Simone and Crank are nestled together before the fireplace. Crank’s arms are wrapped around Simone’s middle and her head rests against his broad chest. Crank stares into the fire with a blank expression. Simone looks up at his face and worry creases her brow.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she whispers softly.

“I think you can already guess,” Crank whispers back.

“Tell me anyway,” Simone insists, nestling further into his warm embrace. “It might help.”

Crank is unable to resist, her soft voice reassuring to his ears and his heart. He reclines his chin atop the crown of her head and muses about the future.

“Whether it is here…Or in the real world…We will face dangers we cannot wish to comprehend,” Crank says. “If we go back to our own world…We face certain death when the rogue hunters catch up to me. If we stay here…Who knows what may happen to us? We may end up wandering forever like Holmes, or Jane, or even Paul. I think the best thing for you to do…Is to find a way to leave without me. It’s the only way your safety is guaranteed.”

Simone uses both hands to wrench Crank’s arms from around her middle. She turns on him, her nostrils flaring. He has never seen true anger on her face. He is not enjoying the sight of it now. Simone takes in several deep breathes before speaking again.

“Why…Would you even say that?” she demands in a husky whisper.

“Because it’s the truth,” Crank tries to convince her.

Simone pounds a fist into the dirt floor and prepares to stand up. Crank wraps his arms around her waist, keeping her there. He fixes her in his steely gaze.

“You know that what I speak is the truth,” Crank continues. “If we show up back at that diner together…The rogue hunters will kill us on sight. I don’t want to see you hurt, Simone. I would rather die alone…Than die knowing I allowed you to come to any harm.”

“What about what I want, Crank?” Simone almost yells. “What about my needs? Are you going to abandon me as well?”

“You know I would never do that, Simone,” Crank says, drawing Simone back down so that they are face to face. “But you also know I am right. Sometimes, what we want…”

Crank uses a finger to wipe a tear sliding from Simone’s left eye.

“…Is not the same as what we truly need. It takes courage to know and understand the difference.”

For the briefest of seconds, Simone hates him for being right. She hates everything about her life. She even wishes she had never met him. But just as suddenly, the feeling passes. She throws her arms around Crank’s neck and places his head against her bosom. She doesn’t even try to staunch the tears which begin to flow.

Crank reaches to grasp the heart shaped object hanging around Simone’s neck. It dangles close to his face and has a curious weight. He doesn’t remember seeing her wear such a thing before.

Simone goes rigid as Crank takes the locket in his hand. He presses the small button on the side and the locket springs open. Inside the locket are two photographs—one of old sepia scale and another in modern color. The sepia photo shows an ooman female with long braided hair, seated in a high-backed chair, and flanked by a smiling ooman male. The second photo is of a dispassionate ooman male and two small ooman females.

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Simone gently takes the locket from Crank’s hand and closes it. She unhooks the clasp and jams the locket deep into her pocket. She shakes her head vigorously.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Simone stammers. “I...I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Her eyes refuse to meet Crank’s, and he can instantly guess the significance of the metal object. The scowling ooman male must be the husband Simone has alluded to many times. The ooman who spirited away her childlings and destroyed her world.

Crank puts his hand out, palm up, his eyes pleading. Simone hesitates before pulling the locket from her jeans and laying it inside Crank’s palm. He opens the metal object a second time and studies the pictures inside. He glances from the photos to Simone.

“Your mother?” Crank states rhetorically. “And your father?”

Simone nods and tears well at the corners of her eyes.

“They died,” Simone says, her voice choked by tears. “When I was 14. It’s the only nice picture I have of them. It’s called a glamour shot. It’s not even really that old. It’s done for effect.”

Crank has no idea what a glamour shot is, and does not care. He runs a finger over the second picture, the picture of Simone’s two ooman childlings. He keeps his head tilted downward, but shifts his gaze to Simone.

“Your...Childlings?” he says softly.

Simone shakes her head and draws her lips firmly together.

“Yes,” she finally responds. “My children. My daughters. I don’t often look at it. It’s too difficult. It makes me want to drink all over again. I…I just had to today. I needed to feel like there was something to live for. I really didn’t mean for you to see it.”

Simone wrings her hands, and her lips tremble. She is close to bursting into tears. Simone presses a finger to her right eyebrow and rubs at it nervously.

“I’m…I’m so—,” Simone utters in a soft voice shaking with emotion.

Crank places a hand against her cheek and tilts his head. Simone can’t help but feel a strange flutter in her chest. She loves when he does that. The action reminds her of a wise old owl. Caressing Simone’s face and neck, Crank appeals to her to open up to him.

“Tell me about them,” he implores. “Your mother and father. Talking about them will help. Our ancestors are meant to be celebrated and remembered. Not hidden in obscurity. They are us. Without them, we would have had no future. Tell me all you learned from them.”

Simone is unsure how, or if, she should proceed. However, one thing is certain: Crank has never lied to her. She chooses to trust his judgment. Taking the locket from Crank, she forces a smile.

“Hmmm,” she whispers. “Where do I begin? My mother was from Jamaica. My father was from Haiti. Two totally different islands in what we oomans call the Caribbean. My father met my mother while he was vacationing. She was a little younger than he was. A medical student. They got married, and had me about four years later. We traveled around a lot when I was a child. My parents went wherever there was a job and a mission to fulfill. They often worked during national disasters. Uh, really bad storms, medical crises, or fires. Situations where hundreds or thousands of people are killed, injured, or sick. I didn’t really have many friends. Save for children of my parents’ colleagues. Most of the other children were very affluent and had no time for the child of two poor island doctors. Two months after I turned 14, I contracted meningitis. At the time, my parents were working stateside in the United States. We were living with my aunt and uncle. I stayed with them the rest of that year, while my parents returned home to Haiti. My parents were killed in a tsunami that hit the island. They were trying to bring others to safety. I, uh…Never really got over their loss. I felt like I should have been there…With them. We should have all died together. Why was my life spared? Why me? My father was a very kind person. Yet assertive. He knew what he wanted out of life and he went for it. My mother was the same. Except sometimes, she would let the weight of the whole world crush her. It was sad to watch. I miss them…Every day.”

Crank’s eyes perform a slow blink as he processes all Simone has said.

“You…Are much the same,” Crank finally says. “Like both your father and mother. I am…Happy…You did not die with them. We would never have met.”

Simone stares silently at Crank, and her heart breaks all over again. Leaning forward, she plants a firm kiss on his fake human lips. Crank reciprocates by wrapping his arms around her middle, caressing the small of her back. He draws her slowly back down into the crook of his arm, and she gazes up at him.

“This can’t be real,” Simone whispers. “I must have finally lost my mind. It seems too perfect. You can’t be real.”

Crank’s only answer is another gentle kiss.