The cab drove away. Mac and I were left standing dumbfounded on the sidewalk. I couldn't recall ever seeing such a big house. It was easily the biggest within view. There were massive iron gates at the front with plants growing through the bars. A lion's head molded out of more iron held the gates shut. Beyond those bars was a long drive that went right up to the enormous building beyond. After that, it looked like another gate was across the double set of front doors. I wondered if Mr. Hines had been killed for his wealth. It wouldn't have surprised me. Then again, if someone had killed him for his money, they hadn't gotten it, because it appeared his family still had all of it.

"Are you sure that's it?" I asked, my voice quavering a little. Why did this place give me chills, after all I'd been through?

"Sure I'm sure. That's the address." He pointed to a plaque on the gate with a house number on it.

I frowned. "How are we supposed to get inside?"

"Ring the bell?" I heard the doubt in Mac's voice as he suggested it.

There was a buzzer at the gate, though, right in front of us. It was one of those ones where you pressed a button and someone spoke to you from the other end. I looked at it, wondering what I would even say when someone answered. I was pretty sure that if I just said "Hi! I'm here to talk to you about your dead husband!" those gates wouldn't move anywhere. And I wouldn't blame Mrs. Hines for not wanting to discuss the death of her husband or the conviction of her son. Still, we'd come all this way. And even with the hope of regaining a memory, I might end up with nothing at all if I didn't try every angle. What would be left for me, if I didn't try? Running? From the Circuit, from Oliphant? I couldn't run forever. If Henry were with me, well, that'd be different; I could see running forever with him. But I couldn't see it by myself. So, gathering my courage, I pressed the little round button, holding it a good five or six seconds before letting up. In the ensuing wait, my heart beat wildly in my chest. Mac was silent next to me, and I wondered what was going through his head. When I'd waited almost a minute, I pressed again, and again . . . and just as I was beginning to worry that no one was home, that we'd have to stand out there and wait until someone came back, a voice crackled out from the intercom.

"Can I help you?"

Both Mac and I jumped with excitement, but I calmed myself and replied, "Yes, I--my name is Nadia. I need to talk with Mrs. Hines."

A pause. Then, "She's not here."

I exhaled in disappointment. "When will she be back?"

"In about two weeks."

Two weeks? My shoulders slumped. There was no way I could hover outside that gate for so long.

Before I could get too upset, though, the voice added, "What do you need? Can I help?"

I had no idea who the person was, but things like secrecy just didn't matter at that point. "I needed to talk to Mrs. Hines about her husband who was killed. And about her son. I--I might have information that can help." It was somewhat of a lie, as any information I might have was in the form of a buried memory, but I really wanted to get in.

Mac pulled on my arm. I glanced down at him to see his face twisted anxiously. "We should go," he said. "We should go now. If Mrs. Hines isn't here, we're wasting time."

I lowered my brow, unsure how to interpret what he'd just said. I didn't get the chance to respond, though. The voice had said "Please, come in. I'll open the gate" before I could put together anything to say to Mac.

And then to my joy, the gate clicked, groaned, and slid slowly aside. Mac was still pulling at me a little, but there was no way I was turning around now. We were going through that gate and up that driveway and right up to that door; there was no stopping it.

The grounds were beautiful along the path to the house--no doubt these people had a proper gardner and everything. They hired people to come out and tell them where to sculpt hills and put trees. There were a number of pretty flowering trees, decorative grasses and little flowerbeds. Pots with palms in them were outside the front of the house, along the drive and around the front door. It was a very different scene from the tangles of plants and trees Henry and I had been through in the woods, right after escaping Oliphant, and yet I would rather have gone back to the messy woods with him than be in this beautiful place without him.

I approached the house not without some trepidation. The closer we got, the more massive it loomed. It had turrets and huge windows and columns, but in spite of its exorbitance, it looked as if it'd been built within the last twenty years. It certainly wasn't an old house. When we got to the double front doors, we reached another gate. This was much smaller than the last and seemed more a formality than a security, but it was still locked. I stood there, contemplating whether I should try to mess with the lock or wait for someone, but Mac grabbed onto my arm again, this time really pulling.

"What's the matter with you?" I snapped. He was squeezing my elbow too tightly.

"Something's wrong!" he said, his eyes darting around like he was desperately trying to find something to point out to me.

In my irritation, I forgot all that he'd done to get me where I was, all the help he'd been in San Judo. "Stop being so weird. We're almost there! You're acting ridiculous."

"S-something's not right. We've got to go. Now."

"Why? I'm not going anywhere but into that house. We've come all this way, and this could answer so many questions!"

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped short when we heard another voice call out, "Hey! Come on in." I looked away from Mac to see a girl had opened the front door and was approaching the gate. She unlatched it when she got to me and slid it aside. She looked my age, or maybe a little older, and she was white with short, wavy, strawberry-blonde hair. There were some freckles across her nose and cheeks, which appeared slightly sunburned. She was dressed in one of those super preppy tennis skirts, collared shirt, tennis shoes, and I wondered if she actually played tennis or just wanted to look as if she did. "Come on in," she repeated, smiling, and she looked nice enough to me.

I was watching her and didn't even realize Mac had released my arm. "I'm Nadia," I told her, thinking suddenly how the name still didn't sound quite right when I said it. "And that's Mac."

"Who?"

I turned around. Mac was nowhere in sight. I didn't know quite what to make of his disappearance, but it wasn't the first time he'd run off like that. I figured he knew where I was going, and if he wanted to find me, all he had to do was follow. My attention turned back to the girl. "It doesn't matter. Nevermind."

"My name's Ella. You said you wanted to talk to my mother?"

I nodded, trying to be as respectful as possible. "I know this looks strange, but I wanted to ask about your father and your brother. A friend of mine . . . he might be somehow mixed up with what happened. I was just hoping to get answers."

Ella studied me somewhat severely, but then her features softened. "Why don't you come in?" she said. She stood aside and let me pass through the gate, then stepped ahead of me and led the way to the front door.

Inside, the house was beautiful. I found that I wanted to see more of it than the front hall, but I wasn't going to ask this girl to give me a tour. I felt rude enough already being there, telling her I wanted to pry into her personal life. She took me through a couple of rooms with thick rugs and expensive furniture until we entered a more laid-back space with sofas and chairs and a very large television. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, and I could see into the backyard, where I made out a deck with pool chairs and umbrellas. I couldn't quite see a pool, but I was sure they had one. Probably a hot tub as well. Maybe a tennis court, I thought, considering Ella's outfit. It wouldn't have surprised me.

The girl pointed at a sofa. "Why don't you sit down." As she placed herself on a stool and I contemplated what next to say, she startled me by adding, "We knew you were coming. Old Lisa called me."

My mouth hung open in my almost-spoken sentence as her words sunk in. "You know him?"

"Yes. He's been trying to help my brother. Ever since my mother sort of gave up. He contacted us, saying he was interested in the case and sometimes worked as an information. He said he knew a private investigator who might be able to help. And he said when he called that he thinks you might have a piece of our puzzle. What do you know about my father's murder?"

I sighed. Here I'd been wanting to get information from them, but instead she was hoping that I could help her! "Nothing. Only that I was probably there when it happened, although I have no memory of it. But someone I'm trying to help, he might have been involved. His name's Henry. Do you know him? Is--is he your brother?"

Ella shook her head apologetically. "I don't know anyone named Henry."

"So you couldn't be his family, then." Relief washed through me. The man's son had been convicted; Henry wasn't that son. These people weren't his family. I felt a pang of regret for him, too, only because I wouldn't mind belonging to this house, being in a family with such nice, beautiful things. But the larger sense was that he didn't do it; he hadn't killed Mr. Hines.

"My younger brother was convicted of shooting our father. He had no alibi, and the defense . . . the defense didn't even try."

I looked at Ella—really looked at her. Her face was tight, as if she were struggling to remain stoic, not to let her voice catch or her eyes water. She was staring right at me, but for all her steadiness, I could tell that she was just as desperate for clarity as I was. I instantly felt connected to her.

"So . . . you don't think your brother did it?"

"No. I know he wouldn't have. There's no way he could have done it. And he never admitted to it in court." Ella began to grow more agitated. She flexed her fingers into fists but then relaxed them again. "I mean, he wasn't always on the best terms with my dad, but it wasn't as if he wanted him dead. They fought a lot, but it was nothing like . . . Well, I just know my brother wouldn't have done it. He couldn't have, no matter how much they fought. And Mel agrees with me."

"Mel?"

"Melissa. My younger sister. She knows our brother even better than I do. They were close. And she's sure he was telling the truth. He had no real reason to do it. Not like it happened—him being shot in a dark alley. But mother . . ." Ella's eyes glazed over and she stared out the window beyond me. "Mother believes he did it. She really does. She didn't at first, but she stopped saying things about appealing the verdict. She just . . . stopped. She either believes he did it—or else she stopped caring. It really hurt her, you know? I think she just can't tell what actually happened, and it's hard for her to keep thinking about it. I think she figures it's just easier to ride it out, until Jason can come home again."

"But it hasn't even been that long, has it? Six months or so?"

"I know. It feels like it's been forever, though." She fell silent, then, stared out the window. Her eyes were dark like her brothers, incongruous with the rest of her fairer features. She turned back to me. "You said you were there . . . maybe you can help in a retrial, as a witness—"

"I am so sorry, but at the moment, I don't actually remember being there." I looked down at my hands. "There's a possibility I might be able to, though. If I could, maybe I'd be able to help." My hand went unthinkingly to my pocket, where the little bag from Bodie was tucked away.

"You said you have a friend who might have been involved. Do you think he did it?"

"I don't know. The last time I saw him, he had no memory of it either. But the fact that neither of us can remember it implies we might have been somehow involved, either directly or as witnesses. It's as if someone wanted to erase our memory of it." I didn't really know how to explain the Circuit to her and didn't feel particularly inclined to. Not at this point. It might actually be dangerous for her to know too much. "Unfortunately, I can't get to Henry right now. I guess the only real thing I can get out of this conversation is that you're certain your brother didn't do it, which means the possibility that Henry might have is greater. If his actual son didn't do it, then someone else had to have. Someone not his son." I sunk into thought. "But I can't believe he did it; I just won't."

"That's how I feel about Jason."

The name clicked. I glanced up at her sharply. Our eyes met. "Jason? Your brother's name is Jason?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Do you have a picture of him?"

Ella looked perturbed. "Of course." She got up from her chair, left the room, and then returned within a few minutes with a framed photograph in her hands. She passed it to me, and I saw a man, a woman, two girls, and a boy smiling back at me in one of those professional posed photographs. It was several years old, but I recognized the boy at once--the orange-haired, dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked Jason, now grown into a much taller and more intimidating version of the middle schooler in the picture. I pitied that photographic version of Jason, a grinning pre-teen with no clue that within a few years, he'd be at Oliphant.

There was no way this was a coincidence. Jason-- who'd hated me, thought Roxie was an idiot, and fought with Tobias, who'd called Henry a murderer and me a killer . . . There was no way it was all a coincidence. If he'd been accused of his father's murder but somehow knew Henry and I had been there, perhaps been involved, it was no wonder he'd felt such animosity toward us.

"I know your brother," I admitted to Ella. "He was my roommate at Oliphant. And Henry, my friend--he was at Oliphant, too"

Ella stood up, more eager than I wanted her to be. "You have to all be connected! How did you get out of there?"

"It's a long story. But your brother is still there, and my friend was basically kidnapped. There's someone who doesn't want us to know what happened to your father." I looked to the side, bit my lip in thought. "You're right about Jason, though. I don't think he killed your father, either. He wasn't in the high security area, where they put the really dangerous people." My heart fluttered a little, my voice lowered: "But Henry was." I found myself nodding very gently, eyes glazing, not wanting to accept it but knowing it was possible.

"So they know he didn't do it; is that what you're saying? Because of where they put him?"

But I was in my own thoughts. I stared at a pillow with navy tassels without really seeing it. "What did Tobias say Jason had done . . . what was the rumor? That he'd been in a fight, beat someone up really bad. That's why he was at Oliphant."

Ella sat back down. "No--that's what they were saying about him?"

"Do you think he could have?"

"Jason wouldn't kill someone." She sighed in resignation. "But yes, he might hurt someone. He could become a little aggressive in his arguments. He'd been in some altercations at school. But there was no talk of fighting in the trial. Even Jason didn't say anything about fighting. It was all just about how he'd shot our father, and my brother barely fought back. It was as if he felt defeated before he even went to trial."

"Maybe he was."

"You mean like someone forced him not to talk? We thought of that, Mel and me. Mother wouldn't hear it. But we wondered if that were the case. He wasn't himself at all, and he never even took the stand. He didn't want to. It was very unlike him." Ella was somber in remembering, but then the excitement began to edge her words, again. "Nadia, I've felt it all along. There's someone or something that wants this to be kept hidden. Our father, he worked for a research company. He could have had enemies, based on his research. I don't know a lot about his work, but he contracted out for independent jobs. He could've definitely gotten mixed up in the wrong things."

"What was your dad's research?"

Ella flipped the golden-orange hair off her forehead. "Genetics, but I couldn't tell you what exactly about it. Maybe my mom would know."

We were cut off by a weird whining noise, a rumbling from somewhere beyond the room; it startled me, but Ella's nonchalance established that it was no big deal.

"Mel's home; that's the garage. Could--could you wait here? I'll get her and we'll figure this out. Together." She flashed me another smile, and I'd not been so reassured in days. Maybe not everyone in the world was terrible. Then she left the room.

I felt sure I could do this, that I could help Henry. I was going to figure out this mystery, and then hopefully I'd be able to find someone to help get Henry out of that burrow of criminals. Maybe it was my lush, comfortable surroundings, but I was beginning to feel hopeful for the first time since Henry and I had been separated. These people had money, and money had resources. Surely if Mr. Hines were an important figure and their family was as loaded as they appeared to be, they could convince law enforcement to do something about all of this. I'd talk to these two, and I'd take that memory-inducing drug, and I'd . . . "Oh no . . ."

"What is it--what?" Ella heard me, entering the room with another girl close behind her, and grew worried.

I looked up at them. "I think . . ." and I hated saying it, "I think I need to go back to Oliphant."