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Chapter 4


Elsa sat curled on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her, tight against Lijah’s inert body. He sat in the middle of the couch, man sprawled, his head resting like a bowling ball on the sofa back and his mouth hanging open. The soft light of sunrise streamed through the window, steadily advancing across the room and along the couch. Elsa could already feel its warmth through her clothes and against her skin. Soon it would reach Lijah’s exposed neck and face.

Lijah’s ungloved, injured hand rested on a pillow in his lap. A loose square of white gauze covered the wound and most of the back of his hand, but his fingers lay exposed.

Two of Elsa’s fingers were also bare; she’d cut away the latex material from the pointer and middle fingers of her right hand during last night’s ordeal stitching up Lijah’s hand. Now she glided them, soft and pale against his tanned skin, down one finger, over the knuckles up the next, over and over, transfixed by the illustrations that rose to the surface from touch, fading almost instantly as her fingers slid past.

Sunlight cut across Lijah’s eyes and he stirred. Ever so carefully he raised his head from the sofa back, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. He slowly rolled his head, working the muscles in his neck and shoulders. A whisper of a groan escaped as he readjusted on the couch, not enough to move away from Elsa, but to be more seated than sprawled. Only then did he open his eyes. Holding himself supremely still, he watched as Elsa rubbed her fingers over his.

“Elsa.” He croaked, throat and mouth too dry to say it properly.

“Shh. Look,” said Elsa. “The colors, they’re getting brighter. I can almost make out what it is.”

Both watched mesmerized by the emergence and disappearance of the intricate illustration as her finger slid over his bare skin. “It’s beautiful. A garden, right? Although I swear the picture keeps changing. Like there, that line, kind of curved below the knuckle? I could’ve sworn it went right over top before. And here, this thicker one? It’s running unbroken from finger to finger like a vine. I couldn’t have missed that before.”

Elsa continued to voice her thoughts, working out for herself what she was seeing. “Maybe the image comes in layers. Or there are different pictures, overlaid. And whatever rises to the surface is triggered by, I don’t know, temperature, or something. But look, when I hover in one spot, the image freezes for a second or two and then fades. It’s got to be more than temperature. Something kinetic maybe or…?”

“Elsa,” said Lijah, barely above a whisper. He placed his gloved hand over top hers, stilling her movement. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain. Instead he gave her hand a gentle squeeze then replaced it with his own, blocking further examination.

“Elsa,” he said more clearly. “Some water. Please.”

“God. You look terrible.” Her expression was part sympathetic, part mocking.

“I think something died in my mouth.”

She crinkled her nose. “Kind of smells like it too.”

Lijah chuckled softly and cringed. His eyes slid closed and he breathed in deeply. “You smell of citrus and jasmine.” One eye quirked open. “And coffee.”

Elsa gave him a big, bright smile. “Hang on. I’ll get you some.”

Lijah groaned as she jostled him climbing up and off the sofa. She could feel him watching as she padded softly into the kitchen in her wool socks, rumpled clothes and mussed hair. His phone was in her back pocket; if he noticed, he didn’t comment. She was back almost immediately with a tall glass of cold water. She handed it to him, then went to her satchel by the door and pulled out the gloves she preferred for eating.

“You should eat something before you drink any coffee. I’ll make you some toast.”

She breezed past him back to the kitchen. He heard her rummaging around, opening drawers and cupboards. “Where are your, oh, never mind… God, it’s gorgeous out there. I think we got like a foot of snow. Hey, you don’t mind if I put on the radio, do you?”

Before he could respond, she started talking. The familiar voices of the morning news broadcast came through the speakers in the kitchen. A moment later the local weather report appeared on the monitor mounted by the sink.

“Follow me,” said Elsa as she reentered the room with two cups of coffee in hand. The news report came up in the living room, as did the display on the wall monitors mounted nearby.

“Elsa,” he said, loud and angry. He clamped his eyes shut but immediately opened them again.

She stopped short, halfway between Lijah and the kitchen. Hot coffee sloshed and she quickly held the cups up and away so as not to spill on her clothing. “What? Too loud?”

Lijah stood up, the pillow on his lap dropping to the floor. Suddenly upright, he swayed and his eyes slid shut. A moment later, he drilled her with a glare. “What have you done?”

“What?”

He cradled his injured hand protectively against his body. “Computer. Lockdown.”

Lights and music snapped off, monitors went black and she heard locks sliding into place. Elsa stared about the room then turned back to him gaping. She took a couple steps back into the kitchen to see that everything was off, then returned. By the time she faced Lijah, her expression was stony.

“If you don’t want toast…”

“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” he said, gesturing vaguely about the room. “Last night I limited your access to the medical application.”

“No. Last night you got shit-faced drunk. Rude, by the way, and obviously intentional. You wished to prevent that tattoo thing from appearing.”

“If you say so.”

Elsa rolled her eyes. Who was he kidding? “In the meantime, I had to deal with you and this bionic house on my own. So very amusing that, me hunting around for manual light switches and the like while you sat and snickered, wildly entertained. Colder. Warmer. Or my personal favorite, Wolder.” Elsa nodded at him, her expression confirming his behavior had been exactly as drunk-stupid and childish as it sounded. She squared her shoulders. “Evidently the stereo was somewhere you didn’t want me to search… You gave me access. Not my fault you don’t remember.”

“I, have access,” he said, emphasizing ‘I’. “There was no reason to grant you control.”

“And yet, you did.” She could see his uncertainty as he searched his memory, obviously remembering some of what she described, but not everything.

“What, exactly, did I say?”

“Is this a test?” She dropped her voice an octave. “Computer. Open access. Authorization Lijah Elliot Morrison.”

“That’s it?”

“No, you went off to your, and I quote, secret lair, end quote. After that, your computer and I have become downright chummy.”

Lijah looked horrified.

Elsa giggled. “You should see your face.”

Lijah advanced on her. He was a few inches taller and now stood close enough she had to tilt her head to meet his eye. “What? Did you do?”

Elsa stepped back but pressed the mug of coffee she’d brought for him firmly against his chest. Head held high, she did not answer his question.

“Elsa. This is important. Did you access the internet? Communicate with anyone? Call? Text? Email? Search your location? Anything?” He spat the questions, but his eyes were pleading.

“I turned off the music.”

He waited, holding his breath.

“Lijah. It was crazy late. I was tired. I turned off the music and cleaned up the kitchen. Brushed my teeth. Dimmed the lights. Watched the snow fall. I considered calling someone, or sending a message, maybe do a little snooping. I also considered climbing into your bed. Instead I dozed on and off in the recliner, woke about an hour ago, made coffee and joined you on the sofa. That’s it. Not the smartest, or safest. But there you have it.”

Lijah exhaled audibly. He looked around then smiled at her wanly. “I’m sorry, Elsa. I’ve behaved badly. It takes time to get the power back on and reinitialize the system after lockdown, and I need to check for breaches. You can… do whatever you want. Inside anyway, for now.” He started to walk away, then stopped and turned back to her. “I appreciate the level of trust you’ve put in me. I believe and trust you too. It’s just that you have no idea what’s at stake. When I said ‘open access’, without qualification, I left the system open and vulnerable to anybody, anything. I put us at enormous risk and it’s entirely my fault. I’m sorry.”

Lijah turned away from her, crossed to the door beside the bathroom and left the room. Not long afterward, Elsa heard footsteps overhead cross from one side of the cottage to the other. An upstairs, then. She’d guessed as much.

~~~

“Lijah. How much longer?” called Elsa from the landing at the bottom of the steps.

Lijah was still upstairs doing whatever he needed to do to reverse the lockdown. The lights had come back on quickly. She’d showered and changed, toasted a scone for breakfast, packed up her things by the door, and then killed time by poking around, checking out titles on the bookshelves and examining more closely the objects on display about the room. It was Friday morning, almost 7:30. It wouldn’t take as long to get back, assuming they didn’t walk in circles again, but still, they both had things to do.

“Don’t worry,” came the answering bellow. “I called you in sick.”

Elsa immediately started to worry. He would have reported her absence to Michael, the departmental secretary and incurable gossip. Michael would surely turn Lijah’s call on her behalf into a juicy scandal. Of course, people saw them together all the time; already thought of them as, if not a couple, then a pair. His call was just another log tossed on the fire. A galling log. An unnecessary log. She could have called herself.

Of course what she should worry about was being sequestered incommunicado in a high-tech fortress; that Lijah’s call ensured no-one came looking for her. She couldn’t muster the angst. This was Lijah. She and he had been happily arguing with one another for over a decade. They were likeminded and long-habituated; they’d become, if not best friends, then essential ones. The last twelve hours, his bizarre behavior, even the revelation of secrets untold, was Lijah being Lijah: enigmatic, confrontational and presumptuous. Familiar, if extreme. No, she wasn’t worried. She was intensely curious, impatient and annoyed.

“You? Called for me? Michael will have a field day.”

Lijah poked his head into the stairwell above her. “Well, emailed, from Manchester, where I’m currently attending a conference on Cultural Conformity in the Modern Age. No plans over the weekend? No one who’ll notice your absence?”

“Manchester? What the hell does that mean? And as to my plans, I’ll have you know… they’re none of your fucking business.”

“It means, said Lijah, “that part of keeping this place hidden is the ability to route emails and other communications so that they appear to be coming from another location. Untraceable. As for Michael, I indicated in my email that I knew of your ailment only because I’d phoned you about the location of the slides you’d prepared but I’d forgotten, but because of said ailment, I now needed his help to move them onto my drive, I being, as is well known, technologically incompetent.”

Oh, he’s clever. No gossip after all. Tricky too. Not once had she questioned his inability to manage his own files and appointments. Incredible. Unsettling. All these secrets so meticulously maintained. Even from her.

“As to whether your social engagements are my fucking business,” he continued, “I assure you, only insofar as any attempt to find you could prove inconvenient for me. So… I ask again, do you have plans over the weekend?”

And she’d been about to forgive him.

“Let’s see, off the top of my head,” called Elsa up the stairwell. She pinned his gaze and used her fingers, starting with the middle one, to count off each event as she spoke. “I have a date tonight and a hike with friends planned, either tomorrow or the day after, weather depending. Colette and I are meeting to discuss her manuscript at some point this weekend, depending on when I’m hiking, and a friend expects me to drop off a week’s worth of meals – she’s undergoing chemo and it’s my turn. Um… I have a standing brunch on Sundays. Oh, and, my downstairs neighbor will worry if I disappear for a couple days – she’s elderly and has come to expect my daily check-ins. I’m sure there’s more, I’d have to check my calendar. Oh wait, I don’t have access.”

“A date? Since when?”

“That’s your takeaway? Lijah, staying here, even for the day is, to borrow your word, inconvenient. Shocking, I know, but I have a life outside of…”

“Is it that student, the one who keeps coming for office hours? You know that’s against policy.”

“God,” snapped Elsa through clenched teeth. “It’s not just against policy, it’s inappropriate in every way. No, I am not dating a student. The suggestion that I would and the implication that was my only recourse is hugely offensive.”

Elsa abandoned the sight of him and stalked into the main room. Lijah slowly descended the stairs. By the time he rounded the landing into view, Elsa faced him, propped against the sofa back, ankles and arms crossed in front of her. Lijah kept to his side of the doorway, raising his arms high and wedging himself against the doorjambs. His gaze he kept to the floor, directed at a spot about a foot in front of her.

“You’re right, of course. I apologize. And you’re right about the weekend, too. I got carried away.” He looked up to address her directly. “You have a paramour. I didn’t realize. Yet another reason I shouldn’t have brought you here, but now that I have, there are things I need to explain to you to keep me, us, safe. If we had more time… Well, doesn’t matter. Prudence… and decency… dictate that I get you back in time for your date.”

Elsa studied him. Two steps forward, one step back. Or maybe it was one step forward, two steps back. Prying information from him would be so much easier if he wasn’t so fucking irritating. And, if she wasn’t so quick to react. He’d offered another apology, even sounded genuinely contrite. Could be a ploy. She had a new appreciation for how cunning he was. Well, she could be wily too. Curiosity killed the cat her mother would say. She recalled the reprimand so vividly, her mother might as well have been in the room. True to form, she heard the warning and set it aside.

“Paul Moshein. A couple of months now. Nothing serious,” said Elsa.

Lijah looked vaguely past her as if he were accessing a database. “From anthropology? Specializes in shamanistic rituals? He’s smart, perceptive, thorough.”

“High praise. And true, although not as obscenely thorough as you.”

Obscene. She caught his smile at the familiar tease, but then his eyes jerked to hers. “He’s gay.”

“Except when he’s not,” said Elsa, eyes glinting. “Like I said, casual. We enjoy one another’s company. No strings. Can you send an email to him as if it came from me?”

“If your computer is on, I can remote in and send it directly. If not, there are other ways.” He spoke to the room, “Computer, what’s the 3-day forecast.”

The display popped up and a woman’s voice with a British accent reported cold and high winds Saturday, sunny and calm with moderating temperatures Sunday.

“My neighbor Nell, she’s the sticking point. Doesn’t much bother with computers and she screens her calls. She’d pick up for me but not for a number she didn’t recognize.”

“More difficult, but not, I think, insurmountable. What if the call came from a college number, our department, would she pick up then?”

“Shit, you can do that?”

Lijah nodded his head, a smile curling at his lips. “I can. Will it work?”

Her question had been more generic, as in, was it possible to make a call look like it originated from someplace else, someplace specific. But his answer was even more surprising; not just possible but he personally knew how. Elsa shook her head, trying to supplant this new tech-savvy secret-agent version of Lijah against the techno-challenged ivory-tower image he’d so assiduously fostered.

“Yeah. Probably. If caller id showed my place of work. But Lijah, how?

“I’ll hack into the telecommunications network.”

“Right. Sure. What I mean is, how do you know how? Who taught you?” Elsa gestured all around her. “Who set all this up? When? Why?”

“Mostly I taught myself. Occasionally I required assistance in which case I had it setup in my apartment as a prototype so that I could recreate it here. As to when… call it a lifelong endeavor… as technology evolves.”

“Lifelong? How long is that? You’ve never told me how many years you have.”

Lijah squinted at her, considering. “Considerably more than you. More than I care to admit. Enough to have developed the knack.” His gaze turned severe. “Elsa. Rule one. As far as the world is concerned, my technological expertise starts and ends with the power button.”

“Why? Why the subterfuge? Why all of this?”

He didn’t answer her immediately. She watched him struggle, eyes twitching, jaw working, trying to decide. What? How much to tell her? Where to start? Or did he still hope to put her off. If that was the case, he should know better. The silence lengthened. In the end he shrugged, defeated. Back against the doorjamb, he slid down to the floor and sat, arms lank on his knees, head back and eyes closed. “My head is killing me.”

Elsa sank to the floor too, but gracefully, folding herself into a practiced position: legs crossed, spine straight, regal in a lotus pose. “Serves you right.”

Lijah’s head rolled to the side to look at her. He chuffed a laugh then rolled his head back to stare at the doorframe opposite. “You’re too observant, Elsa, too quick. You ask all the right questions, work out the implications, deduce too much too fast. I should have known I couldn’t bring you here safely, couldn’t control you and that acquisitive brain of yours.”

“You wanted to start a conversation.” Her tone struck a note somewhere between wry and coy.

“I’ve moved on to damage control.”

Elsa laughed, light and tinkling.

A grin spread across Lijah’s face although he kept his gaze averted, locked straight ahead.

“If you’re willing to stay, tonight, into the weekend, we should tend to the logistics. After that, once we agree to some basic ground rules, I’ll try to explain, or start to, at least introduce, as best I can, something of…” He closed his eyes and blew out a breath at his own bumbling words. “The choice will be yours when to leave.”

Finally, an opening, a small glimmer of hope that answers would be forthcoming. Assuming she didn’t push too hard. With Lijah she’d never before worn kid gloves. They went for the jugular because parrying each other’s punches honed the quality of their work; it was expedient, and it was fun. Of course, those projects weren’t personal. Coming here to discuss ‘his only pursuit’ redefined the parameters. Here, they wielded a dangerous power over one another; she knew his secrets, although not the reason for them, and he held her captive, although so far by her leave. It served them both to protect their precarious détente.

She rose from the floor in one fluid movement and offered Lijah a crooked arm to hook onto and pull himself to his feet. Once standing he took the lead, escorting her to the front corner of the room where there was a desktop computer and chair. He proceeded to painstakingly create a workspace for her by not only clearing the tabletop, but by arranging lamp, phone and supplies just as she had them arrayed on her desk at work and adjusting the seat height, keyboard and monitor to be ergonomically correct. His solicitous behavior so thoroughly disarmed her that she startled them both by giving him an awkward sideways hug of thanks.

Lijah ducked his head against the color rising in his cheeks and nudged her out of the way to set up her computer access, complete with voice interface to most internal systems. He drew the line at security systems which would remain off limits. He also explained that any connection with the outside world would, for now, be funneled through him for case-by-case approval. Even his telephone, which he asked her to return, wouldn’t work without his verbal authorization. He left her fuming, tasked to compose regrets to her evening and weekend plans that he’d review after making a fresh pot of coffee. Rejecting his assignment, she pounded at the keyboard venting her irritation. By the time he came back, two mugs in hand, she’d queued up for approval no less than 15 web queries, starting with the history of censorship in America and ending with an attempt to message 911 via the internet.

Lijah read through them, snorting at the petty jabs, until he got to the last. “You see? Elsa? You don’t even know that 911 can access location even when a device is offline?”

“Actually, I do know that,” snapped Elsa, although, in truth, it hadn’t occurred to her at the time. “It’s an emergency service. What’s the downside?”

“Exactly. You don’t know what’s at stake. Your ignorance could inadvertently risk everything. I’ve been keeping myself safe and this place secure for a very long time. In the case of 911, I hardcoded a failsafe. I know what I’m doing, Elsa. You don’t. For now, my conditions are non-negotiable.”

“And the email I send to cancel my date.”

“I’ll need to read it.”

“And the phone call. Will you do that in falsetto?”

Lijah sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. He looked exhausted.

Elsa reached for the coffee he’d brought and took a slow swallow. She’d made her point, and then some, to no avail. He was entrenched. And she was too interested not to play along. She signaled a truce by raising the mug of coffee he’d brought. “Whole milk, one sugar. Just right. Thank you.”

Half an hour later, Lijah had screened, location-obscured and sent Elsa’s texts and emails begging off her various engagements. He’d also listened in while she chit-chatted with her neighbor, giving her the agreed upon excuse for her absence. As to the meals she’d promised her friend, Elsa insisted she could manage it as long as she was home no later than mid-afternoon Sunday. The endpoint fixed, their preparations complete, the next two days of uninterrupted time yawned before them like an infinite horizon.

Elsa sat back in her chair and scanned Lijah head to foot. “How’s your hand?”

“Fine.”

She doubted that. It probably hurt now more than ever. In fact, he looked terrible: disheveled, pasty and hung over. “You should shower. Then we’ll go outside. The fresh air will do you good. You can give me the lay of the land.”

He seized on her suggestion. “Give me ten minutes.”

Elsa blinked in surprise. Between the blindfold and lockdown, she assumed he intended to keep her indoors and out of sight. Another mystery, but she kept her questions to herself. Maybe in the light of day, she’d get a better sense of where they were or at least from which direction they’d come.

He took closer to 20 minutes to get ready, during which time Elsa tidied up the kitchen. He returned to her remarkably restored; clean shaven, dressed in jeans, shirt and open necked fleece. On his hands he wore a clean pair gloves, loose enough to accommodate his bandaged hand.

“You need me to look at that? Change the dressing or something?”

“No,” he answered quickly. “Maybe later,” he amended, then cringed as if he’d said something unseemly. He headed for their coats and boots by the front door. “It’s windy; a coat may be more practical than the cape. Help yourself.”

Elsa choose the coat most unlike any she’d seen him wear before. Patched, faded and frayed, an obvious favorite, the rugged canvas and wool-lined coat sat on her shoulders overlarge and heavy, comfortable and comforting. She turned her back to discretely exchange gloves for her heavy red mitts. Turning back, she drew up tall and squared her shoulders.

“I feel like a lumberjack.”

Lijah grinned at her and held the door. “I should put you to work. There’s firewood to split and with my injury…”

They stepped off the porch into dazzling sunlight. Last night’s snow drifted deep in places, and the still strong winds swirled the snow like fine grained sand. Lijah led them around the side of the cottage toward the back in the direction of the three large oaks and the small walled cemetery she’d glimpsed the night before.

“I’ll have you know I wield a mean ax,” said Elsa, voice raised to be heard over the wind. “My grandmother on my mother’s side has a place in the woods. Chopping wood, hauling brush, mucking out the barn – I love that kind of thing. Makes me feel vital, alive.”

Lijah stopped dead in his tracks, bringing Elsa up short, just shy of a collision.

“What? It’s true,” said Elsa laughing. “You’re not the only one with secrets.”

Lijah spun around, gathered her tight against him and clamped a hand over her mouth. They stayed like that, Elsa unable to move an inch, for close to a full minute. The wind and blowing snow stung her cheeks and her right ear ached from the icy blasts but his breath warmed her left ear and cheek as did the length of his body pressed against her back and legs, radiating heat and blocking the wind. At long last his hold loosened although he kept her close.

“Sound carries. But fortunately, we’re downwind,” whispered Lijah into her ear. His hand withdrew from her mouth.

Elsa turned her head to whisper back. “I think you might be insane.”

Lijah stayed just behind her and used his hands on her shoulders to angle her body toward the outer edge of the cemetery. Pointing straight in front of them so they could both sight along his outstretched arm, he drew her attention to the corner post, a pillar of squared off granite about 3 feet high. At first Elsa didn’t see what he was showing her, but then she noticed, just beyond the post, mounted to the side of a tree, a box within which glowed a yellow light, round like a traffic light, only much smaller. When Elsa looked at him, eyebrows raised in question, he angled her toward three other spots, distant lights, green and intermittently visible in the glinting, scattering light of blowing snow. Turning back to the light by the cemetery, it too now showed green. Lijah straightened, stepped back a pace and spoke in a normal voice.

“Perimeter alerts. Red indicates someone close, yellow a warning, green all clear. People very seldom venture in the area, but there are sensors extending a good 200 yards beyond the boundary to alert me of anyone that might come within hearing range. The hedgerow, other natural barriers, camouflage, make the cottage and outbuildings invisible from the ground, but are less effective against sound.”

Perimeter alerts. Natural barriers. They were secluded and protected, which went a long way to explain his willingness to come outside. “What about an animal? Couldn’t it trip the sensor?”

“If it was large enough, such as a deer. That’s usually the case. Whatever it was appears to be out of range now. We can check the video log when we go inside to be sure.”

“You said, from the ground. What about from the sky?”

“More complicated. Signal jamming. That sort of thing.”

Sure. That sort of thing. She rotated full circle, scanning for more sensors and other, she didn’t know what. Jamming gizmos? Cloaking devices? She paused at the sight of the cottage and its large stone chimney. “What about smoke from the fireplace? That could be seen. And smelled.”

“Good, yes, that’s right. I installed a high efficiency wood stove, filters to minimize particulates and condensers to reduce vaporous emissions. Not perfect but smoke dissipates quickly and there are very few people around to notice, even fewer who’d take heed.”

“But you believe someone might. Take heed.”

“It’s not a matter of belief, but experience. I’m not paranoid, Elsa. I take appropriate precautions.”

“Appropriate? Only if the consequence of discovery is terribly dire.” Elsa held up her hands to stop him from interrupting. “Obviously, you believe that, why else go to such extremes. What puzzles me is this. You have radiant heat, gas for cooking. You don’t need a wood fire. So why risk it?”

“I don’t risk it.”

“You had a fire going first thing, as soon as we arrived.”

“A woodfire does not pose a direct risk.”

Elsa looked at him blankly. He was speaking nonsense.

“Think about it. A woodfire provides direct benefit. The kind of light and warmth it provides, comforts me; it enhances my well-being. The risk comes from the person who would use any means to pinpoint my location. Smoke from a woodfire is just a tool, intermediate between me and the seeker. There is no reason to forego the benefit of a fire in the hearth because it is not the source of risk. All that’s necessary is to take away the tool, in this case, neutralize the smoke. My precautions are perfectly logical and appropriate.”

“That’s a pretty piece of sophistry, Lijah. Admit it, you just reeeally enjoy a good fire.”

Lijah threw his head back and barked a laugh, his reaction so boisterous and uninhibited she caught herself checking the sensors.

“You see? I need you.”

She didn’t see, not clearly, but he hooked his arm in hers and commenced their tour. As they walked, Elsa kept glancing around, peering into the woods and checking for sensors. Lijah seemed perfectly at ease, but she felt prickly, as if she were being watched. Not that there was anything to see. She wondered about the psychology; does protecting yourself make you feel threatened in the same way being suspected of something, makes you feel guilty.

“Elsa, relax,” said Lijah interrupting her train of thought. “Ignore the sensors; they’re green. That means we can’t be seen or heard and whatever moved in range moved on. Any change and my phone will alert me. Come on.”

They spent more than an hour tromping about, Elsa in relative silence while Lijah led her in a complete circuit, expounding on all the notable features like a museum docent. At first, she tried to figure out how they’d entered the clearing the night before, but quickly gave up; there were no tracks and no obvious gap in the hedgerow that surrounded the clearing. They’d contorted themselves to get through. Unless she knew where to look, the passage would remain hidden.

The property was much larger and more estate-like than she’d guessed from the size of the clearing that surrounded the cottage. In addition to cottage, cemetery and great oaks, the clearing also included a woodshed, a functioning well with an old-fashioned wooden spout and pump, and a small wind turbine and weather station. Beyond that, the property was predominantly wooded with oak, chestnut, maple, elm and ash, but there were other clearings, each with its own small outbuilding. A stream, iced at the banks but flowing strong, ran to the west. Adjacent to the stream for the clay stood a potter’s shed and brick kiln, both maintained in good repair. To the south stood a small fruit orchard with apples, plums and pears, a single cherry tree in the sunniest spot, and a shed for pressing cider. And to the east lay a squared off field, a few windswept spots revealing a stubble of vegetable stalks, and a garden shed, charming with its window boxes and wood shingled roof. Returning back to the cottage they passed by yet another clearing with a satellite dish and solar panels. Lijah’s hideaway was completely off the grid.

They returned to the cottage porch, warm and sweaty from the exertion of trudging through the snow, but cheeks and ears burnished bright red from wind and cold.

“It’s amazing Lijah. A true homestead except for the absence of livestock. I’m surprised there’s no barn.”

“There was once. If not for the snow you would have seen the foundation over there, downstream from the pottery shed. There’d also been a forge and smithy. The anvil’s inside now, demoted to a table stand. Once upon a time, people lived here fully self-sufficient.”

“What happened?”

Lijah looked at her surprised. “Everything. Time. The world no longer accommodates autonomy. Nor does it tolerate it. We are, every one of us, beholden.”

She’d meant what happened to the barn, had it burned down, but his words brought her back to the mounting pile of questions he had yet to answer. Whatever the world didn’t tolerate, it had to do with him, this place and why he so carefully kept it secret. The enormity of what he’d done: perimeter sensors, smoke neutralizers, even the solar panels, which couldn’t have been delivered, he had to have carried them in, by himself, one by one. The supreme effort astounded her. And frightened her a bit, finally. What could possibly warrant a sane man to go to such extremes? Were these extremes the actions of a sane man?

Lijah must have guessed what she was thinking. He nodded at the cottage, his expression soft and kind. “There is a rational explanation, I promise. We’ll start over. Tea and scones, some poached fish, and we’ll go from there.”

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