trivial Carter issues, I forgot about the main problem.

"I'll get going immediately." I get up from the bed and fish a dress out of my closet. The low cut turquoise maxi length dress will easily blend into the high society that congregates at Le Bernardin.

"Be prudent." he says more in French than in English. He hangs up.

I toss the phone on my bed and strip. In a few minutes I am ready to leave. I paired the dress with blocky square toe heels and a black Kate Spade purse I got from Jean, a year ago. I walk out while adjusting a fur jacket over my shoulders. It's bound to get chilly soon, what with the April chill in the air.

"He'll be there... Yes. I know what to do." I accidentally listen in on Carter's phone call. "The mole is being difficult... yes." I hear the phone click off before entering.

I find Carter pacing in the living room, his hair that was neat a few minutes ago, looks disturbed. I think to smooth it for him, but that would be crossing a line. "Where are we going?" I ask from the doorway.

He stops. His eyes look me up and down. His eyes return to mine. He doesn't comment about my clothes but his sharp cobalt orbs say it all. "Le Bernardin."