Marcella sat quietly as Joe rubbed his temporary glue on her face, carefully placing the artificial features he'd crafted along her jawbone and hair line.

"You look like someone who might have sent a distress signal to Captain Picard." He muttered to himself as he stepped back to examine her new appearance.

"Who?"

"Captain Picard . . . Star Trek? What do they even teach you in the looney bin?"

"'Shut up, be good, and most importantly; medicate, medicate, medicate.' . . . basically."

"I see, well starting first thing tomorrow we will educate you in the ways of Mr. Roddenberry, maybe even Mr. Lucas too." He shook his head as he continued his work, airbrushing makeup to her face to make the rubber prostheses blend into her flesh.

"Who are they?"

Joe grumbled something under his breath, then shook his head and said, "you'll find out tomorrow."

Marcella waited a little longer before Joe pulled back with a grin. "Done," he said, "wanna see?"

"No, I just sat here for three and a half hours for fun. I don't care what it looks like."

Joe blinked, then blinked again. "Really?"

"In the hospital that's all I could do, just sit and stare. It's comfy now, you know?"

"I . . . I guess."

"I mean you always wanna play games, or run around outside. I'm not into that stuff. I just like sitting."

Joe leaned back and scrunched his face. "Are you foolin' me?"

Marcella smiled and clapped her hands. "I'm getting better at it aren't I?"

"Yeah . . . in a way."

"What? That wasn't funny?"

"I mean . . . it was. But with practice you could do much better."

"Ha ha, I get it, you're the better fooler."

"I'm not foolin', you could do better." His face was like that of a great president of the past, carved with a stoic expression into the side of a mountain, forever still and unchanging.

"Oh . . . I guess." She looked at her hands and he laughed, then grabbed her at the waist and spun her around as she joined in with her own cheerful giggle.

"I don't know how I could ever condone you making a face like that. I'm sorry! You're sarcastic wit is coming along nicely, my dear."

Marcella kicked at the air and squirmed. "I wanna see it now, put me down."

"Okay, okay." Joe put the girl on her feet and she stepped towards the floor length mirror.

She'd been painted a mottle of reds and oranges and Joe had glued gills to her chin and neck. She smiled at the fish-fin cap he'd made which crossed her skull like a Mohawk. "That's really neat!"

"You think so?"

"Yeah! You're really good at this."

"Thanks." Joe beamed as Marcella spun around to take in her shimmering costume.

"Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's Rowena?"

Joe went quiet, then cleared his throat. "You know, I bet she'd like it a whole lot better if you called her granny. Or grandma, or nanny or anything but her first name."

"Where's my grandmother, then?" She knew he would approve of her formal sounding tone just about as much as he approved of her using the woman's name.

"She, uh . . . she's got lotsa errands to run is all."

"What kind of errands?"

"All kinds."

"You know I don't believe you, right?" Marcella turned to Joe and crossed her arms. "I don't believe anything you guys ever tell me. It feels like half truths, every time either of you speak it looks like the truth, but I see the extra bits you're not telling me."

"Why are you here then? Why do you stick around if you don't trust us?"

Marcella turned back to the mirror and leaned in close to inspect the detailed makeup surrounding her mouth. "Where else would I go? Besides, just cause I don't believe you doesn't mean I don't like you."

"You like me?"

"Course I do." Marcella brushed off the comment with a wave of her hand. "You're fun, not like Row -- . . . my grandmother."

"She tries, she really does. She wants you to feel comfortable here."

"How does she expect me to feel comfortable here if she doesn't?"

"What?"

"I mean, if she did wouldn't she be here? It's been a week, and the time before that was a week and a half. She doesn't like coming here."

Joe stood up and cleared his throat. "I think it's about time to clean up now. I gotta feed you at some point, you know."

"Classic behaviour of one with an avoidant attachment style."

"Whassat mean?"

"My psychiatrist says it when I don't answer all his questions and stay away from social contact. He says I don't want to get too close in case I get abandoned . . . again."

"You're a psychiatrist now, eh?" He laughed.

"As a matter of fact, I am!"

"Oh good. I've been meaning to talk to someone about my snot nosed granddaughter. She thinks she's sooo smart, gives me a headache."

"Sounds to me like you should listen more closely to her. You could probably learn a thing or two."

Joe smiled and laughed some more. "Told you you could do better."

Marcella didn't smile back though, she just blinked and adopted quite a serious expression before turning to the sink and to rub her face clean.

Joe shook his head and muttered under his breath, Marcella knew it was about how weird he thought she was. She didn't care though, she was weird after all.

"How much longer will you two keep me here?"

"Keep you here? We're not keeping you here, you can leave anytime."

"Where would I go?"

"How about grilled cheese for supper?" Joe changed the subject.

"That sounds fine."

As Joe shuffled around the tiny space, hunched at the shoulders so his head didn't hit the rafters, he hesitated for a second, glancing towards the window.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh . . ." Joe shook himself, then turned back to Marcella with a smile. "Nothing."

Marcella made her way to the window and stared out at their surroundings. "What's that sound?" There was a muffled cry rolling over the field from the forest.

"There's no sound."

"This is why I don't trust you guys, you know. You're always lying to me, you know I see through it, right?"

"Look Marcella, I told you, it's nothing."

The cry rang out again, this time much closer. "Silva," Marcella said.

"Don't be silly, that crotchety old she-wolf couldn't be here. She's stuck back in her own territory."

The wolf-howl call of a creature on the hunt filled the cabin again and Marcella could taste the gray-blue color of it.

"Joe, that's Silva. It has to be."

"Get down to yer room." Joe whipped out his cell phone and Marcella didn't move.

"Who are you calling?"

"Ro."

"It is Silva, isn't it?"

"Look, Marcy, I don't have time for your questions right now. Get to the cellar, you'll be safe."

"Why does she want me so bad?"

Joe bit his lip and said, "I don't know. Probably because you're special." For the first time Marcella knew that Joe was telling her the entire truth. It inspired a new sort of trust in him as she turned toward the trap door and climbed down into the darkness of the underground.