I'm sure I stared at her in disbelief. Or was it disbelief? No, at first it was anger, thinking she was just messing with me, trying to frustrate me, trying to play with my mind, but the more I pushed, the more earnest in her ignorance she seemed. It was so different from her smug overture that I began to believe she actually didn't remember Henry.

I lowered Lucas's gun, my whole being confused. This woman had definitely been the one I'd seen in San Judo. She had been the one to tell Henry he was a murderer. How could she have forgotten him? It was impossible. I just stood there. She'd stopped talking, and I was losing myself. But suddenly, there she was, right next to me, trying to take hold of my arm. I startled and backed away from her. She'd taken advantage of my moment of weakness and just swooped in, and though she seemed gentle enough, I wasn't taking chances.

"Don't touch me!" I practically screamed it at her.

"Nadia, please--" Her hands were up, palms toward me, as if I were some wild animal she was trying to calm.

"I know he's here. He's got to be somewhere." I turned and ran from her, determined to find Henry. I'd search the whole house; I certainly wasn't going to stand there and continue talking to that woman.

But wherever I went, room after room with her following me, letting me search, not trying to stop me, no secrets were revealed. There were bedrooms and bathrooms and the main floor with its living area and kitchen . . . but nothing stood out as unusual except for the fact that it was all too pristine. A show house. A facade. But there was no sign of any other person, wherever I looked, and it wasn't even as if there were hiding places. The furniture was so modern, and there was very little of it. If Henry were here, he was well-hidden. But Lucas couldn't have been lying about it--I was sure of that. What reason would he have had to lie in a death note?

At length, I grew tired of searching, tired of yelling Henry's name through the echoing rooms. I ended up back near the piano, and I sank to an uncomfortable sofa, unsure what to do or feel.

The woman watched me, seemingly unsure whether I was done or not. When she was satisfied that I was, she slowly stepped toward me and asked, "Are you done, then? It's just the two of us right now, as I tried to tell you."

I breathed heavily, frowned in frustration and defeat, wondered what in the world to do next. But then it occured to me--what would be the smartest thing to do. Looking up at Ms. Indelicato, I assented, "Fine. What is it you want, for me to stay here?"

She sat next to me on the sofa and smiled a tentative smile. "Why, yes. That would be lovely. Stay a while. We can talk when you're ready."

I'd never be ready to talk to her, but I had to play along if I wanted to buy time. She saw I was compliant, and she stood and spoke something into her wrist--her bracelet, I noticed. Like the last time I'd seen her. I didn't quite hear what she'd said, but she was soon ushering me to a room on the second floor, a suite I'd searched only moments earlier, with a bed and its own bathroom--it was cold and white, but it was clean, and there was a shower that looked at the moment like something from heaven. Before I knew it, the woman had said something about leaving me alone and then I was--alone, that is. In that room, by myself. But I admittedly didn't feel alone. There was no way the place wasn't bugged. They were probably watching my every move. There were certainly things hidden here . . . I'd seen what they could do to trap someone, to alter someone. Their resources and technology were beyond what I could fathom. No doubt this house, though it looked simple enough, was a web . . . a pristine cage. I wasn't sure I could get out if I tried.

But this was the only way to stay here--agreeing to what they wanted. It's how I survived at Oliphant, and it was how I'd survived in the Circuit base in San Judo. It was how I survived at St. James when I'd gone to school there, and it was how I'd get what I wanted, now. If I played along, I'd be able to stay in the house, and I was sure that even if Henry weren't in it, some clue as to where he was would be. I needed to know what I was up against, and being in this place seemed the best bet at present.

In the bathroom, I showered in a T-shirt and underwear, keeping Lucas's backpack right where I could see it through all the glass. Then I wrapped a towel around me and went out to the balcony that opened off the bedroom, bringing the pack with me. I sat on a lounge chair there, opened the towel to let my clothing dry, and stared out over the ocean. From this height, it looked as if it was part of the sky itself, all melting together into a sort of salty haze. The breezes from the water were divine. I could've sat out on that balcony forever, if I didn't have eight million other things on my mind. But sleep comes even to those whose minds are filled, and before I knew it, I was beginning to drift off. I pulled the towel closer around me, hugged Lucas's backpack to my stomach and turned on my side, and allowed myself to drift.

My sleep was dreamless, memory-less. When I woke, it was dark, and the sound of the ocean that had lulled me to sleep was louder than I'd thought it was. The ocean seemed to be revving up for something. Even in the twilight, I could make out caps on the waves, thicker and whiter than they'd been before I'd taken my nap. The weather was changing, for sure--the temperature had dropped, and I was stiff and chilly in my still-damp clothing. I gathered myself up and went back into the room, and the motion-sensored lights began to glow as I did. There was a closet, there, and I had slid it open when I'd looked for Henry, but I hadn't paid much attention to what was in it. I thought I recalled seeing some clothing, though, and I was right--it wasn't particularly interesting clothing, but the walk-in closet contained some basic T-shirt dresses, all in white, of course. I selected one and put it on, being careful to be discreet, as I was so sure those cameras were there. I put Lucas's gun in the pocket of my dress and the pack on my back, and then I went to try the door. They hadn't locked me in; it opened with ease.

The house was enormous, but the entire upper floor was dark while the lower floor was lit, so it was easy to find the stairway that led down by the glow it emitted into the upper hallway. With caution, expecting something to happen at every moment, I made my way downstairs, all the way into the kitchen, where Ms. Indelicato was sitting at a table in front of what I assumed was her dinner, though she wasn't eating.

"I appreciate you joining me," she said when she saw me, waving to another place setting across the table from her. Her voice was hard, again--she was telling me to join her, not asking me.

But I was playing the game, after all. I slid into the chair she'd indicated. The food looked all right, too . . . but eating something she'd given me was another story. Who knew what was in it? And I wasn't very hungry, after all.

"Why don't you eat, dear? There's no harm in the food."

"Why did you kill Lucas?"

"You seem determined to be difficult, don't you?" Ms. Indelicato sighed deeply, took a gulp of her wine, and then straightened up and said with a tone that gave me chills, "His generation was a waste. I'm surprised they kept him as long as they did."

I didn't understand her, but I pressed. "That doesn't answer my question."

"Oh, I'm sure we all have many questions, and they'll be answered in time."

"What kind of time? I don't want to be here longer than I have to be."

"But Nadia . . . you're home! Don't you know that? This is where you grew up, or as close to grew up as possible. There must be something in your memory that tells you that."

There was . . . a feeling. And my memory of being on the beach below . . . the memory Lucas had tried to pull out of me. But . . . then . . . it all seemed so strange. This didn't look like any sort of place for children. It didn't really look like a place anybody would live in. Everything was so sterile, not to mention dangerous for kids with that pool and the cliff . . . no. Something from my past did happen here, but I couldn't believe I'd spent my childhood in this house. "Were my parents here? Did you know my parents?"

She smiled as if she knew a secret she wasn't going to tell me. "In a manner of speaking."

I leaned back, placed my hands on the table. She wasn't going to give me any straight answers. "Who else is here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You aren't here alone. I saw you talk into whatever that thing is on your wrist."

"Oh, yes. Well, I have a security guard, of course. He'll remain invisible unless we have a need for him. Don't worry yourself about him."

I picked up the butter knife and began tapping its end on the table. I watched her as she took small bites of her food, like nothing about this whole scenario was weird. "I remember you from San Judo."

"It's possible," she responded without looking up.

"It's definite. You took Henry."

She put her fork down, swept a hand through some of the hairs that had fallen across her forehead, then clasped her fingers over her plate and gave me a penetrating look. "I don't remember anyone named Henry in San Judo. You, however, I do remember. You were ungrateful when we offered you a place. You ran off, and you've been troublesome ever since. But now you're here--"

"You said I grew up here."

"Why, something like that --"

"So why would you people have wanted me at the Circuit in San Judo? That doesn't make any sense."

"Nadia, we--"

"Nothing you say makes sense. You're lying. That's all you do is lie."

"Stop!" Ms. Indelicato had stood up with a speed I didn't know she had and slammed her fists on the table. Her hair seemed to flame with life, her eyes glow, like some minion out of hell, and she said quietly, acidly, "You will not speak to me that way."

Did I dare push her? How far should I go? My goal was to explore this place, if I could . . . and the best way to do that would be at night. I knew that. I shouldn't do anything to jeopardize my ability to move around this place. "I'm sorry," I said, biting my tongue, hating that I had to apologize. "I won't do it again."

That satiated her somewhat, but I had a feeling dinner was done. She lowered herself back into her chair and, as I'd thought, waved me away with her hand. I knew it was a signal to go, which was fine by me. I rose, headed back upstairs, and ran through everything in my head. She'd known my parents--I had parents! I knew I had to, but I'd lost any hope of knowing who they were. And she'd said I'd grown up here. All right. But what had she meant about Lucas? Something about some kind of generation . . . what had that meant? My thoughts flashed back to him and the moments he'd indicated I didn't know what we were. He'd said we weren't normal--didn't need what other people did in terms of food, sleep . . . I didn't know what to make of that then, and I didn't know what to make of it now. My priorities had shifted, though. I'd given up trying to figure out what the Circuit was all about (and apparently not just the Circuit?). I just wanted Henry, and once I had him, we'd run as far away as we could.

I wasn't tired, but I had to at least pretend to sleep. So I laid on the bed in my assigned bedroom, though I didn't take off my shoes or pull back the covers. Sure, there were probably cameras everywhere, but there wasn't much I could do about that. When it was late enough, I'd sneak out and look around as much as possible. In my mad dash through the house, maybe I'd missed something. There could be hidden doors, passageways behind bookshelves, a basement somewhere. Who knew? But I would be more meticulous on my own. I'd do what I could until they stopped me.

I felt that Henry was somewhere nearby. The closer I'd drawn to this place, the more whole I began to feel, as if some emptiness inside, an emptiness I'd grown used to, was disintegrating. Lying there, in the dark, in the quiet, I was able to really think about all that had happened, to begin processing the fact that the person I'd thought was Henry had been someone else and that Henry may not have changed--he may not have forgotten me. I had always been drawn to Henry, since I'd met him in Oliphant. He'd been drawn to me, too, I knew it. I hadn't just made all that up, all the talk about not forgetting one another and about sticking together. Henry, with his tall, strange slimness, his adamance that he protect me, his subsequent attempt to rationalize the lies he'd been told . . . all of it. His eyes, translucent and piercing, like Lucas's had been but hopefully still without the cruelty--I felt them looking into me; I imagined his arms shielding me; I breathed deeply as I thought of his head on my shoulder. He'd protected me, but I had to protect him, now. And I was determined to do it. He was here; I felt his presence. Like magnets, we were being pulled together. My heartbeat quickened as I became aware for the first time of how strongly I felt Henry in that moment.

Suddenly, the room was day-lit with an eerie blue: lightning. Thunder soon followed, vibrating through the walls and floors. The roof and window were pelted with rain, and in all of about thirty seconds, the entire house was wrapped in wind and noise and intermittent flashes of brightness.

Although I was in the creepiest house with the weirdest woman ever, I felt some sort of comfort to be indoors on a luxurious bed, dry enough and warm. The sound of the weather would've kept me awake even if I'd been tired. I laid there and listened to it, wondering what the ocean looked like and whether I should be worried. For all these people seemed able to do, I doubted they could control the weather. But time was moving too slowly. I knew I had to wait until two or three to leave the room, and the moments seemed to move painfully past. If I tried to leave too early, I risked Ms. Indelicato still being awake and finding me. Yes, it was best to just wait, as agonizing as it was.

The minutes ticked past. A digital time signature was somehow projected onto the wall of the room, next to the closet in a faint white light, and watching it was giving me anxiety, so I turned toward the balcony with its glass door, and just as I did, another flash of lightning lit the room, revealing the dark silhouette of a person standing backlit on the other side of the glass.

I jumped to my feet, gasping in surprise and no small amount of fear, and as thunder rumbled and more light illuminated the room, the balcony door slid open and the figure stepped through.

Whoever it was, he was dripping water, soaked from obviously being caught in the storm. He'd left the balcony door open, and all behind him were glistening sheets of rain and darkness intersected with brilliant flashes of light.

"Henry?" His name was lost in the booming thunder that rolled across the sky as I said it. My heart leapt at the possibility that this was all I'd been waiting for!

But then he moved forward, and I recognized the longish, wet hair and the firmer stature of Paolo.