Thank you so much for your comments and your patience, Dark Cat Food Lover, BookLovingPersonR.B.L, Khalthar, Alice Gone Mad, and Anodythe. :-) It is very much appreciated, and I am glad that you find this so much better than the original! I cringe when I read my writing in that, sometimes. :-P

In other news, the sequel, Keres, is up! Updates will be slow, but a start has been made. :-)

Chapter Three: Ghost in Name and Memory

Kate felt herself coming awake after what was probably not that long an amount of time. The room was dark when she cracked her eyes open, the other bed empty, and she recalled fleetingly that her driver had promised to go to the store for her. Clean clothes, those sounded great. And a shower, the thought was almost heavenly, but she detested the idea of getting back into these rags so she was going to wait.

She vaguely remembered making good use of the toilet before crashing on top of the bed Jack had been kind enough to strip the cheap quilt from. Her shoes were placed neatly next to the trash can, instead of scattered to the door and the window. A keycard sat on top of the TV table, but she dismissed it as irrelevant for the moment and instead looked for her backpack. It was by the bed, in easy reach, and a quick tug pulled it up onto the mattress with her after she turned on a light. Everything was in here that she last remembered: her laptop, the power cord, her iPod and earbuds, her movie, and that strange piece of metal. Probing fingers found everything intact—what was a drill without the bit, after all?—and she eased her weary body up so she could plug in her cord.

The silver MacBook booted up easily when she pressed the power button in the corner, showing no sign of wear from when she last touched it. It didn't seem her kidnappers had messed with it at all, which was a strange blessing. Was it there just in case she couldn't use a Windows setup, then? No matter, she had it back and a weird fog was urging her to tap on keys which opened…a chat window?

An empty box winked at her, bearing just a single line of text. Phantom is online. In the entry field below, a name was listed, reading Ghost:, followed by a blinking text bar. It was familiar, calling to her blood and her hands, and she sucked in a breath. What is this?

Vor stirred in the recesses of her mind. Part of who you are, she answered. You've forgotten, but this is part of what you do.

I know this "Phantom" guy? Who is he? Who am I?

Think. Remember. Who were you visiting when you packed that bag?

Kate felt her expression twist in her confusion. It was strange, and unsettling, that Vor remembered what she could not, and that she was not telling her. Forget sharing senses, this went to an entirely new level. She had grown comfortable with the Voice in her head—but the idea of Vor's being able to access memories she could not was making her question the low level of insanity she had previously assumed. But the question was valid, and the answer came to her like a faint whisper. One who is like a brother, she knew.

Then maybe this is him? Vor didn't sound completely sure, but Kate figured it was good enough and brought her fingers to the keys. She could interrogate her Voice later.

Ghost: I know you, don't I?

She typed this slowly, and hesitated before hitting the enter key. There was a short pause, and then one response right after another.

Phantom: Kit?

Phantom: Is that you, kid?

Kate bit her lower lip in concentration. Kit sounded familiar, achingly so. It brought to mind warm smiles, a brother's protective embrace.

Ghost: Don't know, memory's hazy

Ghost: just know first name

Ghost: You're connected to me somehow?

Phantom: Yes

Phantom: Names aren't safe

Phantom: What is the inheritance all parents give their children?

What the heck? Vor, what?

Genes, dear, Vor answered for her, sounding fondly exasperated. His name is Gene.

Gene… Gene Nicholson, her brother's best friend; her teacher. But teacher of what? Computers, she never left her computer anywhere. Pennies dropped in a palm, rolling eyes of the master. Obligation paid in full.

Ghost: You'd teach me for a tuppence, you used to say

Ghost: It's still fuzzy, but I remember you.

She hesitated to type the dreaded name, but knew it must be done. If they were after her, wouldn't they be after Gene, her mentor?

Ghost: Watch out for Keres. He smiles nice but his bite is deadly.

There was a long pause as the other processed that. Then…

Phantom: He's the one who has you?

Ghost: Used to

Ghost: I escaped, am with someone who can help.

Ghost: But I can't come home yet, not for a while. You understand?

Phantom: A little, but I'll keep it quiet.

There was a pause, but before she could think to type a reply he sent another message.

Phantom: Your aunt won't be happy.

Kate swallowed hard. She had an aunt? The face and name escaped her, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

Ghost: Something happened to my head. I can't remember her.

Ghost: You can't tell her, please.

Phantom: Can I tell her anything?

There was a lull as Kate thought that over, but he remained online and she knew he was going to wait for her answer however long it took. She was trying to keep her answers short to save on time and to not give away too much, but it was hard not to use her normal speech patterns and any gain in speed was balanced by the delay in her thought processes. Eventually she settled on what to tell this familiar stranger, though, and her fingers grew more comfortable with the keyboard.

Ghost: You can tell her I'm safe for now.

Ghost: Don't try to find me. When it's time, when I can remember, I'll come home.

Phantom: Fine

Phantom: Stay safe. I'll work on this end.

She smiled in relief at his acceptance. She didn't think it would change much if he didn't agree to cooperate, but just knowing he wouldn't try to interfere with whatever vague plans she had was kind of comforting. Her next messages took a little longer to hammer out as her eyes crossed in the middle of a wide yawn, but he was still online and watching for her, and she knew he would see them.

Ghost: Careful where you dig.

Ghost: I've got to go, in rough shape still. There's a doctor where I'm going, he'll fix me up. Right now I need sleep, and food.

You need more than sleep, Vor told her, almost chidingly, and Kate didn't argue with that. She couldn't.

Phantom typed back less than a minute later, and her heart warmed at his apparent concern. Keep in touch?

Definitely, she answered, and held down the power button until the screen blacked out.

. . . . . .

In an abandoned factory hidden away in a thick Michigan forest, a young man stared diligently at streaming lines of code. He had one eye, and an angry white scar stretched across his skin beneath the patch strapped around his skull. His good eye was already aching after spending too long at this one task, and as his vision began to blur a notice popped up on the monitor. It blinked red, but was otherwise small and discreet, and clicking on it brought up a map of North America. A red circle focused on an almost rectangular shaped state in the US, and with each blink it made it grew a little smaller, and the map focused in.

The man blinked at the display, forgetting for a moment what he was seeing. As soon as he remembered, however, the circle blinked out and a box popped up. "Tracking lost," it read, and he scrambled to pull up the recorded data. Iowa, the kid was in Iowa. After her escape a few days ago, the boss had figured she'd head for home in southern Ohio, but she hadn't popped up there and some of the others had speculated about her dying in the woods. The tracker planted in her laptop only worked when the MacBook was powered on, but Keres had been adamant that she would use the computer after she had taken it with her, and no one dared question their employer. So it had to be her; she had to be alive, and she was in Iowa.

He reached out his right hand as his left fiddled with the keyboard and snatched up the cordless phone docked there. Holding down the "2" button activated the speed dial's programmed number, and it wasn't long before the other end picked up.

"What is it?" Keres demanded. He sounded distracted, and the mental picture the young man always had of his boss as a cobra was suddenly even more fitting as the words hissed between teeth that were most likely clenched tight.

"It's Gainesman," he identified himself, unruffled by other's annoyance. He would be pleased enough in short order, anyway. "You were right about the tracker, she just popped up in Iowa, near Des Moines. Looks like she's at a motel, or just using its WiFi, so probably still on the move."

"And she'd be gone by the time any of ours got there," Keres agreed in a much calmer tone. "We'll start getting a team assembled, anyway. Call Licks to get the plane prepped, I'll deal with the rest. And make sure someone is watching for that signal at all times. I don't think I need to tell you what would happen if one of you missed it."

At this, Gainesman did shiver. Keres's anger burned cold when it was roused, and that was scarier than the red-hot tempers he had seen from other men. No, he didn't need to tell him.

"I'll make sure the others know," he confirmed, and waited for Keres to hang up before he looked up Licks's number. Then he was going to go to bed, because there was no way he would be alert enough to catch that notice if it popped up again and he was up much longer. Culkus could handle it for the next few hours just fine.

. . . . . .

Weary eyes blinked open to slowly focus on a grinning face. "Wha'time," she mumbled, her muffled voice turning the question into one word. Jack looked to his left to confirm the answer, which was nine o' clock, and with a quiet grumble she rolled onto her side. "You let me sleep in," she accused.

"Of course I did," Jack answered, giving her what was almost a disbelieving look. His nose crinkled in the expression, then smoothed out as he smiled. "You're sleeping in an actual bed, and you've been exhausted. Why wake you up earlier when you're going to be in a car all day again?"

"The seats are pretty comfortable, too," she pointed out, but made no other arguments. Jack was right, the opportunity to sleep on a mattress, even a crappy hotel mattress, was not one to pass up, and she was grateful for it. She made sure to tell him thank you, and repeated this sentiment much more enthusiastically when she saw the bags on the floor.

Jack didn't laugh, but he did smile. She appreciated that. "I managed to find you a jacket, too, and grabbed you a hoodie for if it got colder. Don't figure you'll need a coat yet. I kind of guessed your sizes, so I hope everything fits okay."

"It should," she assured him, checking the tags on various items in the bags. Yup, three colors of Hanes shirts in small, two size six jeans in bootcut, and he had gone the safe route and grabbed her a pack of sports bras that would fit her fine. Even the socks and underwear were more or less the right size, and the pair of running shoes. It was almost scarily accurate, but she knew some people just had that knack and she would definitely have been able to tell if he was checking her tags while wearing them.

She scooped up a set of everything and the toiletries he had bought her and nearly skipped into the bathroom. Ideally she would have wanted to wash the underwear before wearing it, but it was a sealed package and she figured it couldn't hurt this time to wear it straight from the package. "When do you think we'll get there?" she asked over her shoulder as she arranged things to be easy to grab.

"Late, late tonight," Jack guessed. "Normally the drive is twenty hours or so from here, but we're looking at flat highways and fellow drivers who regularly ignore the speed limit."

"Fellow, including you?" she asked him with a small smile as she looked out of the bathroom at him. At his shrug, she shook her head and closed the door. Honestly, she wouldn't be surprised if he went at least twenty over the whole way there, like Keagan used to.

Keagan?

Your brother, Vor reminded her. How had she forgotten her brother? Same way she had forgotten Gene, she figured—however that was.

To escape the downwards spiral of her thoughts, she moved quickly to duck her head under a hot stream of water after stripping of her filthy clothes, all of which went into the trash can. It felt good to throw them away, and even better to feel the pounding heat wash away oil and grime and blood. There was a little bottle of shampoo in the shower, and she dumped the entire thing on her head to scrub into her scalp. Lather and dirt rinsed away, she grabbed the toiletries Jack had bought her and squeezed another dollop of shampoo into her hand, almost laughing in giddiness at being able to smell of flowers after so long. Lavender, the bottle read, and it was heavenly. While probably not the best for her hair, which had a serious case of split ends and snarls and needed a good cut, she repeated the process twice more before dousing it in conditioner, letting that sit there for a couple minutes for good measure. She was in no rush, and she hummed one of the songs she had heard on Jack's radio as she waited.

Scrubbing her body down took a good five minutes on its own, and by the end her arms and feet especially were rather red but feeling gloriously clean. Jazz had even thought to grab an exfoliating face wash, and she scrubbed that hard into her skin to wash dead skin and grease and dirt down the drain. At the end of it all, she just stood there, head against the wall, soaking in the heat and trying not to cry. Any tears that did escape, the shower hid them and made it as if they never were.

Jazz looked up as she emerged from the bathroom, clothed and hair wrapped up in a towel. "Y' forgot this," he said, offering a comb that he had dug from one of the bags. "Here, want help with your hair? I don't imagine it'd be any fun to deal with."

"I, ah—" The thought was strange, but she had always enjoyed visits to the salon. Eyeing him carefully, Kate passed the frizz spray he had bought her and sat on the edge of bed where he was perched, one leg tucked up so she could turn her back to him. He didn't do anything at first, didn't even move, but soon a gentle tugging started and she closed her eyes in a strange sense of relief.

Three months, two weeks, five days.

And how long is that? Vor asked, caught with the rare instance of a thought coming without any context.

I don't know. Kate frowned, but as relaxed as she was the expression didn't last long. I think that's how long it's been since I was last really clean.

I think you're right, her Voice agreed, and she didn't sound happy. The emotional weight lessened, and Vor gave the sense of smiling gently at her. It feels good, doesn't it?

By now, Jack had worked his careful way halfway up her mane, silently and patiently easing his way through stubborn knots. "Your hair is pretty," he remarked. Not would be, is. And he was sincere about it, the sentiment far more endearing than she had realized it could be. At the moment, she didn't think there was anything pretty about herself, but for some reason he did. But he didn't touch her, expect for her hair, and she felt herself truly relaxing before she even realized she had even been tense to begin with. Strangers in general were a bad idea to simply trust, but something about this man shouted safety. In that way, he reminded her of how the name Keagan felt to her.

The comb scratched against her scalp, and she realized she had almost fallen asleep again. "Sorry," she murmured, and Jack laughed warmly.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not surprised you're still wiped out. Here, eat this." He passed a little box of diced fruit into her hands, along with a fork, and a paper bag. Inside that were some croissants. "I stopped and got you some breakfast while I was shopping last night. When we get in the car, you can sleep as much as you want, and I'll wake you up for lunch and dinner. Sound good?"

Already munching away, Kate nodded happily.

[posted 3/29/15]

Writer's Comments: As you can see, I have introduced certain elements much sooner in this version, now that I know where this is going. I admit that I was adding stuff on the fly last time, trying to put things together to make a plot and advance it. So we get Gene much sooner, and the tracker, and-of course-Keres himself. Jazz's shopping trip has been cut out because, as amusing as the thought was when I was sixteen, it is an unnecessary addition and doesn't really work to advance the plot.