"All I'm trying to say," said Philly, "is that it's not as bad as you think."

Their friend had arrived at just past midnight, after taking the first available flight from San Francisco. It would have been just as productive had she stayed put and worked their current crisis from her California home, but the moment the young cyber-geek saw a Chicago video and realized it was Lydia, she had felt the need to be there. Throughout her entire trip, she'd worked, only pausing when flight attendants had forced her to shut off her laptop at takeoff and landing.

"I have search alerts for things like this," she continued. "There are precisely twenty-seven unique videos online documenting what occurred today ... well, yesterday. Beyond being shaky and poorly focused, they all have one thing in common. Not a single one clearly shows Lydia's face. I even tried to enhance some of the better ones to see if I could make her out. I couldn't. Facial-recognition software was a bust. You guys know it's Lydia on those videos because ... well, you know it's Lydia. Everybody else sees a tall, athletic woman with long dark hair. That's all."

"The only other thing these videos have in common," she said after a short glance around the room, "is that they're all digital ... which means they're easy to manipulate. I have a friend working on this right now. He's helping me tweak those videos to make them look fake, by adding a few minor imperfections. Then I have bots that will repost the altered product all over the Internet. By this time tomorrow, our videos will outnumber real ones fifty to one. In another week or two, this'll be just another Internet hoax people have forgotten about."

Sam felt something akin to relief at those words, and Philly's mere presence reassured him, but he still wasn't sold. Not completely. "Hundreds of people saw her. And don't think the feds haven't noticed this."

"Sam, human memories are even shittier than video," said Tommy. "You ask any ten people what they saw the other day, and you'll get ten different stories ... with maybe one or two obvious things the same. Maybe they'll agree the person they saw was female and had dark hair. In a week, maybe witnesses won't even agree on that."

"Should I cut my hair?" asked Lydia. 

Sam had decided the girls needed to take part in decisions that affected them, though to that point they had remained silent.

"No, absolutely not," Tommy responded in a mild voice.

"Why not?" asked Sam.

"Well, first, because it's a really beautiful mop of hair," Tommy replied. "But mostly that would be an obvious tip-off .... I mean, if authorities are looking for someone whose only outstanding feature is long, dark hair, and the neighbors see the dark-haired girl next door has suddenly shaved her head ...? Give me an hour. I can show both girls a dozen separate ways to fix their hair that will alter their appearance."

Sam gave Tommy a long look and felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. The urge to screw with his old friend at such a statement was almost an instinct. Tommy spoke first.

"I've had girlfriends," he replied with a playful wink. "I know a few girly things."

The conversation continued for another twenty minutes, at the end of which Sam stood up, stretched, and gave Christy's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. He was feeling better about their potential exposure and smiled at all assembled. "Why don't you all get some shut-eye, and we can talk again tomorrow. I'm getting a warm fuzzy that we maybe dodged a bullet on this ... but, well ... there's still the feds to worry about. So, if you folks wanna reassure me some more in the morning, I won't be offended."

While Christy helped get Philly sorted out, Sam moseyed into to the kitchen to rummage. Both women needed sleep more than the others, and Sam's metabolism meant he was always hungry. After heating some leftovers, he went, plate in hand, looking for the girls. He found them in the gym with Tommy. The three had pulled some folding chairs from the closet, and Tommy was using Lydia as a model to show the two how to do a quick French braid.

"Okay, that's number three," he said. "Try it on each other, and then try making that braid on yourselves a few times. Remember, some hairdos make you look a touch older, some a little younger. It varies from person to person, so you need to practice until you know how it suits you. And if you're in a hurry, add that to a quick change of clothes ... even tucking your blouse or pulling on a sweater can change your appearance to a casual observer."

As the girls worked, Tommy pointed out a few tricks that would make the process quicker, and afterward demonstrated several more styles. Some were simple braids and others required a pencil or rubber band to hold them in place.  

During the lessons, Sam several times returned to the kitchen for provisions. After his third such transit, class was just breaking up.

"Both of you girls have long thick hair," said Professor Haas in summation. "It makes this all easier. Makeup, hair, and clothing are all great tools for altering your appearance in a crunch." A wicked smile flicked across Tommy's face. "I still can't believe Sam hasn't taught you these kind of things." 

His mouth still full, Sam was incapable of mustering a proper defense to the playful jab. But he did notice Celia was beginning to fade into oblivion.  "Lydia, darling," he said after swallowing his last bite of apple pie, "why don't you take your sister off to bed before she falls out her chair."

Both girls jumped up and trundled off to bed without a word.

"And thank Tommy," he yelled after them. Tiny voices raised in the distance was his response. Sam took one of the chairs.

"I hope you don't feel I'm being high-handed," Tommy said when the girls were gone. "I've found keeping people distracted in times of trouble can be constructive."

"No, don't worry about it. I'm grateful and happy to see the girls so engaged ... and, good Lord, Lydia couldn't stop talking about flying. Celia's been pestering me all evening about when she's going to get her turn." Sam laughed.

"I'd like to take Lydia with me, tomorrow," said Tommy. His tone was flat and serious.

Sam looked back at him. "To where?" he asked finally.

"Chicago's a big city. It might just be a coincidence the girls bumped into one of their old tormentors, but we'll never know unless we take a hard look into it."

"Aww ... shit. You're right." Sam shook his head. "I was so focused on the girls it hadn't even occurred to me. But why Lydia?"

"She knows her former jailers by sight."

The old Chicagoan suddenly felt uncomfortable. "She went through one hell of an ordeal today," he said in a near whisper.

"Sam," Tommy said with a smile, "you are a great father to these kids, and you are very possibly the wisest man I've known. And that's saying a lot." He leaned toward his older-looking friend. "But I've raised lots of children over the years, hundreds maybe. If a kid falls off a bike, you make them get right back on. Because if you don't, you make them afraid of their own failures. She should get back on the bike ... so should Celia."

Sam felt defensive. His instinct was to shelter the girls. Fighting that impulse was the main reason he'd invited Tommy in the first place. The old Chicagoan was painfully aware of how sentimental he'd become over Christy Sue and the two young ones.

"You'll look after her?" Sam inquired, his heart in his throat.

"You know I will, with my life."

"I'm gonna have a heart attack before these girls turn 18," Sam muttered.

Tommy laughed, long and hard. "You think it's over when they turn 18?"

Sam needed a drink.