A continuation of the fic from this post. I give you Part 2 (I really need a title for this).
No phone calls from neighbors would go through. No police would be dispatched. Thanks to Samaritan and its desire to remain unknown, they had time to linger.
Not that Helena much desired to remain in the warzone that her home had been turned into but preparations had to be made. She had sent Adelaide to her blessedly untouched room to pack, Tracy (or is it Root) and the shorter woman standing sentry outside the girl’s door. Nate’s body and those of his killers defile her own bedroom and she closes his eyes before showering and managing to round up a few clothes and personal treasures.
By the time she has finished, her three saviors have organized themselves into a well-oiled and seemingly agreeing machine. They pile into the vehicle they had brought to the confrontation, Helena admitting that yes, taking either vehicle registered to the home would be a red flag should anyone still be looking for them. Adelaide climbs into her lap and she allows this (figuring if any time was an acceptable one to break her seatbelt rule it was this).
They ride in complete silence for nearly an hour, the lull of the motor having driven Adelaide to a blissful rest. The sudden feel of a hand on her own draws her attention sharply to the woman she had known as Tracy when she had been introduced to Myka’s family years ago.
“I know you aren’t going to like this, but I think you will agree that it is for the best.”
Hey, since it’s that coming-out holiday today: in case anybody wasn’t aware, I’m gay. Gay gay gay gay gay. I LIKE IT. I also like writing narratives in which gay ladies figure prominently, so here is some more of that. While it would totally make more sense for this to be part 20b, then there would also have to be a 20c, and it would confuse me to have a three-part part as well as a two-part part. So this is 21, and it is incredibly long. Blame my bad housekeeping plus apparent inability to put my foot down regarding anything these particular characters want to do. I’m like “would you just keep it to the beats we agreed on to start with?” and they go, “Omaha, Omaha!” and I say okay and keep on typing, from part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18a, part 18b, part 19, through part 20.
“Very well. What have you to offer me?” asks Mrs. Frederic.
“The future,” Helena says.
They flew first from L.A. to Philadelphia, their flying time a bit less than six hours.
A bit less than six hours, that was, to determine what to say to Mrs. Frederic. Myka told Helena that she had agreed to see them because “she and Jane were in the same sorority or something.”
“If Jane Lattimer is so close with the CEO, then why isn’t she coming along to help us make this particular persuasive argument?”
Myka shrugged. “I have imperfect information on that point.”
“I thought you didn’t enjoy that kind of thing.”
“Caturanga is one thing; Jane Lattimer is totally another,” said Myka.
“She did try to warn me,” Helena said. “Ages ago, before you and I…”
“Warn you about what?”
“Artie, I see now. I thought she meant you.”
Myka’s face became a study in confusion. “Me?”