Three - In Peace Henceforward

"Menelaus, there are some strangers come here, two men, who look like sons of Jove. What are we to do? Shall we take their horses out, or tell them to find friends elsewhere as they best can?"
Menelaus was very angry and said, "Eteoneus, son of Boethous, you never used to be a fool, but now you talk like a simpleton. Take their horses out, of course, and show the strangers in that they may have supper; you and I have stayed often enough at other people's houses before we got back here, where heaven grant that we may rest in peace henceforward."
 - The Odyssey

Seward stared upward at the second-floor landing until he heard the sound of a door closing before he turned back to look at the rest of the residents.

They were all staring at him expectantly, varying degrees of worry present on their faces. He let out a heavy sigh, shrugged, and said, "All right. Sitting room."

Without a word, they turned to move towards the couches and chairs arrayed around the room in question. One of them, a tall, skeletally-built man with a hooked nose, switched the television off as he went. Seward waited until they were all seated before dropping into his own customary recliner and looking around at them.

"She'll stay upstairs until we're done talking," he said, leaning back. "She won't want to be the center of attention. So we've got plenty of time." He cast a glance around at each of them, then sighed again. "Who wants to start?"


He looked around at each of them in turn. There were four residents of the Recovery House in total, besides himself and their newest tenant. One of them, a slim black man in his early twenties, bit the inside of his lower lip for a moment, looking thoughtful, and flicked his eyes around the room, taking in the expressions of the others.

No one moved.

The black man sighed, shook his head, and said, "Since we're all thinkin' it... is this a good idea?"

Seward grunted and raised both hands to rub at his face. "No," he admitted. "But then, when you get right down to it, this entire place might not be the best idea."

"Don't dodge, Andy." The speaker was a woman in her mid-thirties with copper hair. She wore a thick red robe over her jeans and shirt, and seemed to be huddled into herself slightly as she frowned at Seward. "The House is a good idea, but that's not the point. It works because we're not important. None of them care enough to bother looking for us. She's important, Andy. They hunt her."

"They hunt all of us, Terry," Seward answered, lowering his hands. "If they wanted us, they'd find us, and that's about the end of it. And do you really think they have any need for priority lists? They're not human. They don't have to operate by the same rules we do. They could crush us without even trying if they wanted-"

"That's the point," interrupted the black man. He wasn't looking at Seward any more. He was holding his head in his hands. "'If they wanted'. Most of the time they don't, because we're small fry. She's not small fry."

"She ran with the old man," said a young blond girl curled up on the chair to Seward's right. "She helped with the archives. She's seen most of them face to face."

"Anne-" Seward began, but she cut him off.

"No, Andy, Will's right," she said firmly, sitting up and frowning at him. "Having her here is dangerous, even assuming she's who she says she is instead of one of their pets trying to get in, and you're not going to be able to argue that away. So why do you want her here?"

Seward frowned heavily and let out a hiss of breath between his teeth. Before he could speak, though, the hawk-nosed man spoke, his voice sharp and clipped.

"Because the Recovery House was founded as a place of refuge for people such as she," he said. "And what good is it, then, if it turns away the very people that it was made for simply because they might be a little more dangerous than the usual tenants? This is a dangerous thing to be doing whether or not she is here, and that has not affected any previous decisions."

Seward relaxed slightly in his chair. "Thanks, Irving," he muttered. "What he said. I didn't start this place to turn people away just because it's risky. Besides, she's good at avoiding them. And fighting back, when it comes down to it. She could be helpful."

"Yeah," said a low, rasping voice from the doorway. As one, all heads turned to watch as Christie stepped in. Her eyes stared up at the residents in turn from under a lowered brow as she stepped into the room. She pressed between Anne's chair and Seward's, moving towards the coffee table in the center of the room. There was a soft thumping noise as she set a small duffel bag down on its surface.

"Yeah," she repeated. "I can be helpful. I'm not expecting you to do this for free." She reached down and unzipped the duffel, revealing a stack of manila folders inside. "The rest of the archives," she said flatly. "The stuff we didn't get uploaded. The old man left it with me. And the computer he used while we were running together's in there too. Password's 'marlboro'."

Most of the residents looked stunned. Irving watched her with an expression of mild interest. Seward openly gaped. She fixed him with her blank, expectant stare until he finally forced himself to cough and say, "Uh. We didn't expect you to finish unpacking so quickly."

"I didn't bring much," she answered, shrugging. She slipped both of her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie, then shrugged. "And you missed another reason to consider forcing me out. I'm wanted in three states."

Seward frowned heavily and sat forward on his recliner. "Yeah," he grunted. "We heard about that. You end up in the news a lot, for one of us."

She nodded. For a few seconds, everyone was silent. Then Seward grunted again and folded his hands.

"Right," he said. "Here's the deal. This is my place, so everybody living here does so under my rules. Here are yours." He took a deep breath. "One, you're a law-abiding citizen as long as you're here. Anything that would get the police on you gets you thrown out. Two, you've got no secrets as long as you're here, at least when it comes to the big stuff. Nothing about them. Or their pets. If something starts happening with them and you know something about it, you speak up, because we're putting our necks out for you and we need to know. Three, you don't go looking for trouble. You say they're not after you right now. Good. Great. Keep it that way. We survive because we stay off the radar here. Don't make it any harder on us. Four, if something does go wrong, whether it's with you or somebody else, we stick together. You've run with other people before. You know how it works. You don't leave another runner in the lurch."

He put his hands on his knees and forced himself upright. "And anything else I happen to come up with," he muttered. "Bottom line, stay out of trouble and what I say goes. So long as you're clear on that, we'll be all right. Got it?"

The only answer was a nod. He ran one hand through his hair and sighed again. "Right," he said. "And that's the last word on it. From anybody." He gave the rest of the residents a sharp look. "She's one of us now, end of story. Anne, come on and help me get dinner started. Irving, take those-" he motioned to the folders "-and get them somewhere safe. The rest of you..." He sighed. "Whatever you were doing before."

With that, he turned and left. The young blond girl followed in his wake, and the hawk-nosed man drifted off a moment later, the duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The black man and red-haired woman lingered only a few seconds longer, to cast worried glances towards the motionless, skeletal girl standing in the center of the room.

When they had all left, she set off back to her room, shut the door behind her, and locked it.