Part Seven

The gush of splashing, swirling waves was the first sound filtering through Lane's ears. All around her, it was bright—so beautifully, beautifully bright.

As she squinted her eyes, she could make out the fingers of light reaching in from the left. Thick lines slowly faded into view through the glimmering sunshine.

The warmth on her face and hands was accompanied by a superficial cool—one that seemed to brush lightly against her skin as it flowed across her body. The peaceful sounds of the water flow flushed all around her, made her recall the first time she'd traveled to the beach...

She'd gone with her class back in first grade, and GiGi's mom had been one of the supervisors. Together with her best and truest friend, Lane'd eaten yellow popsicles that tasted like her lemony lip gloss, then started collecting seashells to take home to her dad; the pearly-white ones were his favorites.

Her eyes scrunched together but still peeking open, Lane felt that she could see her daddy now—what a gorgeous face he had. And that creamy vanilla blond hair of his swept back into luscious, shining waves.

Little Lane loved it when he picked her up from school, when all the other kids in her class watched in awe as he swooped her in the air and cuddled her tightly against his chest. She loved that feeling when his muscled arms encircled her, held her, protected her—she loved how strong her daddy was, how strong he seemed always to be. And somehow, somehow, he was still so tender.

Smiling, he reached a single hand to stroke her cheek. That hand, rugged and soft all at once—it warmed her, even as a stream of tears fell from Lane's eyes like the waterfall she could still so faintly hear.

"I love you, Daddy." Lane couldn't even tell if she was really speaking.

"I love you too," answered that gorgeous face, those zircon blue eyes, that sheeny crème-blond hair. "My sweet, beautiful Baby Lane."

As he smiled at her, something started to peek out ever so timidly from behind him. A girl...or was it a woman? Eyes as freshly blue, hair as silky blond, but—

Mom?

No, it wasn't her. Mom's eyes were brown, and her hair fell in wispy frizzes.

So who was she? That girl? That woman? Why did her eyes stare so longingly...and why at Lane?

"I love you," her father echoed sweetly, purely. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Daddy." She kissed his hand, felt his perfect warmth again.

****

Lane blinked tremulously, felt the tears she'd cried in her sleep as they dried against her face. She tried lifting her head, but a stab of pain shot up from her shoulder and pierced the side of her neck.

"Ow!" she screamed, shutting her eyes against the agony. She drew her hand to rub at the pain, noting a similar throbbing as it erupted in her temples.

Lane's eyes began to water again as slowly, every awful memory torrented back into her brain. Beneath her eyelids, that sweet image of her father felt almost soiled now, corrupted with every brutalized second of the night before.

Faintly in the distance, Lane thought she heard footsteps. She jumped at the sound of fluffy slippers as they tapped across an evenly carpeted floor.

Lane instinctively drew the bed's covers closer to her as a thin, dark woman appeared to glide gently into the room. As the sun bloomed so softly through the glassy windows along the wall, the glitter of the gleaming light seemed to dress the lady who stood before Lane in the warmest, most welcoming effulgence imaginable. She was an angel—a tall, beautiful angel of chestnut skin and ebony hair.

"Lane," the woman's voice was pure melody. "I'm so happy I found you."

Lane blinked, felt tears build at the edges of her eyes. It was all she could do to sniffle in reply.

"You're probably still very tired," the woman spoke, lowering her head. "Don't worry. You needn't be afraid. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

"Wh-who are you?" Lane begged.

The lady smiled. "My name is Charity Vaughn-Daley; and I'm so blessed to finally meet you, Lane."

"H-h-how do you know my name?"

Charity drew a deep breath. "The same way everyone in this town does. Unfortunately, your alleged reputation precedes you."

Lane shifted uncomfortably. "What does that mean?"

Charity sighed. "Nothing worth repeating. Nothing useful or noble or...kind."

"Let me guess," Lane spat. "You've been reading The EdgeWay Press."

"Oh, darling, of course not." Charity shook her head. "Though my dear friend Prudence tells me I've made the most recent edition."

Lane's eyes grew wide.

"You can't let everything people say—anything they say—bother you so much, my love. They will write terrible things about you, and every girl like you." She paused. "They've been writing awful things about me for decades."

"So you know her?" Lane queried. "Madam Caroline. You know about her articles...her lies."

Charity nodded. "I know all too well. But I also know that you, Lane Martin, are a beautiful soul—troubled, but beautiful." She began walking closer to Lane.

"I still don't...can you just...stop right there," Lane ordered. "Don't come any closer. I don't know you."

Charity stood still. "Very well." She folded her hands, one on top of the other, then turned to face the door. "But there's something you should know," she said over her shoulder. "God led me to you, Lane. He told me to come find you, to look under all those leaves, all those branches. And there's something else He told me—that He loves you. Very, very much."

Lane took a slow, gravelly breath, then pursed her lips tightly together.

"I'll be downstairs making breakfast if you need me."

Lane curled her back forward and lay on her side, then watched intently as Charity disappeared behind waves of sunshine.

****

Cinnamon-spiced slices of fresh, buttered toast fragranced the air as Lane descended the steps slowly on aching feet. The sizzle of frying eggs—or maybe it was bacon?—echoed along the way.

When Lane made it to the foot of the stairs and turned her head to face the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was an old-fashioned wooden table topped with alternating yellow and blue placemats. At the center was a collection of bright flowers somewhere between indigo and cerulean. Within the vase holding them, the sunshine cast the petals' reflection on the water, painting a liquid hue of the sky.

On either side of the vase were tilted glass bowls of vibrant red strawberries dusted with powdered sugar. The cinnamon toast Lane had smelled just moments before sat in triangles on a miniature snowy white plate, almost as if to decorate the yellow placemat beneath it.

Shifting her gaze away from the table, Lane watched as Charity carried another white plate to the table, this one topped with four strips of smoothly browned bacon and an arrangement of blackberries around a clump of jelly.

Charity placed the food on the table softly, then looked up to see Lane for the first time.

Lane began shaking instinctively. "Is...did you make any for...for me?"

Charity grinned with delight. "Oh, Lane," she breathed, "it's all for you."

Lane's jaw fell. "But—but what about you? What're you gonna eat?"

"I've already eaten," Charity replied calmly. "Oh, your timing was just perfect! I'd hoped you wouldn't wake back up until the bacon was finished." She walked back toward the refrigerator, then opened it and pulled out a tray of kneaded dough whirled into individual twists of ivory. "And while you're eating, I'll put these in the oven."

"Wh-what are those?" Lane asked.

"These," Charity announced gladly, "are a special recipe from my dear friend Darla. They're the best sweet rolls you've ever tasted." She pulled open the oven and slid the tray inside, smiling at the buttery glaze and sprinkles of brown sugar decorating each roll.

"Oh..." Lane trembled, her body still quivering.

Charity sighed, then drew closer to her. "Lane, dear, you don't have to be afraid. I promise you. No matter what happened in the woods last night, you're safe here." She placed an arm around the girl's shoulder, then ushered her toward the table.

Lane took her seat cautiously, then reached for a slice of the toast as Charity walked to the other side of the table to the chair opposite from Lane.

Lane bit into the toast, then glanced up at Charity. "It's...delicious," she said just above a whisper.

Charity smiled.

Lane took a few more bites in silence, then let herself exhale. "Are you gonna send me back?" Her words were so low she barely heard them herself.

"Send you back?" Charity gasped. "Send you back where?"

"To...him...to them?"

"I don't understand..."

"Pastor Hall," Lane shuddered. "Mr. Clather..."

"What?" Charity asked. "Why?"

"They were...trying to find me...in the woods, they were...looking for me."

Charity paused. "Why were they looking for you?"

Lane gasped, sniffled. "They...they..."

Charity held her silence as she fixed her eyes on Lane, watching as tears built above her cheekbones and streamed down her face. "Oh, no," Charity whispered. "Oh, no, no, no." She stood and ran to Lane's side, hugging the twelve-year-old tightly against her hip as more tears fell.

"You needn't say another word, my love," Charity whispered down at Lane. "I won't let anyone harm you." She brushed a hand against Lane's shoulder. "And I will never, ever send you back to those men."

Lane covered her eyes with her hands, shook her head violently.

****

Charity cleaned the kitchen after breakfast was over, then she made her way to the living room. She sat on her couch and picked up her Bible from the coffee table.

As she flipped the thin pages, she heard the rustling of the upstairs bed, then closed her eyes and paused to pray for Lane. She thanked God for showing her the little girl, for leading her to Lane as the night had grown its darkest. Charity prayed God would give the girl peace and that He would help her make a full recovery.

And lastly, Charity prayed for Marcus—and for Glenn. She thanked God for saving her all those years ago; she thanked Him for healing and restoration, and she thanked Him that He loved her.

"Thank you, Heavenly Father," she prayed, "for faith, hope, and charity."

The silence of the air surrounding gave her calm, peace.

"In Jesus's name, Amen."

She opened her eyes, then focused them on the crisp, cream-colored pages of her Bible.

****

Charity didn't know how long she'd been reading; she only knew that she'd started in John and was now in Romans. But when she finally looked up, she saw Lane standing at the edge of the couch.

"You lied," the twelve-year-old growled, gritting her teeth.

"Lane?" Charity tilted her head. "How did you rest, Dear?"

"I didn't," she countered. "Every time I closed my eyes...nightmares. So. Many. Nightmares! I see Pastor Hall and...Mr. Clather. And then this cold...quiet...blackness everywhere in front of me! I see the forest and the trees and...Landon..."

Charity drew a deep breath. "Why don't we go upstairs together? We can pray and ask God for peaceful, restful sleep—"

"I'm done praying." Lane shook her head. "I'm done...waiting...for God to save me."

"Lane, dearest..."

"STOP IT, CHARITY!" she screamed. "All your praying, all your churchy spirit mumbo jumbo—it doesn't work! It never even freaking works!"

"Darling, please, you mustn't say things like that," Charity's voice quavered earnestly. "God is real, and He loves you so much. He wants to heal you, Lane. Please, let Him heal you."

"Oh?" Lane scoffed, placing a hand on her hip. "What a great idea! Why didn't I think of that? I should just pray to God and ask him to un-rape me! Or doesn't it work like that!?"

"Lane!" Charity chided.

"What!?" the twelve-year-old snapped back. "You spit out scriptures and verses and say everything's fine like you're some guardian angel, but your only answer for the psychos running EdgeWay is to just ignore it and pray and wish it away!"

"God is my Answer," Charity replied evenly. "The Blood of Jesus is my Defense. It saved me, healed me—"

"SCREW THAT!" Lane screeched. "God doesn't heal, and He never has! It's just stories and lies and hollering—all of it! Just a bunch of idiots who fall out in the middle of church and say God touched them!" Lane sniffled, raised a hand to swipe tears from her eyes. "But I know He doesn't heal," her words trembled. "And that's why my daddy is dead." Lane fell to the floor; her hands smashed over her eyes as she sobbed.

Charity paused for a moment, then leaned over to open one of the drawers in her coffee table.

Lane looked up mid-sob and saw Charity shuffle through several pages. After staring at one sheet for several seconds, she turned and handed it to Lane.

"There," Charity said. "Now read it and believe."

Lane snatched the page. "What the freak even is this?" she snapped bitterly.

"Huntington's Disease," Charity answered. "It's genetic." She paused, drew a breath. "I found out I had it not even two weeks after a rapist attacked me and murdered my husband."

"So what?" Lane's voice tremored. "You take a bunch of pills and pretend life never happened—that your parent's genes didn't screw you over?"

Charity smiled, looked off into space. "There's no cure for Huntington's, Lane. It's a fatal disease; and by all medical accounts, I should have died decades ago." She handed Lane another page. "And this," she continued, "is my other medical record."

Lane shook her head as she scanned the lines. "It's a hoax," she whispered. "That's impossible."

"Yes," Charity affirmed. "It is impossible. And yet God still did it."

"You're lying!" Lane hurled the files to the floor, then stood and crossed her arms, shoving her back to Charity.

"Then look up Huntington's for yourself," Charity challenged. "I'm not asking you to believe me. But it takes more faith to deny the facts than to just accept that a God who heals has worked His love in my life."

"THEN WHY DIDN'T HE HEAL MY DAD!?" Lane whirled around and screamed. "If God is all about love, then why did He let the most loving daddy in the whole world have a brain aneurysm on a freaking airplane!? Why did He leave me and my mom to pick up the pieces when He could've just saved my daddy and brought him back to me!?"

"Your father," Charity began, "his name was Everett, wasn't it?"

Lane trembled, tears still streaking her face. "How did you know that?"

"I heard about that flight, the one where he died. I'd met him only a few weeks before, on a cross-country trip I was taking with my ministry group."

"...What?"

"He came up to me, thanked me personally for flying with the airline. It was standard procedure at the time, but there was just something about him; his spirit felt so unique. Everett was gentle; I felt God telling me there was a darkness inside him as well...but he was still so kind. And so loving."

Lane sniffled. "He was," she cried. "He loved me more than anyone else."

"Of course he did. He loved you, even more than Elizabeth..."

Lane sniffled.

"But love is not all that is required, dearest Lane," Charity continued. "Love must be undergirded with faith."

"Faith?" Lane snorted. "Faith in what? In a God who steals daddies from their families, who makes rapists and molesters into pastors!?"

"No," Charity replied. "Faith in the God who brought me to you in the middle of the night, who showed me where you had hidden and fallen unconscious, bleeding and bruised. Faith in the God who led me to save your life despite how horrible of a person you've been to your classmates...to your own mother. And faith in the God who could have healed your father had he only known to believe."

Charity drew another deep breath. "God is real, Lane, but so is the devil. And if you won't put your faith in the One who loves you, if you won't trust and obey His Will, there's only so much He can protect you from."

"Typical." Lane crossed her arms and she eyed Charity evenly, shaking her head all the while. "You're such a freaking idiot," she breathed. "Maybe God did save you...but He never saved me. And we both know He never wanted to."

Lane turned and walked out of the room, leaving Charity to sit on the couch as the brightness of the morning began fading behind her.   

****

Night had fallen while Lane sat numbly in bed. She'd faced the window and watched the sun set behind a pillar of graying clouds, then curled away from the gloomy fog that approached.

As Lane lay alone, Charity's words echoed in her throbbing head while she tried in vain to drift off to sleep again. Her body didn't ache as much as it had in the morning, but her mind wailed in agony—screams of terror amid the memories of flesh ripping on branches and blood painting gratuitous spots onto leaf litter.

Trembling as her brain fired incessantly, Lane heard a rustle of the trees just beyond the window. A rap at the glass sounded moments later.

What? Lane thought to herself. But this is the second floor. She yanked the covers closer to her chest and stared back into the black night. Its darkness stood clear, unbroken, pitch...until the dimmed glow of vanilla blond waved beyond the glass frame.

An ivory palm pressed against the clear barrier.

Lane heard herself shriek as slowly, the boundary between the bedroom and the outside air was forced open. Wind whistled inside, shivering the set of curtains that flanked the window.

A woman crawled through the darkness, stepped into the bedroom and stood to her full height. With a single hand, she brushed bright blond locks away from her face and over her shoulder. Her eyes were as blue as the departed morning sky, and her lips were painted a flashy and succulent red.

And though every inch of Lane's body trembled with fear and bewilderment, she somehow managed to toss aside her bed's thick covers, to stand to her feet and approach the shadowed yet darkly glowing figure standing motionless before her.

Sniffles.

Tears.

Lane began to cry, to let the soreness wash itself from her eyes. She reached forward, threw her arms around those thin shoulders topped with golden vanilla hair.

"You're Lane," the blond woman spoke as Lane hugged her even tighter. "Aren't you?"

It was all Lane could do to nod her head vigorously as more tears fell to wet the floor. "You feel so...familiar..." Water poured down her cheeks as she spoke. "Like a...sister..."

The blond sniffled. "That's...that's because I am," she whispered, her eyes finding their own tears. "I'm Alice."

Lane's grip tightened, head leaning into Alice's chest.

"And you're my sister."

****

Youre all liars. Every single one of you. You don't think people will ever find out what you did? you kidnapped Ruby, you lied about me, Tried to kill me. You say you do everything in God's name but all you tell are lies and you abuse little girls. youre going to hell for all the things you did to me. youre going to hell. YOURE GOING TO HELL

A knife's edge sliced cleanly into Lane's flesh. As she applied pressure against her forearm, drops of blood splashed onto the note she'd written.

"Careful!" Alice admonished fearfully, her voice rising tremulously above the crash of the waterfall. "Not so much!"

"This was your idea," Lane replied matter-of-factly. "We have to make them believe it."

Alice sniffled. "You're right...I just...don't want you to get hurt." She handed Lane a wrinkled shirt and a flowy purple mini-skort.

"Thanks." Lane wrapped the shirt around her bleeding arm, wincing as she squeezed, then pinned it underneath a rugged outcropping of rocks. She slathered more blood along the edges of the skort, then found another stone to secure it closer to the note crumpling in the wind.

She turned to face Alice. "I hope this works."

"It will," Alice placed a single hand on her shoulder. "Now come on. Leith's waiting for us in the car."

They turned their backs to the rushing water.

****

"I'd invite you inside, but the place is a mess."

"Stop it, Alice. You know why I'm here."

"To see Lane? Sorry, she's unavailable."

"Out of my way!"

"Careful—you wouldn't want to get charged with breaking and entering."

"I said get out of my way!"

Click.

"One more step, and he pulls the trigger."

A hushed sigh. "Alice, stop this nonsense..."

"You have twenty seconds to get off my property."

Another sigh. "I want to see her." A pause. "Please."

"You lost that right a long time ago—a very, very long time ago."

Angry breaths. "You think I won't get her? You think I won't come back here, backed with every police officer in this state!?"

"Oh, I don't think," Alice laughed. "I know." She ran her dainty fingers along the wooden door's edge. "I know you'll never speak a word of this to anyone. And it's the same reason why you locked her up in the first place—you're a coward. You're so scared for people to know who you are, to know who she is. You're terrified." Alice cleared her throat. "All you have left is your reputation, and you'll cling to it. You'll hold onto it for dear life—just like you held on to the only reason in this world that I never looked like you." Alice's hand found the doorknob. "You almost killed Lane; you almost destroyed her. And I'm never letting you touch her again."

"Please..."

"Goodbye, Mother." She slammed the door.

The air hung still.

Alice turned to the square-jawed beau standing mere feet behind her. "The pistol was a nice touch," she whispered, then sashayed forward to close the space between them.

Her hands gripped the tops of both of his shoulders, and she stood on tiptoes to push her painted lips into his firm yet pliable ones.

He slid his arms around her waist, and she lifted both her legs to wrap around his evenly boxed frame.

"Babe," Alice moaned. "You're so hot."

He dropped the pistol and grinned widely, laughed between alternating presses of her lips against his. He took one step back, then another, all the while feverishly feeling along the wall with his right hand.

At last, he gripped an archway frame, then carried Alice against his chest, straight through the arch and into the backmost guest room, where they landed on the bed.

Alice pelted him with kisses.

"Babe," he gasped between pecks. "I love you." His eyes were shut; his figure was shaking as he moaned.

Alice gripped his belt buckle, unclipped the loop.

"A-Alice, wait," he tried, peeking his left eye open. "Should we really...I mean...Lane's—she's upstairs."

Alice giggled. "Then I guess it's really lucky that we're all the way down here."

Three Years Ago

"Honestly, it's so not fair that I have to walk into every party standing next to the two of you," Lane laugh-whined. "And this brown wig isn't exactly helping either."

"Hey, don't blame me," Leith begged. "It's your sister's fault for being so drop-dead gorgeous." He laughed.

"Aw, you two are so sweet," Alice drawled, then hooked out her elbow for Leith.

Circling his arm through Alice's, Leith leaned over to whisper in Lane's ear: "For what it's worth, brunette's still a really hot look on you."

"Hey!" Alice faux-raged, giggling. "That's my sister, you creep."

Leith laughed, then leaned back against the seat and gave Alice a peck on the cheek. "Love you, Babe."

Lane was the first to step out of the limousine, and Leith and Alice followed arm in arm. The trio smiled at a group of guests congregated around the front door to the hotel as they walked inside.

"Posers," Lane whispered to Alice over her shoulder.

"Ab. So. Lutely," Alice whispered back.

"Are they seriously not even going to check if our names are on the list?" Leith asked.

"I told you," Lane said under her breath, "we look like we belong."

Lane placed a single, braceleted hand on her hip and scanned the crowd, looking for that one awful face she'd never forget—as well as another face, one younger and handsomer.

"Lane," Leith whispered. "Six o'clock."

Lane spun around, stepping to the side of Leith and Alice.

"Well, hello there," came that voice of depth and pastoral prestige that Lane knew all too dreadfully well. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Pastor Hall, but you can call me Marcus."

"Hi, Marcus," Alice extended her free hand to shake his. "The pleasure is ours."

"Yeah," Leith piped up as Lane stood frozen in place, unable to move in the slightest. "I feel almost cheated that we couldn't have seen more of the conference, but my chief back at the Fire Department wouldn't let me off sooner than today." He forced a smile. "I've heard a lot of great things about you."

"As have I," Lane found her confidence, finally staring Marcus straight in the eye. "EdgeWay Church of Christ is quite the marvel."

Marcus smiled down at her. "I take it you three've been reading the papers." He placed both hands in his suit-pant pockets. "I must say even I didn't predict such growth when we first started out—"

"Hey, Dad, we're all set!" came a voice from behind Marcus.

He turned, then stepped to the side as a younger boy walked into view.

Way too young to be Cam, Lane thought. I never knew he had another—

"Yeah, everything's ready," came a second voice, lighter and sweeter. "Me and Steven got the rest."

Lane's mind screeched to a halt the moment the girl walked out and stood next to Steven.

Irina!? Lane felt her face heating up to a blaze. What's she doing with...with HIM!? 

"Hey, um..." Lane began. "...Why don't I...get us all some punch?" She turned and scampered off to the nearest glass bowl full of sparkling red liquid, leaving Marcus to stare bewildered after her as Alice and Leith donned nervous, awkward smiles.

Lane felt her hands shaking as she gathered six plastic cups then reached for the punch ladle. I can't believe this. Not Irina! NOT Irina! Just as she prepared to dip the big spoon, a rugged hand rested on top of hers; she dropped the ladle, punch splashing against the glass bowl's siding.

"Hey, take it easy," said a smooth and sunken voice. "You really gonna carry six cups of punch all by yourself?"

"I'm sure I'll manage," Lane said nervously.

"Come on." He slid his hand around her waist. "Don't be like that."

Lane looked up, stared him in the eye...then smiled.

"The name's Cam," he breathed. "That guy over there, the one who's about to win all the awards—that's my dad."

Too easy, Lane thought to herself, suddenly regaining her composure. "And just what makes you so sure of that?" Lane teased, raising her left index finger to toy with his white collar.

"Some things, a guy just knows," he laughed. "Oh, and uh, pro-tip: the only reason this punch bowl's here's for the little kids with...gentler sensibilities." He winked. "If you want something a little stronger, open bar's around the corner. And it's free all night."

"Ooh," Lane giggled. "Sexy and resourceful. No way you learned that from Daddy."

"Not a chance," Cam laughed. "The old man's a bit...outdated, if you catch my drift. It was pulling teeth just to get champagne for the morning sessions."

Lane smiled. "Well, I did promise to bring him some punch, so I should probably get going..." She turned and spotted Alice and Leith as they made small talk with Marcus.

To the left of him, Steven slid a hand behind Irina's back, resting it well below her waistline. The girl shivered as she turned to him, but she stood in place. Her eyes were silently pleading with Steven, but his stared coldly back at her as Marcus chattered on.

Lane drew away from Cam and shot him one last ambivalent smile, then she fully turned her back to him and watched Steven usher Irina away while Marcus kept talking. Alice and Leith stood their ground, but little Irina's figure grew smaller and smaller the further she and Steven trekked.

"Hey, wait," Cam spoke to Lane's back. "Don't go."

Lane froze, twisted back to him. She forced another smile. "Sorry, Cam. There's just...something I need to do."

He looked down. "Do I at least get a name?"

Lane racked her brain. "Alexandria," she blurted finally. "Alexandria Carlisle."

He half-smiled. "Well, that's a mouthful."

Lane managed a full-on giggle. "You can always shorten it if you like."

Cam drew closer to her, kissed her on the lips. "I like."

Lane gripped him around the shoulders and kissed him again, this time longer, this time fuller.

And all the while, she kept one eye open; she watched as servers refilled hors d'oeuvres, as sparkling chandeliers overlit the massive expanse, as Marcus Hall laid bare his arrogance at the feet of Leith and Alice—and as her baby sister disappeared in silent tears around the dreadfully lavish lobby's outer corner.

I won't let them get away with it, she thought to herself as she prepared to pull away from Cam, from that pathetic ignoramus who took her kiss for infatuation. I won't let them, Irina. I promise I won't.