Monday was definitely not my best day or night, but I did eventually manage to pull myself together enough to get off the floor, shower and get into bed. I slept late on Tuesday, but I at least didn't stay in bed after I woke up. I got up and made myself eat something. Then I made the call.

Agent Matthews didn't really seemed surprised to hear from me and I wondered if he'd already known I wasn't working at Archer Enterprises anymore. He was FBI, so I wouldn't have exactly put it past him to have checked up on my current employment. Since he didn't mention it, however, I wasn't going to press the issue. I didn't want to talk about it, especially my reasons for leaving.

“My bosses said they were fine with you working freelance for a bit to see how you fit in,” he said. “You'll need to come by for your company computer and passwords, but billing and things like that can be done online.”

I almost asked him why bother with a company computer or passwords since I could get into the servers with relatively little difficulty, but I figured it probably wasn't the best time to point out flaws in FBI security. Or remind him that I could get into it anytime I wanted. While I wished I could've just stayed at Archer Enterprises, I knew that was a dream and this was real. A solid job, with a paycheck and benefits. And I'd be helping people, kids like me.

“Can I come in tomorrow?” I asked. “I'd like to get started as soon as possible.”

“You'll have to come to Denver,” he said. “I won't be back to Fort Collins until next week. Things are still in flux with Christophe's case and my boss wants me starting on some paperwork.” He paused, and then added, to my surprise, “Plus my kid's got a ballet recital on Friday.”

“Married?” I hadn't seen a wedding ring, but that didn't always matter.

“Divorced.” He didn't sound bitter about it. “Two kids. Seven and twelve. A boy and a girl. I'm away a lot, so when I can get to one of Abby's soccer matches or one of Steven's recitals, I do my best.”

My estimation of Agent Matthews went up again. Not many men, especially men in an occupation like his, would even admit to his son being involved in ballet, much less say it without a hint of apology or embarrassment. I could excuse the gruff exterior if it covered a good heart, and his obviously did.

“I can come to Denver,” I said. “Mid-morning okay?”

“That'd be great. It'll give me enough time to get your things together, including your first assignment.”

My stomach flipped and I regretted having eaten my meager breakfast.

“We want you to take a look at our imaging software,” he said. “We try to use it to focus on specific images and find everything we can, one child at a time. You can imagine how time consuming that is.”

I could. “You want me to improve it?”

“As much as possible,” he said. “For the last couple years, we've been trying to find ways to not only arrest the perpetrators and rescue the kids, but to also start cleaning up the mess online.” His voice softened. “I know you understand, better than anyone, what it's like knowing this shit's out there.”

“I do,” I said softly.

“You'd mentioned doing some damage to the online videos made of you,” he said. “That's the kind of thing we're looking for. That's why we need someone like you. We're struggling to keep up with technology, but we're losing.”

“I'll see what I can do to level the playing field,” I said.

For the first time since I'd left Rylan, I felt a purely positive emotion. Even if this was all the work I did for the FBI – being able to improve their software and give them the means to hit these perverts, hard – I'd be making a difference. I'd be giving others hope that what they went through wasn't going to be some easy thing to find online, that their pain and humiliation meant something and we were going to do our best to erase as much of it as we could.

I spent the rest of the day writing out my old virus program as well as my image search program. Even though I had them on my laptop, I wanted to see them in a different way. Sometimes, for me, having them spread out on a table or floor allowed me to see things in a different light. I knew both of them worked, but they would need to be tweaked if they'd fit into the parameters of what the FBI could use.

By evening, I was satisfied that I had a pretty good idea of what to do, and I'd decided that I needed to go back to my apartment. I was sure Zeke'd had enough time to tell Rylan what we'd supposedly done, and for Rylan to accept it. That meant my apartment was safe. Relatively speaking, anyway. Christophe was still out there, but I did have a restraining order in place. And new locks. Besides, I couldn't live in fear of every nutcase who'd seen my movies. Sleep was going to be hard enough once I settled back into a routine.

The next morning, I checked out, took a cab back to my apartment and left a note for the landlord, saying I'd be staying a bit longer. I still wasn't sure if I wanted to renew my lease, but by the time I had to make that decision, I'd most likely know if I wanted to move to Denver or DC to work with the FBI.

The bus ride from Fort Collins to Denver wasn't exactly fun, especially in the lovely winter weather we were currently experiencing, but I reminded myself that it was better than having to drive myself in this shit. I knew how to drive, of course, but that had pretty much all been done in Florida. While I knew, in theory, how to drive in the snow, I wasn't looking forward to putting it into practice.

The thought made me remember what Rylan had said about how he'd worry about me driving in bad weather. I pushed the thought aside and turned my attention back to the notebook I kept in my bag. I was always using it to jot down ideas and coding. Now, I used it as a distraction. I reviewed the information I had written down, crossing out what didn't work or wasn't a viable idea. I made notes as I considered each concept, deciding what should be kept or thrown out. I usually did this every few weeks, but I'd been so preoccupied with everything that had gone on that it'd been months since I'd last gone through it. That was good since it gave me plenty to do. By the time I reached Denver, I was about three-quarters of the way through.

Picking things up went smoothly. Agent Matthews had it all laid out for me already. There were sheafs of paperwork for me to sign and initial, outlining my job description, compensation, benefits, termination policies and confidentiality agreements. Basically, most of the same stuff I'd been signing with most of my big clients, except with the power of the US government behind it. There was also a government-issued laptop with significantly less to offer than my own electronics. That was okay since I'd do most of my coding work on my own computer. Their laptop would be used to actually run the program. Finally, there was a folder with my first assignment outlined. I didn't linger, but I did take the time to thank Agent Matthews for all he'd done and renew my promise to think about moving. I'd seen that clause in my contract as well, the agreement to change things should I decide to move from being freelance to working on site.

I took my copies, the laptop and the file and headed back out to catch my bus back to my apartment. I put that work aside and finished up with my own notebook before going back to more thoroughly read everything I'd signed. I'd skimmed it all with the same practiced ease that I'd used on other clients' paperwork, but I wanted to go over each word. It wasn't because I thought Agent Matthews would screw me over, but rather because I wanted to make sure of the changes in my contract should I decide to change the nature of my relationship with the FBI.

When I arrived back at my apartment, I didn't get to work right away. I needed to put things away, unpack everything so that I didn't have a reminder of what I'd given up. It was harder than I'd anticipated. Putting each item back in its place was another reminder that I was here, alone. By the time I finished, the last thing I wanted to do was work, but it was better than the alternative. I'd slept enough over the past week. It was time to move on.

I sat on my couch, opened the new laptop and began the tediously mind-numbing process of setting up my passwords. I went through the programs, checking out each one to make sure they all worked properly and then sent off an email to Agent Matthews, assuring him that everything was in working order.

I shut down the computer and picked up the file. With a glance at the clock, I stretched out on the couch and began to read. I'd finish it off and then head to bed, hopefully too tired to think or dream.

The fist to the back of my head came as a surprise more than as pain. It didn't feel good, obviously, but I was pretty sure it had hurt the other person more than me. Judging by the swearing behind me, I was right. I turned around, my fist clenching around the strap of my book bag.

The boy cradling his hand had dark hair and a wide, unfriendly mouth. I thought his name was Edwin, but I'd only been here for a couple weeks and none of the kids were very friendly.

“Leave me alone,” I said firmly. I wasn't very big for a thirteen year-old or a girl, but I'd survived a hell of a lot worse than some teenage bully.

“You're a whore!” Edwin shouted, injured hand forgotten as he apparently remembered the reason for his attack. “My dad got arrested because of you!”

Shit.

Lily had come yesterday and told me that someone had leaked my name to the press and that she was going to figure out who it was. It had been six months since she'd rescued me and I'd finally been settled in a group home in a different school district from where I'd gone before. I'd thought I'd been safe. I should have known better.

“You ruined my family!” Edwin charged at me and I sidestepped, letting him run past while I took off in the opposite direction.

I didn't know who Edwin's father was, but I knew the police had spent the last few months arresting various people in the videos my mother had made. My only part in that had been testifying in front of a grand jury about the videos en masse, saying that they had been made without my consent, that I was underage at the time – still was, but that hadn't been the point – and that the men involved had known both. The only name I'd been able to give had been that of my 'doctor' and he'd been arrested not long after my statement had been taken. All I could figure was that Edwin's dad had been one of the men in the videos.

I wasn't about to try to explain to Edwin, however, that his dad was a child molester and rapist. Somehow, I doubted that would do any good.

I could hear Edwin behind me and, suddenly, my throat began to close up, my chest tighten until I was gasping for breath. The memory of the huntsman came over me and I stumbled. I felt my knees hit the ground with a jolt, my palms scraping across the cement. I was vaguely aware of my head hitting the sidewalk with a thud, but I couldn't see anything but the memory.

I heard Edwin catch up to me, felt him kicking and hitting. Felt a hand grabbing at my breast. I couldn't do anything to stop it. I was frozen, helpless, caught in a memory even worse than the violence being done to me now. I heard voices and Edwin was suddenly gone, but it didn't matter. I was trapped and I always would be. I couldn't run far or fast enough to get away.

I woke suddenly and it took a minute for me to remember where I was. I'd curled up into a ball at some point and my muscles were clenched and stiff. I winced as I stretched back out on the couch, knocking my file to the floor. I didn't pick it up yet, still processing my dream.

I hadn't thought of Edwin in a long time. He hadn't been the first or the last to bully me or call me names because of what had happened. Kids tended to be either overwhelmingly kind or overwhelmingly cruel. Unfortunately, most of my encounters had been with the latter. Edwin had, however, been the only one whose father I'd sent to jail. I'd pestered Lily until she'd revealed to me which one Edwin's dad had been and I didn't feel so bad anymore. He hadn't been the worst, but he'd certainly been bad enough.

I'd been pulled out of that school shortly after the incident because even though Edwin had been suspended for what he'd done, he'd be back and everyone had agreed that it'd be best if I wasn't there when it happened. I'd ended up with a concussion, three cracked ribs and more bruises than I'd been able to count, but I'd been the one who'd had to leave.

That had been the moment I'd truly understood that, even though I'd been the victim, there would always be those who'd blame me for what had happened. And that, no matter what anyone told me, a part of me would always blame myself.

I picked up the folder. I wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight. I supposed I might as well do something useful.