Angela Ledore shut the front door of her house behind her with a click. It was midmorning on a Friday, and the desert city Monté d'Or was already bustling. Businesses were setting up shop for the day, and tourists were leaving their luxury hotels to explore everything the city had to offer before the weekly parade that evening. Angela was so accustomed to the noise of people and carnivals around the Ledore mansion that she almost didn't hear them unless she paid attention. Though with the situation on their hands, it was hard for her to focus on anything lately. She'd tried so hard to keep her hands from trembling as she penned the letter she'd just taken to the post, but she was sure of at least a few wobbles in her handwriting. Would he notice? Maybe if he did, she thought, he'd see how urgently she needed his help.

Angela took a deep breath, setting down her handbag on the entranceway table, and looked out to the parlour. She wasn't surprised when she didn't see her husband there; he never sat in the parlour. The striped couches rarely ever seated guests. With hands lightly clasped in front of her, Angela's small blue heels clicked as she stepped farther into the room. Warm sunlight poured in through the large window, bringing the orange colour of the upholstery to life. She stared longingly down at the large couch parallel to the window, reaching out to attempt to gently fluff the pale yellow pillows. Clouds of dust floated through the air and danced in the sun beams; Angela's sad eyes watched it disperse and settle. When was she going to tell him? She pivoted on her heel to face the door of her husband's study room just off of the parlour. He was likely in there dealing with a constant string of city business, if he hadn't already left their house to make the trek over to the hotel they owned while she was gone. She had to tell him, even though she knew he'd probably get angry. He'd been just as much on edge as she since everything started happening, and Angela wasn't certain if her announcement would make it better or worse for him. She wasn't even quite sure how she felt about it, but she trusted their old friend to help them.

It took her a minute or two, but the building heat of the sun on her back seemed to be her final motivation, pushing Angela toward the study door. She was careful not to let her shoes make more noise on the tile flooring until she stopped a small distance from the door. With one thin hand nervously gripped onto her large pearl necklace, she raised the other to chest-level and rapped on the wooden door twice.

"Come in." A man's calm voice called from the other side, muffled by the thickness of the door. So he was still here, she hadn't seen him around the house all morning. Angela took hold of the shiny metal knob and let herself into the study, closing the door before looking up into the room.

Just as she'd thought, Henry Ledore sat behind his large mahogany desk at the far end of the room. He was a man of average stature, but he looked small compared to the contents of his study. Bookcases lined both side walls from the floor to the ceiling. Where there wasn't a shelf filled with history and archaeology books, the space was taken up by pieces of art in expensive frames or rare artifacts from his personal collected. Angela brought her eyes back over to Henry just as he parted from his work to see who'd entered the room.

"Ah, Angela. Good morning." Before he'd finished speaking, Henry already had his gaze back on the papers below his slightly hunched-over frame. His voice was mainly flat, though Angela sensed that he'd tried to sound happier than he probably was. It'd been weeks since she'd seen him smile.

"Good morning Henry. Would you like some tea? I can put the kettle on right now if you like." She dropped her hand from her necklace to meet with her opposite one behind her back, lacing her fingers together. She watched the pen in his hand scribble back and forth almost in a rushed fashion.

"No thank you, dear. I already had a cup earlier this morning." Angela felt herself tense at that word.

"You don't have to call me that. Not here." She didn't mean for it to sound so defensive this time. She'd said it to him more than once, simply as a reminder.

Henry paused his writing for a moment before resuming. "Sorry, Angela. I suppose I'm just too used to it in public." Henry was her husband, and she was his wife, but only on paper. The two never felt the need to act like a married couple, unless the rest of Monté d'Or was involved. They were only married for one reason, and it wasn't for love; between themselves at least.

Angela felt like she should reply, but she had nothing to say back to him. The study's large decorated wall clock ticked loudly, counting the seconds of silence.

"Besides," Henry broke the quiet, "I have to run over to the Reunion soon. I left a few papers there yesterday that I'll need when I meet with Chief Sheffield and Mayor Billson later on today-"

"What are you meeting with them for?" Angela questioned hastily, although in the back of her mind she already knew why. It'd been nine days since the last incident, and they were due for another. Monté d'Or's parades drew in more tourists than on any other night, and that's exactly what he wanted; more people to witness his dark miracles.

"Well I wanted to discuss safety regulations for the parade tonight with them. We can't tell when he's going to strike again, so I hope to assure-"

"I think we should call off the parade tonight, Henry." For the second time, Angela cut off her husband's words. Finally, Henry set down his pen and looked up at her with meaning. His blue irises, framed by his long dark lashes, stared up at her. Angela could feel its intensity from across the room, but she wasn't scared of sharing her opinion with him.

Henry shook his head ever so slightly, making his side bangs sway from his face. "You know we can't do that." He replied, setting both of his palms down flat on the table, elbows to his sides. Angela began to walk toward him, stopping at the set of chairs midway from the door to the desk.

"And why not, Henry? We both know that the Masked Gentleman is going to reappear, no doubt tonight. I don't want to see more people get hurt, or worse." She laid a hand on one of the chairs, upholstered the same as the ones in the parlour, "I don't think we should risk it."

"Angela." Henry rose from his desk, maintaining their eye contact, "The parade is what brings the tourists. If we cancel the parade, we're losing what they came to Monté d'Or for."

"And you think I don't already know that?" She gripped the arm of the couch a little tighter, "The tourists have so much else to do around the city. I just think that keeping the people less concentrated in a single area will lower the chances of him returning for a while until.." Angela let her thoughts fall off her lips until she realized what she was about to say.

Henry stepped around to the front of his desk. Angela's worrisome eyes fell over his clothing. His deep blue-green blazer was unbuttoned, revealing a wrinkled white dress shirt underneath. Now that he was standing, he swiftly did up only the top of the two buttons. "Until what?" Angela had a moment of panic when she heard the concern in his voice. She tugged at the skirt of her pumpkin-coloured dress.

"Uhm, well, until he gets here." She fumbled for the right words to explain, "I've asked Hershel to come to Monté d'Or to help us." Angela heard Henry inhale sharply. She couldn't look him in the eye, so she lowered her stare to hems of his brown and red striped slacks. It took her a few seconds to realize that she shouldn't be ashamed of what she'd done, so she looked at Henry's face again. She knew how he felt about their old friend; before that day, Angela had felt that same way as well. She could see the emotion in his eyes, but it was hard for her to tell which ones they were. She'd known him for so long, and she still found it difficult to tell what he was feeling past his stoic manner.

"Hershel..." Henry muttered, clenching his fists at his sides, and then releasing them. Angela noticed that his jaw remained tightened until he spoke. "And what is he supposed to do for us?" He asked her judgmentally, his words sounding like they were spat. Angela couldn't help but feel sad for him.

"Hershel is a university professor now. Of archaeology." She gave Henry a chance to actually hear what she'd said while she breathed, "He's started travelling around the country solving mysteries and making big archaeological discoveries." When he didn't reply, Angela added, "I think that he can help us solve this mystery and save our - Randall's - city, Henry."

"I said that I never wanted to see him again." He retorted, looking down at the floor, "He's the reason for Master Randall's disappearance. I can never forgive him for that."

"At some point you'll have to." Angela said plainly, "Randall's loss wasn't Hershel's fault. I believed it was for so long, but," she raised her right hand to her chest, pressing her palm onto the pendant that Randall had given her that was hidden by the collar of her dress, "Whether you like it or not, he was Randall's friend too. He loved him just as much as we do. There's no way that he would have just let him..." She couldn't finish her sentence.

"We don't need Hershel's assistance. Our police force will do fine to stop this scoundrel soon enough." Henry finally spoke sternly, advancing slowly to the side of the chair opposite to the one Angela stood by. She realized that he likely ignored everything she'd just said to him. Henry lifted a hand to his chin and touched his goatee as if it was going to help him think of how to ease the conversational tension the two had created. "How come you think he'd even be willing to try and help us? He left Stansbury for a reason. It's been 18 years, and I'm sure as hell that he wouldn't want to come back to us after leaving on the terms he did..!"

Angela knew it wasn't directed at her, but Henry's increasingly aggressive tone was beginning to frustrate her. Couldn't he see the severity of the situation? She felt a hot sting at the corners of her eyes, but she tried her hardest to stay calm amidst her husband's irritability just at the mention of Hershel. "Henry, I am certain that he will come to Monté d'Or." Angela assured, her voice hitching slightly.

"Oh really? How come?" He insisted, his eyes scanning her turned down face for answers. Angela blinked rapidly to push any tears back, but it wasn't working very well. She respected Henry more than anything but sometimes he acted so childish. She jerked her head up at him so he could see her before she spoke. Henry's eyes widened in worry when he noticed the tears fall from her eyes and down her pale cheeks.

"Because I really think that the Masked Gentleman is Randall, Henry." Through the welled up tears, Angela saw all the colour leave his face. His jaw went slack in awe at what she'd said before she bolted toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. "I didn't know what else to do! He has to help us Henry, he has to!" Angela sobbed into the fabric of his blazer. Henry held her tightly, placing one hand on her back and the other on her head. It'd been a long time since he'd seen her cry. Henry breathed deeply, pressing the side of his head into Angela's light blonde hair.

"Just maybe, he will." He spoke to his wife softly, closing his eyes.

WOOO it's been a while since I wrote any PL fics it seems! But I'm glad to have written something new for this fandom that I love so dearly. I know it was short (I wrote it all in less than 24 hours), but it was an idea that I've had stuck in my phone notes for a couple weeks so I thought I'd write it up.

Please make sure to review! I really appreciate any feedback you can offer! :)