I lock and deadbolt the door to the old motel room four days later and start to go through my inventory of cash, items, and ideas. I have five-hundred and fifty dollars left, the few items of clothes, my iPod, my knife, my gun, and my book. I have enough to get by for now. But I have to come up with a plan. This is where I hit a brick wall in my thought process.
I can’t go out and get a job. I can’t live somewhere or eat long term without money. To get money I need a job. I can pick-pocket and steal but that will only get me so far, not enough to live. And even if I had the money, I wouldn’t have the means to live most places anyway. Like I said, I don’t exist, not technically anyway.
The government doesn’t know I was born. I have no last name, no medical records, no social security number, no job records, no identification card, and no proof of any family I might have had before my mother died. I don’t even have a way to solidly prove being my mother’s daughter without some form of physical testing done on both of us to match blood or DNA types.
My mother was a prison refugee; she escaped soon after a court trial through a bathroom window after she shot her abusive boyfriend when he threatened to beat her to death. She pregnant with me at the time, but no one knew. I was born and because she could not reveal her identity, I went without one completely, because if someone knew I was her daughter, then someone might have been able to find her and put her into prison.
My mother did not communicate with me much. There’s much I don’t know about her still. Even the story above is hard to piece together for me. She claimed that I may not be her abusive ex-boyfriend’s child, and that she doesn’t know whose child I am. She claimed he sold her body to his friends and so the possibilities are endless. She also refused to tell me her ex-boyfriend’s name, telling me that the less I knew about her, the less people could find out about her through me in case something happened to either of us.
My mother was able to find a job that she said suited her situation. I’m not sure what it was though. Like I said, she was very secretive, but it brought in a decent amount of money and we lived fairly normal lives for being in hiding and not being able to be social and with people a lot.
I was homeschooled, and because I didn’t have the government telling me what I had to learn that meant I learned what she thought I should know. She said that learning languages is something that will make you very diverse, and is a great way to develop the brain. I speak Russian, French, and English fluently. My mother spoke all three around the house so much I had no choice but to learn them. She also believed in music being a way to develop the brain and help your mind reprogram how you think. I learned piano from her as well. I have to say I’m not a brilliant pianist but I can learn most pieces in a fairly short amount of time. Though in my defense I think it is because I had the time to practice that many people my age do not have. I was pushed in my critical thinking, and my ability to read people. I did an extensive amount of reading as well. Classic English literature has been the most of what I have read, but some French and Russian as well. She believed that being able to read quickly and efficiently and get all of the information was important. I think I’ve read more than I slept. I know basic math, not a lot of Algebra or Geometry, but I was expected to be able to know the answer to just about any basic math problem in my head instantly. Other than that, there’s not much else I know as far as academics. I know almost nothing about science or complicated math and I’m not a good speller in any of the languages I speak.
Physical defense was something she enjoyed doing with me. I think she learned much of it when I was a child in fear of being used by men again. She taught me a lot about how to fight without weapons, using only my body. It’s not anything special; basically it’s just a good grasp on the human anatomy. It’s all about knowing where to hit and your timing, not how strong you are. She was irrationally afraid of my being used by men like she was, and wanted to make sure I knew how to defend myself. I guess it might be even more useful now.
I sigh and get up to leave the motel and go to the University in the city. It’s an easy place to get to, with enough to do for little to no money, and a good place for me to blend in while I consider what to do. I hide my gun unloaded in my bag that I’ll be taking with me. I’m careful to hide it in a large pocket to the side and out of sight, bullets in another pocket, leaving the room to look as though anyone might be here. I keep the knife on my belt though.
Closing the door behind me I head out to the street and catch a bus to the University on the other side of the city. Once there, I quickly try and walk to the middle of campus to the library and find my way among the isles looking for something decent to read. I want to relax a little and forget about my situation. I wasn’t that close to my mother, but I fear I won’t be able to stop crying if I start again, so I try and distract myself. Besides, my head hurts from trying to figure out how I’m going to survive now. Within minutes I loose myself in the book and sink into the fictional world for hours I think before I’m startled by a voice.
“Hobbits?” I jump and almost throw the book in the direction of the sound. “Hey chill out.” I look over to see a man, who looks in his early twenties I think, maybe 23. His dark hair falls thick on his head, his bangs brush his thick eyebrows, his facial hair neatly trimmed. I try to suppress the heat that is going to start rising in my face.
“I’m Garret. And you are?” He crouches down in front of me extending a hand. I reluctantly give mine over and shake it with a mumble for a response.
“Desiree.” He smiles a little and I can’t help but blush as he sits down on the floor next to me.
“You go to school here?”
“No. I just like to come here and read.” He cocks his head a bit quizzically but doesn’t inquire much further.
“Yea it’s peaceful here, I like it. I spend a lot of time here myself.”
“Do you go to school here?” I ask not really able to help my curiosity.
“Yes.”
“What for?”
He smiles a little. He’s actually quite charming, and I don’t think he’s even trying to be. Either that or I’m desperate for some human interaction “I’m getting my masters in the English department with a focus on creative writing.”
“Interesting…” I mumble. My curiosity is about bursting but I suppress it as much as I can.
“Do you go to school around here?”
“I don’t.”
“High school than?”
“I said I don’t.” I snap rolling my eyes. He gives me a quizzical look.
“Why not?” Again with the questions, there are too many.
“I don’t have the time. I have other things I have to do.” I manage to say.
“So did you drop out of school? Or are you just a college age student who doesn’t go to school because you work?” I’m getting very irritated with the amount of questioning. I frantically wrack my mind for an answer, I could tell him I’m college aged and don’t go to school, but I think he might ask where I went to high school. That wouldn’t be good because if I lied and said where I used to go, as a dropout or college age kid, he might ask information that I don’t have. I don’t even know what you have to take to graduate high school actually, but if I say I didn’t go to high school he’d start questioning how I got around that government rule. Then again it certainly wouldn’t be the most surprising thing he found out about me.
“I was homeschooled. I don’t do school anymore.” I mutter, hoping it doesn’t sound too far-fetched or desperate.
“Ah…So your parents taught you.”
“Yea.” A thought crosses my mind: My mother taught me how to survive though, she taught me how to think, and be intelligent. Not to just fill my mind with nonsense that I won’t ever use.
“Would you ever want to go to school?” I’m quite set back by the question. It’s never really crossed my mind.
“I’m not sure.” I snap. It’s never been an option, and still isn’t, so it’s no use trying to imagine it might happen. He seems to get the idea that I don’t want to talk about that subject.
“What books have you read?” He asks. Why is he so interested in me? It’s mildly nice to have someone to talk to and have someone interested in my life but it’s frustrating because I can’t share too much about who I am. We discuss books we enjoy reading for a while; he expresses some that he likes, many of which are the same as mine. He then stands up again; grabbing his backpack on the other side of him that I didn’t even realize was there.
“Tell you what. I’ll be honest with you then. I think you’re interesting. I’d enjoy talking with you more. Most people here bore me to tears.” My body gets a bit rigid and I’m not sure how to answer. He’s very charming but I’m afraid if he gets too interested I might have my cover blown. He smiles at me interrupting my thoughts, extending a hand to help me up which I accept. “It’s not a date.” He winks. I’m not sure if I’m offended or relieved about him hinting that he doesn’t have a romantic interest in me, even though it is something I cannot afford.
“Umm, I suppose there’s nothing illegal about that.” Not that it would be the first illegal thing about me. He smiles.
“Good. What do you say we meet for dinner tomorrow? I’m short on money like everyone is nowadays I think, but I’ve got enough to go treat myself and a friend to a meal every once in a while.” I glare at him a little without trying. “It’s still not a date.” He mutters with a wink. I snort and smile, trying to hide it but I think he caught it, his eyes are shining in amusement. “I know of a place we can go.” He states, making the plan for us. I don’t oppose. It would be nice to have some company, and I would enjoy a free meal. He’s not who I’m worried about anyway, and it would give my aching head and heart something else to focus on.
I glance out the window behind him and see it’s going to be dark soon and quickly jump to my feet, putting my book back behind its hiding place.
“I have to go. I’m sorry.” I mutter. He nods.
“I need to head out too. I’ll walk you to your car.” He stands up.
“No thank you.” I whisper with a smile, daring him to oppose.
“Why? I can’t be that scary.” He always manages to speak with that charming smile and still make fun of me. I try to not smile and laugh, it wasn’t exactly the response I was expecting.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Sure I can.”
“No.” I chuckle. “I have no car.”
“Ah, that’s not a problem at all. I can drive you home.”
“No thank you, but I do appreciate the offer. I have a bus that I take and then it’s just a short walk.”
“Ok. Fine. You can do what you’d like. We will meet here tomorrow. What time works for you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll be here at about one reading and studying. You can meet me here any time after that. I won’t be going anywhere till you find me.”
“Ok.” I answer and he turns to leave, but before he gets far he turns his head back over his shoulder to wave.
“Don’t forget about me.” I nod and smile back as he leaves.
How on earth would I forget? I think to myself and smile.

I try to rush back to the motel after my run-in with Garret at the library. It is off in a dark area of town, but I’m not overly worried. I press my hand to the pocket knife at my belt as I get off the bus, getting ready to walk the couple blocks to the hotel and up to my room.
I can hear my heart in my ears, my hair is raised. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous. My senses are all over the board; and my entire body is warning me. I hear a footstep as a young man steps out from behind a tree. I pull out my knife instantaneously and back away a step or two, my body becoming surprisingly relaxed, knowing what is going on now. Well, at least partly. As the man starts to talk I see he is very well dressed which is surprising to me. Suit and tie, with a briefcase at his side.
“I am here to help you Desiree, put the knife down.” I don’t lower it at all; I am still cautious and careful.
“Desiree I am someone who worked in the same corporation as your mother. Please, put the knife down, we can talk.”
“Why wouldn’t you come to me in the day time?” He chuckled and sat down calmly on the bench behind him.
“We’ve been tracking you since your mother died. You were brought up well. It’s so tragic; what happened to her I mean.” He whispers, his head tipping down. My blood begins to boil, partly out of confusion, partly out of anger. Some part of me is convinced that whoever this man is, he had a part in my mother’s death. I don’t question him knowing about her death though; I question his word choice in how she brought me up.
“What do you mean by training?”
“Desiree we both know you aren’t an idiot, ignorant maybe. Actually I’m quite sure. But it’s too long of a story to discuss here. Come with me now. We’ll figure things out on the way.” My body refused to move. My mind was racing.
Training? What was she training me for? Where does he want to bring me? Why?
“I’ll have to decide later.” I answer dumbly. His lip curves up just a little, I think he is smirking at me.
“She trained you well, I’m sorry it had to be this way. You’ll forgive me later.” He slowly stands up, and the back of my head feels as though it has been smacked against concrete, and my world goes black.

§ § §

My eyes open slowly, and I’m assaulted by the bright light, white walls, and unfamiliar territory. I flinch and try to move but I’m too groggy to do much, and I find my wrist handcuffed to the hospital bed, and my head is throbbing so badly I’m trying desperately to keep moans of pain in. I glance to my right on the other side of the room and see a man in a chair. A different man than I remember from the last time I was conscious, but in a similar suit.
“Wonderful! I’m so glad to see you awake my dear!” My anger and fear was almost erased by this man’s cheeriness. I was a bit surprised actually. For being… well for lack of a better term a prisoner, this kind of greeting was not what I expected. He went on with his cheery voice and happy face.
“I was a bit worried that we weren’t going to find you for a while and something might have happened to you. It’s not often that we get a runaway.” All I can do is look at him blankly. I've come to the conclusion that I’m drugged. It explains the inability to think clearly.
“When we found your mother dead we were wondering what was going to become of you. She was a very smart woman, and we were unaware of the amount of training you received specifically since you were not of age yet.” Again there is the referencing to my training. The thought also occurs to me that he must know something of my mother’s death.
“My mother?” I mumble. It’s really all I can get out, and really wasn’t the way I wanted to ask that question, that was far too vague. I wanted it to be more like: ‘Why did you murder her?’ There’s only so much one can do about being drugged and feeling as though you have a bad head-cold with some kick-butt medicine and are half asleep.
“Ah, yes. I’m very sorry about what happened to her. I really am. I can say that I wasn’t the one a part of her death, and I was sorry to hear about her situation.” His cheery demeanor does become a bit darker and depressed almost. Which makes me second guess my initial accusation that he was her murderer. “She was an excellent woman, what we know of your training we know to be very extensive, mostly intellectual but as we saw from the events of the past few days, enough survival to keep you alive.”
“You still caught me.”
A smile creeps back on his face. “Yes but I’m the only one who can sweetheart. We are the only ones who would have found you, who can ever find you, if it hadn’t been for us, you wouldn’t have been found. Granted you wouldn’t have had much of a way to survive, but you would not have been someone’s target.” My blood starts to boil again at the mention of him knowing even in the slightest what my living situation has been like my entire life.
“Why? Why can you find me?” I snap, quite loudly too which is surprising to me, even though it wasn’t intimidating by any means.
“We will get to that when you are rested and the sudation wears off. Tonight we shall eat dinner and I will tell you what you need to know about your mother, and about what we know about you.” He stands up to leave, but before he does, he steps up to my bed and offers his hand to my free one. “My name is Christopher O’Brien by the way. And you, you are very special.”
“Why?”
“In good time my dear. In good time. For now just rest, you will be un-cuffed as soon as possible, I trust so long as you do not act like a prisoner, there’s no need for you to be treated as one.” I nod in agreement as he walks out the door. When it closes behind him I allow my eyes to close again, but I can’t sleep. I hardly realize when lunch is brought to me, or when my handcuff is taken off. My groggy mind slowly becomes clearer, and the clearer it becomes, the harder it is to sleep. I’m swarming with ideas, theories, anger, and confusion. I have no choice but to wait till dinner tonight before things are explained.

At five o’clock a young woman in business-like attire like everyone else I’ve seen arrives in my room with a suitcase in one hand, and a pre-ensembled outfit hung and ready (I’m assuming for me) in her other hand. She lies them down and points to the door across the room, telling me that there is a shower in there and everything I’ll need to clean up. I’m to put on what is on the hanger, and she will be back to get me at six o’clock. I nod and she quickly makes her way out of the room again, I note that she leaves the suitcase, but don’t touch it yet knowing I’ve got enough time to leisurely enjoy a shower and some new clothes.
In the bathroom on the vanity to my left are all the items I need for my shower along with a brush, a couple of other toiletries and mascara. There is a towel hung neatly on a towel rack on the right wall. I leisurely clean myself and my hair as well as shave in case what I’m expected to wear is a skirt similar to what the woman who brought me the clothing was wearing. As the last of the drugs wear off and I prepare for the evening, I realize how hungry I actually am, and start to instinctually hurry even though I know that if the woman said six o’clock is when she will be back, then six o’clock is the earliest I will be leaving this room. I could of course try to sneak out, but I’d rather wait and agonize a little over my upset stomach than deal with that awful piece of metal around my wrist again if I was caught wandering without permission.
When I get out of the shower, I reach for the clothing that I brought in with me and is hanging on the back of the door. It is a simple black pencil skirt with a white button down shirt (I do note that it is a good thing I shaved). I notice there is a belt to be worn with the skirt, and I assume the shoes to be worn with my outfit are either in the room somewhere and I missed it, or in that suitcase. I quickly dress into the simple outfit, then brush my hair through and pull it back into the bun with the twist-tie on my wrist. I put on the mascara as well and look at myself in the mirror. The outfit is clean, organized, and simple, and I feel like I’ll fit in with the rest of the people I have seen from around here. The pulled back hair is almost too much for me and makes me feel a bit intimidating almost but I leave it up anyway.
When I step back out into the room I notice that someone has already been back in here. My suitcase is opened and placed on the chair where O’Brien was sitting earlier. I see exactly what I expected for shoes sitting on the very top: a pair of black, dressy heeled shoes. I walk over and don’t take much notice to what else is in the suitcase. I see another skirt on top, a khaki one instead of black, and a couple of shirts similar to what I have on in other colors. I assume there’s more but I don’t feel like digging through the clothing. I put on the black pumps and notice they are actually fairly comfortable for heels. They are a bit high for my taste but that’s something I can get over. I glance at the clock and see it is ten minutes to six. I must have taken a longer shower than I thought, I didn’t expect it to be that far along.
When five fifty-nine hits, the woman from earlier comes back in the room to bring me to my dinner meeting. She gestures for me to follow her and I nod and agree to. Outside my creepy white room, I see that the rest of the place is fairly normal, very business-like but not stark and disturbing like the room I’ve been trapped in for far too long. People smiled as I walked past them while I’m led through a couple of halls through the building. I’m very careful to keep note of every turn I take, making sure I remember in case I’m left to get back on my own.
After about two flights of stairs and seven hallways she opens the door to a room labeled one-hundred and twenty-one, gesturing for me to open it and go in. She then leaves me in the quiet hallway. I slowly open the door and walk into the room. It’s nothing extravagant but it’s a decent dining room. I think it’s some sort of a restaurant for whatever type of building this is, because it has multiple tables throughout the room, an area in back where it looks like servers come in and out of, and menus laying at each place setting at what I assume to by the table I will be eating at. There are three place settings. I glance to the right of the table and recognize O’Brien right away, and then my heart stops beating completely for an entire couple of moments when I see who is standing next to him. It is the closest thing to betrayal in my life, even though I hardly knew him. My heart sank.
Garret.

My heart has completely stopped beating. He looks over and smiles at me, I hardly notice O’Brien gesturing for me to sit down. I hardly knew Garret, so I’m not sure why I’m so offended. And I’m not even sure that these people are my enemy. Wait. Yes I am. They hit me and kidnapped me and drugged me.

“Desiree please, sit down. We have much to discuss dear. I know you are confused, as you should be.” I say nothing, neither does Garret. Garret calmly takes a spot at the square table next to Christopher O’Brien. His eyes are cold and hard, his body language rigid. I walk up and slowly take my place on the other side of the table from them, directly in front of Garret.

“What is it you’d like to know first?” O’Brien asks as he flips his menu open.

“Everything.”

“Starting from where though dear?” I come to the conclusion that the pet names are annoying.

I contemplate where I want to start before asking: “How did my mother die?” I see both of them stiffen a little, Garret lowers his face and I hear a couple of knuckles crack under the table, and O’Brien shakes his head.

“Oh sweetheart, I am really sorry about what happened to her. She was very smart, but she got involved in something that I can honestly say I was unaware of her part in it, and got in over her head. In the end…” He trailed off. “It got her killed. It was tragic for all of us. She was a wonderful asset to our team. I will miss her very much.” I itch a little in my mind, positive that something is being left out. I am sure O’Brien didn’t have anything directly to do with my mother’s death, but I still feel as though he’s hiding information about her death from me intentionally. Even though he answered my question very vaguely, but it isn’t anything I’m not used to. My mother talked very similarly. I’m sure this is who she was connected with and just never told me. This is how she kept us alive, doing whatever they wanted her to do. But what was the catch? And what team is he talking about?

“What team was she such a good asset to?”

“Ah, now we are asking some good questions. Things we are thrilled to answer.” I nod encouraging him to keep going. Garret is still completely silent, but now he’s watching me. I think he is trying to trace my reactions, but I’m not sure. O’Brien continues with his thought.

“This is what you have been brought up to be a part of.” I tip my head a little in question. “Everything you have ever learned was for a very specific reason. We were active in your training and what we wanted you to become even though your mother was the one to carry out the teaching. You speak English, French, and Russian. You can play piano technically well but you are no musician. You are decent at self-defense but your real weapon is your mind. You were brought up with much reading put on you and much logic ability drilled into you. You are also an excellent reader of people, though I’m not sure if you know that yet or not.” My skin feels like it’s shriveling when I hear everything this man knows about me. He continues.
“We are a secret branch of the CIA, and we create spies that no one can find. We find people, like your mother. People in hiding with no means to take care of their unidentified child even if they keep the child, but wanting to keep them, and we give them the ability to care for their child. The condition is, once they become of age, they are to be sent to us to work for us. Eighteen years old. I know you are seventeen still until next month and if you choose to not be a part of our corporation now that’s completely all right. Everyone finds it a bit odd when they first find out.” If this is the only thing people find odd then they must have been told more than me up till this point in their lives.

“What is it you want me to do? Then I’ll decide…” Though to be honest, it didn’t seem like I had much of a choice. I could sit in that stark white room for a month and then for all I know they could force me to be a part of this. They could drag me kicking and screaming the whole way, they did so to get me here. Right?

“We train these people to become what we call handlers, and they then train the child in survival techniques, intelligence, and language skills. In essence, they are raising spies. Good ones too.” I’m starting to catch on to what this is all actually about and I think I might be getting excited. Might.

“So, I work for you as a private spy, and do what exactly?”

“That varies based on what you have for language background and what we need currently. You change jobs every so often, though many of our assignments are a life’s work, and if they are not that, they can be several years. Most of them are simple jobs such as being a part of organizations over-seas and making sure that countries aren’t planning to start a war against the United States.” He pauses for a moment, and then continues with a grin and great pride. “The greatest and most accomplished example we have, is that we were involved with the death of Osama bin Laden.”

“I thought the United States troops killed him”

“Sure they did. But how did they know where he was?” I think about it for a moment. This is a very important historical event; I took great interest in learning about it.

“There was a fly or bird of some-sort that recorded a conversation between a couple of men discussing where they were going to re-locate him, and it radioed back to the US army where they met bin Laden at the location.”

“Ah, that’s what they want you to think. And what we want Americans to think. And actually very few Americans even understand that story. What they know is that the CIA and the United States Navy Seals teamed up together and became the Joint Special Operations Command. Yes, that little radio overheard what happened, but it wasn’t so much by chance as they thought it was. It was completely planned. Front to back. The men hiding bin Laden discuss these things in code, not openly, even within closed doors. How else do you expect bin Laden to have remained hidden for so long? For years the United States troops were sent through buildings to search for him room by room. There was nothing to trace, and it was costly to American soldier’s lives at times.”
“So what did your spies do?” I ask. I’m genuinely interested now. This is making more sense than I imagined it might.
“It was that way until we ‘created’ identities for two of the young men in our system as terrorists. It took about three years of them climbing up to gain the trust of people, but after about that time, they became one of the body guards of bin Laden. They were the ones that understood the codes and how bin Laden was hidden for so long, and most importantly where he was hidden.”

“Why didn’t they just kill him?” I ask. Garret begins to speak now, his voice is low and dangerous, a very threatening growl. It is nothing like the charming man I met at the library.

“And when people wonder why one of bin Laden’s own men turned on him and killed him, all of a sudden we have half of the world searching for bin Laden’s killers to understand what happened.” He leans forward, folding his hands and resting them on the table. “This way, those two men knew exactly where bin Laden was being moved to on that particular day. They had information from us about where the US troops were and what listening devices they had from us as well, and they completely set up the attack for the US army. Thus finishing the job, allowing the men in the act to go on with no identity, making sure they were alive by setting up their “death’s” by leaving a bomb to go off where they supposedly were, leaving enough remains for people to assume that they were killed, and flying them out of the country with new identities all before the event can take place, making sure that they are safe here again before the attack begins. The credit goes to someone else, and thus our system stays intact.”

“Thank you Travis. Forgive me Desiree for not introducing him earlier. This is my right hand, head of the missions, second only to my guidance.” Travis? I look back over to Garret. He’s got a bit of a mocking grin on his face, and I would swear he was more intimidating than anyone else I had ever met. He starts to speak again.

“We send out spies to many areas of the world, sometimes to just make sure that certain countries don’t plan on starting wars with us, other like the bin Laden event, to help finish a job that would have been much messier and cost more lives without us.” He says with a daring grin. Any attraction I might have had for him earlier is chased away out of fear at this point. I make a mental note to not get on his bad side if I can help it.

O’Brien begins to speak again, to the server who I notice standing to his left, I’m a bit surprised it took her this long to come to take our order, though at some point she must have been here because I notice water at our place setting. Then again, it’s possible that the water was here earlier and I was in too much shock to notice, I accept that conclusion when I consider O’Brien discussing this topic so openly. I doubt he would speak about such things so openly with someone in such close hearing distance. After we’ve all taken our orders she leaves again and O’Brien begins to talk to me again.

“What do you think sweetheart? Are you in?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Well, as an American, I suppose you do.” Again, I am annoyed with the vague answers. I glance at Garret who nods in my direction. I feel my insides burn in anger, and I want nothing more than to refuse and run out the door. I don’t really see a way out of this situation though. And like I said, I don’t really see anything wrong with this. I finally have a purpose in life if I take this. Still, all I feel is anger, though I’m not sure if Garret’s demeanor is just rubbing off on me.

“I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful! Marvelous my dear! I’ll get on your case to try and replace your handler, oh my dear I know it won’t be the same and you have had extensive training already, there are some more things that need to be learned before we send you out into the real world. Oh really Desiree I am thrilled.” My emotions are pulled in such strange directions. O’Brien is so friendly, and actually quite enjoyable to talk to as much as he frightens me with his friendly attitude sometimes. The fact that directly next to him is the most intimidating, and angry looking soul I have ever seen makes this dinner almost comical. I have to make an effort to not meet Garret’s eyes, I’m not sure why but I get the feeling if I meet them something in my soul will die.

Much of the rest of dinner goes on fairly normal, we all receive our plates in a very timely manner and most of the exciting topics of conversation are now over. O’Brien does most of the talking; his greyish but thick hair nicely sits on his head, his bangs falling in his face above his glasses frames every so often. Garret spends most of dinner drilling holes through his plate and the table with his eyes (at least that’s what I get out of his expressions and lack of speech). About halfway through O’Brien’s plate of food, as Garret and I are finishing, O’Brien’s phone rings, and he looks at the number, and briefly stands up.

“I’m terribly sorry but I need to be going now. Don’t worry too much. It’s just that the rest of my evening is in need of my attention in other areas. Travis will see that your evening is finished out before you go back to your room. Just do as he says.” If that weren’t an order I would not even consider spending the rest of my evening with Garret, or as O’Brien refers to him: Travis. The thought of spending the rest of my evening with the man who completely tricked me makes me sick, not to mention the fact that Garret hasn’t exactly been pleasant company.
Within moments O’Brien is up and out the door on the other side of the room, obviously in a rush to get to his next event. Garret stands up and offers his hand to me, willing to help me stand up from my seated position. I think my jaw is dropped. How has his character flipped so quickly again? I look up to see the charming smirk again from the man I met at the library and am speechless.

“Give me your hand.” He says in a low voice. His voice still has a bit of a growl but it feels more like he’s giving me a command and doesn’t expect a no answer, which is a huge improvement to feel like death is around the corner. I open my mouth again to say something, but nothing comes out. I close my mouth and purse my lips, very much confused, and offer him my hand cautiously. He swiftly pulls me up to my feet and squeezes my hand and begins to walk to the exit door. I follow, but am rendered speechless still. His attitude change, the multiple names, none of it makes sense. I’ve spent maybe two hours in his presence throughout my entire life, and he has been more mysterious than anyone else I have ever known, even more mysterious than my mother. He turns back to look at me again once he reaches the door with that memorable smile and says:

“I told you I knew of someplace for dinner tonight.”