Sam stared at the picture on her screen; the man who had followed their progress into the restaurant was someone she had questions requiring an answer to. He had changed since she had last seen him. Non-recognition was new to her, and she also had a lot of questions for Charles. Starting with why he had abandoned Cherry when she needed him most. That had angered Sam more than anything else and made Cherry question her value and so much more.

"Who were you talking to?" Sam muttered to herself, "who were you sending what to?"

The phone next to her vibrated as messages flicked under each other on the screen. Absently she picked it up, reading one after the other. Various emotions struggled for supremacy.

"No way," she finally said, "how the heck ..."

Clicking on the laptop, Sam opened an email with various documents, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Reading quickly, Sam felt her blood chill in her veins and a cold chill run along her nerves. She swallowed hard on the rising bile before looking away and shuddering. It was worse than she thought and just as cruel.

"Where are the reports for her parents?" Sam frowned, "there must have been an autopsy report, but ..." she looked through everything again and searched with tighter parameters, "nothing."

Leaning back, Sam sighed. In all the years of experience and now as a freelancer, all evidence before her displayed concerning patterns. She had hoped she would not come across it again.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Cherry?" Sam sighed, rubbing her hands over her face and stretching before pushing out of the chair, "I need food."

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Sam sighed again; three in the morning. When would she remember to eat regularly? Shaking her head, knowing it would never happen. Someone would have to put the food in front of her to achieve that goal. Pulling salad and precooked meat from the fridge, she put a plate of food together and sat in the darkness eating. Most people wandered through their homes, leaving lights on as they went. Sam knew it was only a leaving a trail for someone to track you if they wanted to ... her thoughts stuttered to a stop as the faint rattle of the front door handle came to her. Rising, she pulled a weapon from under a shelf in the kitchen and moved into the shadows.

Two people came through the front door heading toward her laptop. She silently followed them, waiting until their attention was fully occupied before flipping the switch and flooding the room with light. Both men groaned in pain before pulling off night vision goggles, not the run-of-the-mill either. They knew someone in recon.

"Stay exactly where you are," she said, "turn around and let me see who feels entitled to break into a home and steal."

The men straightened before slowly turning toward her causing Sam to frown. It wasn't whom she expected.

"Why are you both here?" she asked, the gun levelled at them and her voice barely a whisper.

"To find answers ... Sam," the taller of the two said, "we're looking for answers just as you are."

"Except I'm not using that as an excuse to steal from someone else," Sam said, "try again."

"Charles and I never accepted the excuse given to us when Cherry and her parents died," the taller man said. "We were not permitted to attend the funeral and felt what we were told was a line. We've been trying to find out the truth for years."

"Charles, I could understand," Sam said, "but aren't you in law enforcement? You don't need to break into my home for answers ... Detective Stanley Meyer."

"You know who I am," Stan nodded, "I didn't recognise you either, Samantha. It has been years since I last saw you."

"Why are you here?" Sam asked.

"The answers we need are ... apparently classified," Charles sighed, "I'm sorry to be part of this, but when Stan called and said he'd seen Cherry alive and well ... with you. Sam, it's been five years, and I have no idea what happened, nor was I allowed to see Cherry at the hospital."

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"She was in ICU for weeks," Sam frowned, "you're telling me you never saw her."

"Weeks?" Charles shook his head, "we were told within two days she had died of her injuries as her parents had. A week later, they held the funerals."

Sam didn't like what she heard; with her discovery and suspicions ... she clipped the safety into place, drawing the weapon toward her chest and pointing it at the ceiling.

"You have minutes," she glared at Stan, "talk."

Glancing from Charles to the cold, angry woman in front of them, Stan sighed, "Okay, what do you want to know?"

"Start at the beginning," she murmured, "leave nothing out, and you'd better be telling the truth."

"What happens if it's not all the truth?" Charles asked, frowning in bewilderment.

"Want to tell him?" Sam asked, looking at Stan.

"She shoots us," Stan whispered, "it's not truth or dare this one could be named, truth or die."

"Die? I don't want to die ..." Charles spluttered, "what happened to you, Sam?"

"Years of being lied to, plus I grew up," she said, "now ..." flipping the safety off, Sam waited, "talk."

"Tell her," Charles said, looking at Stan, "please tell her everything. You said she would help," Charles looked between the two direct, steady gazes, "if he tells you everything will you help."

"Sure," Sam said, "if it's the truth ... and I'll know if it isn't."

"Will she?" Charles asked, glancing at Stan, who kept his gaze locked on Sam.

"If she is who the community says she is," Stan sighed, nodding, "she'll know."

"Community?" Charles whispered, frowning.

"Yeah," Stan said, "I'll tell you everything, but when I have ... will you help us? We have researched and investigated for five years but get stonewalled at a certain point."

"Talk, and I'll make a call about helping you afterwards," Sam said, flipping off the lights and easing to the floor as the two men sank into the chairs.

"Talking in the dark ... that's new. You know we were not allowed to see Cherry in the hospital or go to the funerals," Stan said. "What you don't know is she wasn't in the ICU; her hospital records were altered after the fact."

"How do you know?" Sam asked.

"A friend of mine works for hospital administration," Stan said, "I was sent the original paperwork and then the altered paperwork ... two days later. The day of the funerals."

"Where was she originally?" Sam asked, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Some ward with a weird name,' Stan said, "a ward that the hospital doesn't have any official record of and there is no one on staff who works in it. It's on the same floor as ICU, but no one is seen going in or out, not even patients. The doors have a combination lock as a security measure, iris scan and code input. My friend tells me she doesn't know any security measure such as that being a requirement by the hospital."

"What else?" Sam pressed, her heart beating harder and her nerves tightened, she didn't want to know these details, yet they were imperative. Instinct flared, and the feeling of moving into dangerous waters filled her every pore.

"After the supposed funerals, there were sightings of Cherry's parents," Stan said, "four to be exact, then they simply disappeared. The deaths were investigated extensively and continuously, but an official version or line is given when questions about the sightings are posed."

"You've been looking into this for five years?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Stan said, "Charles is my friend, and I loved Cherry like a sister. When I saw the two of you together a few days ago, it was as if she had not aged... at all."

"Yeah, she was brilliant genes," Sam said, "is there anything you're leaving out?"

"It looks like you have the rest of what we found here," Stan said, "well, what I saw at a glance anyway."

"Why are you no longer a policeman?" Sam asked.

"It's too confining," Stan said, "what I currently am gives a better view of things."

"But you still maintain the title ... Detective," Sam said, her eyes never wavering from the man stretched out casually.

"It's a concession," he said, "why does it bug you?"

"Oh, nothing bugs me," Sam said, pushing to her feet, "but reasons matter. They always matter."

"Will you help us?" Charles asked.

"Sure," Sam said, "I'll help you, but if you break into any place I'm in again, don't expect me to be so understanding."

"What does that mean?" Charles whispered.

"She'll shoot you on sight," Stan replied, grinning, "I can respect that ..." rising, he stretched out his hand, "thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Sam said, eyeing the hand wearily before shaking it, "you may not like what you find."