Claire inhaled the cigarette smoke deeply as she sat on her back deck overlooking the horse corral. On the table in front of her was a photo of Emma and Dane, taken during their fishing trip the previous year. Emma held up her catch. It was a sixteen inch salmon, and she smiled widely while Dane wore a look of pride on his face.

The picture came everywhere with her. She was grief-stricken. It had been two and a half weeks since they’d been taken, and every day that passed caused Claire’s heart to become more and more numb. She took up smoking again, and was drinking as much as she did as a teenager.

She spent her mornings caring for the horses. Somehow, minding them gave her hope that her family one day return. She paid special attention to Emma’s horse, Pepsi, making sure to groom him in her absence. Talking to him comforted her, as if somehow, she thought Emma could hear her, wherever she was.

Her afternoons were spent attending meetings. With her therapist, with her lawyers, and with the private investigators.

Her lawyers were handling the legal route– filing Access to Information requests with the federal and provincial governments, preparing for the lawsuits she was going to drop on everyone involved, and ensuring she was legally protected.

The private investigators, however, were taking the low road. Digging up whatever information they could on Sizilen Oringard and the prisoners being kept at the old juvenile hall in Burnaby. Bribing people into revealing details about Sizilen’s activities in Vancouver. Frankly, she felt disgusted and betrayed they would release her and put her up in a swanky hotel. As far as Claire was concerned, the bitch was just as responsible for what happened to her family as any other Embrayyan present during their attack on her husband’s brewery.

Her evenings, however, were consumed by Claire’s growing obsession with her. She watched, listened to or read every interview she participated in. She joined Facebook groups that had formed since the egress that were dedicated to support for the victims and their families, critical discussion of the government’s behavior, and even the sharing of theories suggesting deep state involvement in the event.

With every passing minute, she resented the Embrayyans even more.

Her first interview on TTV had broken her heart. Claire was surprised to see that Miles Brady, the man that had helped her get in contact with Colonel Burke, was the cow’s translator. She resented him too. And she resented Colonel Burke as well.

Burke had agreed to a phone call. A phone call. Claire tried to remain respectful during the meeting, but Burke only evaded her questions, citing national security as if she was a threat to it. She’d asked what was being done to retrieve her family safe, and Burke could only say it was being worked on. She’d asked for a timeline on when she could expect to hear something, and he’d replied that she’d be contacted when they had answers for her.

It was a short conversation, and did little to make her feel better. Then the Colonel condescendingly tried to reassure her that getting back the kidnapped Canadians were their highest priority, but offered nothing in the way of proof.

She bought a pack of cigarettes on the way home that day. It was getting to be too much. She had next to no information. She had no answers, and she was being treated as a nuisance and told to just wait.

Claire Bishop wasn’t a woman who was going to be told what to do, not even by those in authority. She was going to get her husband and daughter back, even if she had to spend every last penny she had to do so. She’d even started to think about how to hire mercenaries and get them through the portal. The Canadian Armed Forces were incompentent. Maybe she’d have to explore other options. Options that were becoming increasingly more expensive. They were wealthy, but their wealth wasn’t unlimited. She’d already spent more than she and Dane had made in the previous three years.

She put out her cigarette and went to take another one out of the pack when she heard her doorbell ring. She rolled her eyes. Probably another neighbor or old family friend coming by to give condolences.

She wasn’t ready for condolences. Her family was still alive, she could feel it deep inside of herself.

She picked up her phone and loaded her doorbell app. There were two people at her door. A tall, bald man and a woman who looked to be in her forties. They were both wearing business attire. She didn’t recognize either of them.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She pressed down the touch-to-talk button on her phone.

“It’s a little late for solicitors,” she said. “Please leave the property.”

The bald man leaned in and looked into the doorbell camera. “Mrs. Bishop?”

“I’m not in the mood,” she said. “Go before I call the police.”

“Mrs. Bishop, I’m afraid you misunderstand. We’re not solicitors. We’re here to discuss your husband and daughter.”

She paused. “What about them?” she asked.

“Mrs. Bishop, we’d appreciate a face-to-face meeting if you don’t mind,” the woman added.

“I don’t care what you’d appreciate,” Claire said. “Say your piece or leave.”

The woman looked to the man for a moment. He gave her a slight nod, then turned his back to her, looking out over the driveway. “We believe the interests of our employers align with your own, and we’re here to discuss how we can help each other, starting with helping you get your family back. Are you willing to talk with us?”

Claire considered telling them to leave again, but something about the way she spoke seemed to give her hope.

“Mrs. Bishop?” she asked.

Claire snapped out of it. “Come in,” she said. “Meet me in the dining room, immediately to your left.” She pressed the button that unlocked the door, then stood up and walked back inside.

By the time she reached the dining room, the two strangers were already standing at the end of the table. She folded her arms and looked at them.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Mr. Argent,” the bald man said. He gestured to the woman. “My associate, Miss Silver.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “Argent and Silver? Do I look like an idiot?”

“By no means, Mrs. Bishop. Our employers actually believe you to be an intelligent and capable woman. A possible ally in their goals,” Argent explained.

“And what goals are those?”

“Mrs. Bishop, the emergence of this… portal has drawn the attention of many people. People who mean to exploit it by any means necessary. We have some concern that these people are embedded deeply with the federal government and Canadian Armed Forces, and that they don’t care for the victims of this tragedy. Furthermore, they believe the attempt to sanitize the public image of Sizilen Oringard is an attempt to distract from what needs to be done,” said Silver.

“And what do your employers believe needs to be done?”

“That our first focus should not be making compromises with a violent, barbaric and unknown enemy, but in ensuring the rescue and return of those taken by the invaders.”

Claire remained silent for a moment. “And how would that be done?”

“By force,” Argent added.

Silver nodded. “Sizilen Oringard has been receiving little challenge from the news media,” she continued. “Our employers are attempting to lobby the government on several fronts to cross into this other world and establish a fortification on the other side and use it to launch extraction operations to rescue our people.”

“So how am I supposed to help with that?”

“Mrs. Bishop, currently the reigning narrative around the other world is that a full-scale invasion by our forces would constitute an act of war against a primitive people. We argue that these people are capable of using a force that can only be described as magic, magic for which we do not yet know the extent of,” she explained. “Our employers believe that you, with your connections, intelligence and charisma, might be the perfect person to act as a public spokesperson against Embrayya.”

“Wait,” Claire said. “A spokesperson?”

“A public face for the counter-narrative,” she explained. “A speaker that could unify those who are rightly suspect of the government and its proposed relations with Embrayya. To help rally the people against Sizilen Oringard and her people, and force the return or rescue of our people by any means necessary.”

Claire absorbed Silver’s words and furrowed her brow.

“Who are your employers?”

“At this time, our employers would like to remain anonymous. But they have offered to fund you should you accept.”

Claire scowled. “Fuck off,” she said. She jabbed a finger at them. “You want to buy me to become some political mouthpiece, and your employers are too cowardly to even show their faces?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Get the fuck out of my house,” she demanded.

Silver nodded. “We understand. We’re sorry to have wasted your time, Mrs. Bishop. Our employers wish you luck in retrieving your husband and daughter from Embrayya, and hope you do not fall on further financial hardship during your journey.” She pulled a card from her breast pocket and placed it on the table. “Should you reconsider, please call us.”

With that, Mr. Argent and Miss Silver left, closing the front door behind them. She watched them through the curtains as they got into their car, what appeared to be a newer-model Toyota sedan.

She continued to watch until the red lights from the vehicle faded into the distance, then turned to face the card on the table.

She picked it up and examined it. It was a blank card with a handwritten phone number on it. She recognized it as an Ontario area code.

She should have thrown it out. Instead, she left it there on the table, then went back outside for another cigarette.

When she finished it, she picked up the phone and dialed the number.