The early morning was the quietest part of the day.  The air held a hint of coolness, and the sun was still low.  It would grow in height and intensity, taking on a jagged harshness as the day went on, but R.J. rarely experienced that anymore.

It was rare that he got much more than a glimpse of the sun.  He only saw it as it broke the horizon and scattered its rays across the city and the highway, while he was either driving to or from Aira Cosmetics.

Even though he only worked through the night on the week of the full moon, he was beginning to feel nocturnal.  The interior of the Music Box offered an artificial night with its perpetual lack of daylight, but R.J. didn't miss it.  The world had fallen into its own rhythm.  Time faded from thought.  Life became the LARS Project, with only token concessions for food and sleep to interrupt it.

The genetics findings and R.J.'s growing suspicions about Amy's family would have been enough to occupy him, but the anticipation of the next transformation cycle was at the forefront of his mind.  At the height of the next full moon, there was scheduled to be a lunar eclipse.  In three more weeks, they would get the chance to observe the creature during this rare phenomenon.  It was sheer luck that it was occurring so early into the study.  There wouldn't be another chance for two more years.

Studies had shown that an eclipse could directly affect the behavior of some animals.  Most recently, a 2010 paper had examined the changed behavior of a group of nocturnal owl monkeys over the course of three such events.  R.J. could only speculate how LARS would be affected by it; the species was so closely tied to the moon. The potential to gain valuable data was momentous.  They might just figure out how the link between biology and astronomy functioned.  The preparations for the big night consumed most of his waking thoughts.

Having finished the security scans, R.J. got into the Music Box elevator and let his mind drift, giving himself a breather from the planning and the lists running through his head.  Not quite meditation, the brief time of idle thoughts helped him start the day with a blank page and a fresh perspective.

A morning at the Gilchrist camp flowed back to him with an intensity that brought a tremble to the fingers gripping the handrail.

Mila was sitting in one of the folding chairs sipping coffee.  She gazed dreamily at the sun breaking over the mountains in the east.  Her black hair was tied in a sloppy ponytail, in a way that made her look like the young college girl he had first fallen in love with.

She waited until he had fully extricated himself from the tent and zipped it back shut to keep the bugs out, before saying, "Good morning."

"You're up early."  R.J. padded over to the propane stove and poured himself a cup of coffee from the tin urn.

"Couldn't sleep."  She held her mug up to him for a refill.

He poured out the last of the pot, looking more at her than the cup.  The rich, roasted aroma was intoxicating as it mixed with the scent of the pines and the mountain air.

He put the empty pot on the ground.  "Anxious to get started?"

"Of course."  Her hand reached out and stroked his forearm.  Fingers slid down it and loosely tangled with his hand.  She turned back to the dawn.  "Aren't you?"

"Of course."  He used the awkward grip to spin her towards him for a kiss. 

"We're close.  I know it.  The casts we got yesterday are just the beginning."  She spoke breathlessly out of excitement, not passion.  

The kiss she gave had only been dutiful, but it didn't stop R.J. from smiling.  He was just as eager to push forward with their discoveries.  There was still giddiness at the thought of the plaster castings they had taken the day before.  It was taking every bit of restraint to keep from running into the storage tent and looking at them – making sure they were real.  Making sure they were still there and not part of a dream.  They had one complete footprint and three partials.  The last time he saw them, they sat majestically on the work table.  Their pale white forms projected an image in the mind's eye of the great Sasquatch, who made them.

"I'm thinking we should start with sector 17B and move through 26C, today."  He drew an imaginary line through the mist-covered trees with his finger.

Mila nestled herself into his arm with her back against his chest, pressing their entwined hands to the hollow beneath her breasts.  "We're going to find him.  We're going to be famous."

The warmth he felt had nothing to do with the forest's elevated humidity.  It was a new morning and everything was possible – everything was perfect.

The elevator door slid open and R.J. came face to face with Barbara Gracie.  A whistle died on his lips.  The lights in the hallway seemed to dim. Sucked away by the evil spirits the Doctor dragged in her wake.

"I need a new nurse."  The words were so curt their meaning took a moment to penetrate his brain tissue.

"What are you doing here so early?"  He'd never seen her in at this hour before.  It was one of the benefits of getting in before six.

"Don't dodge the issue.  Cullen needs to be replaced."

"I know.  He left all of us in a lurch.  Not just you."  They were frightfully short staffed.  The loss of one person, even a slacker like Tray stretched things to the breaking point.

"Where did he go?  Did you talk to him at all on Friday?"  There wasn't even the briefest of pauses between the two questions.

"He didn't say anything to me.  Wiley said he had a breakdown and was sent back to wherever the hell they got him from."

"A breakdown – like a car?"  Her condescension choked the air.  The halls seemed narrower than usual with her dogging his steps.

"You're the doctor.  Perhaps you can get a more thorough diagnosis out of Maxwell."

That shut her up for a second – good luck getting anything out of Wiley.

But her next question almost made him stop in his tracks, and he was relieved she couldn't see the expression on his face. 

Gracie asked, "Where were you Friday afternoon?"

"Around."  It was a feeble answer, but his mind was racing, trying to catch up to the conversation and figure out if she knew or suspected what he'd done.

"What does that mean?"

R.J. did a sudden stop and pivot, causing Barbara to nearly trip over her feet as she tried not to crash into him.  "You might not have noticed, but everything in this facility keeps me on my toes.  Everything from technical problems, to dealing with people's annoying questions.  I run around this place from morning to night.  I'm in my office.  The Labs.  The OC.  You know, around.  Why does it matter?"

"No reason.  When will I get my replacement?"

It would be so satisfying to slap her. 

Instead, R.J. let an exasperated grunt escape his lips before continuing his march to the sanctuary of his office.  The clicking of her heels behind him signaled that she hadn't forgotten about her question.  But R.J. had no real answer for her.  Wiley hadn't been forthcoming with that information.  "I can't exactly call a temp agency," were his exact words.

"Soon," R.J. said, leaning on the crutch of vagueness, not wanting to reveal how concerned he was about the situation.  "It's only been two days.  Maxwell is working on it."

"Did you notice anything strange about him the last time you saw him?"

"Who?  Wiley?"

"No, Cullen?"

They reached his office door.

"I don't know.  He seemed... Well, he seemed like Tray.  What are you after, Barbara?"  Her questions did nothing but confuse him.  Was that the point?  Did she have some ulterior motive?  Did she know something?  Or was this all just part of the unpleasantness that was Dr. Gracie?

Instead of answering, she walked off calling over her shoulder, "Get me that nurse stat."

The door couldn't open fast enough.  Still agitated, the site of his desk and the drab, little office brought up a memory of another early morning. 

A spring rain was tapping on the windows.  Textbooks were quickly filling up the pile of boxes he had salvaged from the photocopy room.  With each one, the shelves in his office grew barer.

Carmen knocked on the doorframe, bearing an expression of grief.  Carmen was one of the few zoology professors that didn't look down on him and his field.  Their friendship was a casual one, mostly limited to brief but pleasant conversations when they bumped into each other around campus.

She crossed the room to him as soon as he looked up. "I just heard."

How the hell did she hear already?  It was barely eight in the morning.  No one was in yet.  The board planned the meeting at 7:00 a.m. to keep it quiet and to have him gone before the department got busy.

She wrapped him in a sympathetic hug.  "They can't do this.  You should talk to the union."

"It was my screw-up, Carm."  He pulled away from her maternal embrace.  "I quit.  They didn't fire me."

"I know how these things work.  You only quit because they asked you too.  Look, I'll stand behind you.  So will Mike and Deb.  And you might not think so, but there are others too.  We have to show them that we're not disposable, you know."

"Look.  The faculty is barely tolerating the Cryptozoology program as it is.  Attendance is down, and the Provost thinks it's a joke.  I accepted responsibility for the paper, and I chose to leave.  But at least the program will continue."

"So Mila's staying?"  She bit her lip.  A synaptic flurry behind her eyes told him, she was putting the pieces together.  Mila had co-written the paper.  If they were going to fire the authors, she'd be gone too.  But if R.J. accepted full responsibility and left....

"Yes.  She's going to be the new head of the program."  He expected to see some admiration on Carm's face.  He had fallen on his sword for his wife.  Who could ask for anything more?  But all he read in her features was pity.

That pitying look haunted him as he waited for the computer to boot up.  He tried to force Carmen Gutierrez and Barbara Gracie out of his head.

The eclipse was in twenty days.  There was a lot of work to do, and he had to figure out how to secretly search for Amy's living family members in his spare time.  He just hoped no one ever found out he had used the confusion over Tray's disappearance to talk with Amy.

If no one questioned it, he'd be fine.  But Barbara had asked a lot of questions about that day.  If anyone should check the security footage they'd see the six-minute and twenty-seven-second gap, and it wouldn't take long to trace it back to him. 

He wouldn't have gotten into any trouble for communicating with the Subject.  Heck, they were even letting Haddad chitchat with her all night long.  Talking to her wasn't exactly taboo anymore.  But R.J. didn't want Maxwell to know about the questions he was asking her.

He had no idea why Wiley would lie about it, but Amy was adamant: she wasn't adopted.  And after looking at the photos of the family that were run in the papers in the aftermath of the Bluebell Crescent massacre, R.J. had to admit the familial resemblance between the Westgates was uncanny.  If not for the age difference, Amy and her brother could have been twins.