Both breakfast and her appetite abandoned, Colleen stood before the window of her new quarters and stared out at this morning’s inexplicable view, scrambling after some rational explanation. Had she been moved again during the night? This seemed to be the same room she had gone to sleep in. …Could they have moved it too somehow?  Or was this just some careful duplicate…elsewhere?  Either way, how had they done it without her noticing? And why would they have bothered to? Her silent apologies to Matt Rhymer grew more heartfelt than ever as her own certainties about what was really happening here—or real at all—grew thinner.

Not long after Anselm’s departure the night before, a remarkably small man, as bizarrely dressed as Anselm had been, had come to her door, introduced himself as ‘Syndaht,’ and offered to escort her to “new accommodations.” Following him through the semi-darkened building, steps ahead of Anselm’s silent giant, Cullen, clearly there to quash any thoughts of escape, she had felt like part of some miniature circus parade as they’d passed through a building she still had no clear idea what to make of. It had seemed too large and elegant to be a house, too ‘artisanal’ and convoluted to be a palace, and far too personal in both furnishings and layout to be any kind of commercial structure. And the actual dimensions of its labyrinthine spaces were strangely hard to estimate—as if everything she saw were being filtered through some mental funhouse mirror. At the time, she had chalked this up to the effects of traumatic stress and profound fatigue. Now she wondered if they’d drugged her. That might explain how they’d achieved this latest move without disturbing her sleep.

This new room to which Syndaht had brought her was significantly bigger and even more beautifully appointed than the first one, with a much larger and more luxurious bed. She remembered climbing into it like a drowning woman into a life raft, and falling fast asleep almost before the little man had finished wishing her goodnight.

She nodded to herself. If they had drugged her, then who knew how long she’d really been out this time? …She might be anywhere now.

She’d been woken this morning—whichever morning this really was—by a quiet tapping at the door, and risen in her rumpled clothes to find Syndaht again, bearing a silver tray piled high with covered dishes, little pitchers, glassware and other dining accoutrements. Ravenous at the first wiff of whatever lay within those covered dishes, she had thanked him, and tried to take the tray. But he’d bobbed nimbly underneath her reach, and gone to set it on the room’s round, polished walnut table, where he’d laid every item out precisely, folded her napkin, poured her juice, and removed all the lids.

“Well,” Colleen had said, coming to sit in the chair Syndaht had pulled out for her, “this kidnapping’s definitely getting five stars in my Yelp review.”

Syndaht had not even smiled. “Would my lady like some fresher clothing brought perhaps?”

She had turned to look at him, her brows climbing. “My lady?”

“Would some other title be preferred?”

“Ms. Fischer would do fine—if we need one. You have women’s clothing here? That just happens to fit me?” And, if so, why? she had wondered a bit queasily. “Are there…other women here somewhere?”

“Anything you need, Ms. Fischer, can be easily arranged for,” Syndaht had replied, as if he hadn’t heard the last part of her question.

Inspired by fresh thoughts of escape, she had glanced over at the window and noticed only then what lay beyond it. She had stood up so abruptly that she’d almost upset the table, and gone to pull the window’s gauzy curtains aside for a better look—but there’d been no mistake. Her new view was of a snow-laced mountain peak somewhere well above the tree line, reflected in an alpine stream that all but filled the snowy little bowl of broken stone between it and herself. Even more bizarrely, there were two monumental doorways carved into the peak’s stone face.

“Where is this?” she’d demanded, whirling to face Syndaht. “How did we get here?”

Syndaht’s face had first gone blank, then looked a little queasy too. “I’ll return for the breakfast things when you have finished, Ms. Fischer,” he’d said, already turning, and all but sprinted from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Colleen had rushed to yank it open and call him back, but found it locked, of course.

Now, she was back before the window, staring out at someplace that couldn’t be within hundreds of miles—or more likely thousands—from the floral meadowland she’d seen from her previous room.

These anxious ruminations were interrupted by another soft knock at the door. “You can take this food away!” she yelled. “I’m not interested in any more drug-laced goodies.”

Hearing the door open, she turned to find not Syndaht, as she’d supposed, but Anselm entering her room, in ruffled white linen shirt sleeves, knee-length breeches and dark leggings now, like Paul Revere at home after a hard night. “I thought we’d been over all of that,” he said, closing the door behind him and wandering lazily to the table, where he pinched a bit of sausage from a serving dish and popped it in his mouth. “Nothing here is drugged. No one’s trying to harm you. And I really cannot have you starve to death under my roof.”

“Your roof where, exactly?” she said, throwing an arm back toward the window. “Where is this? And if nothing here is drugged, how did I get here without ever waking up?”

Anselm sighed, drew back a chair across from the one she had vacated, and sat down. “Syndaht has informed me of your very understandable alarm. And I am more than happy to answer at least some of the questions you have every right to ask—if you will come put something in your stomach before you really do lose consciousness.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I think you remarkable, as I believe I said last night.”

“Oh really. So remarkable that a few words of flattery will get me to walk over there and stuff a piece of pastry in my mouth? Where would I wake up this time? The moon? Next time we go somewhere, I’d prefer to watch.”

To her annoyance, he looked genuinely amused. “More remarkable with every word, in fact.” He reached out to dish a wedge of something like bread pudding onto her plate from one of the serving dishes. “I have known only a few people as…undistracted by fear as you seem to be, Colleen; most of them a great deal more problematic than you seem as well. You are not at all what I was braced for, and in case it’s still not clear, that’s intended as a compliment—not flattery.” He set the serving spoon down, and gestured toward her chair. “You needn’t eat any of this lovely meal Syndaht has prepared for you if I can’t convince you it is safe to do so. But you must have questions about much more than the view by now. Would it not be more comfortable for both of us if you come sit down while I strive to answer them?”

“Fine.” She returned to the table and sat down without a glance at the maddeningly fragrant morsel he’d left before her. “Let’s start with answers then, okay? If I like those, maybe I’ll try a bite of this.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your arrival here has thrown my staff into something of a state, I fear.”

“Has it! Well, I’d have given them some warning if I’d had any myself.”

Anselm’s thin smile reappeared. “It seems that in his haste to prepare this room for you, my steward forgot to adjust its view. He was…quite mortified when you called that fact to his attention just now.”

Colleen stared at him. “I’m sorry…what?”

Anselm raised his hands, clapped sharply twice, and directed a negligent wave at the window.

Colleen turned and saw—to her astonishment—the same rolling, flower-spangled meadows and wooded hillsides she had seen from yesterday’s room. Her mouth fell open as she stood again, and went to stare more closely at the ‘adjusted’ view. “What…the fuck…is this?” she breathed, unwilling, unable, still, to credit Rhymer’s talk of ‘magic mental powers,’ but equally unable to come up with any better explanation for what she’d just seen with her own eyes.

“Technology, obviously,” Anselm said behind her. “Cutting edge, and unfamiliar to you, as it is still under development and not yet announced, much less available, anywhere publicly. I’m afraid this will mean placing you under a nondisclosure agreement,” he added with a wry smile.

She felt an almost comical surge of relief, but could hardly have been more amazed if he had claimed it was magic. Once again, she all but pressed her face against the glass, trying to find some flaw in the illusion, but saw none. Who could blame Matthew Rhymer for having been fooled by this? If his story was true—and she was pretty sure by now it was—they’d been able even ten years ago to create environments like this that he could walk through—for hours! “That’s…unbelievable.” She turned back to stare at Anselm. “My father’s in the tech industry. I’ve heard all kinds of things about developing V.R., but this…” This had to be military research…or something even more classified…which begged a host of other ominous questions. Her brief sense of relief collapsed completely. “Who are you people?” She spread her arms and gazed around the room. “And what is all this for?” She pointed at his clothing. “The costumes and the old-fashioned speech; what the hell’s that got to do with high-tech research?”

“Just the sort of question I imagine anyone you described this to would ask as well,” he said. “Your assertions about what you’d seen here would sound…well, as ridiculous as I must look to you, would they not?” He shrugged. “Although, to be honest, I am actually rather more fond of days gone by than the ones we live in now.” He gave her an oddly helpless look. “Such nostalgia is something of a personal fetish, I suppose, beyond its usefulness in rendering any of your observations here…less hazardous to us.” He too waved at the room around them. “Not a lot of useful clues about whatever’s really going on, are there? If anything, you’d just sound a bit…deluded to anyone you tried to talk with about this.”

Just like Matthew Rhymer had sounded. Colleen looked around again, feeling a bit short of breath. However eccentric his ‘nostalgic fetish,’ these people clearly had tremendous resources to waste—and technology that she’d have sworn should not exist at all yet…all of which…was scaring the shit out of her. If anything he’d just told her was true, then this was no mere local band of thugs, nor any minor squabble she had stumbled into. It must be something…unimaginably large. So… “What has any of this got to do with me?” she asked quietly. “Or with Matthew Rhymer? From everything I’ve heard, he was just another street kid…” unless…there was some kind of truth behind even his most impossible claim. Some other new technology to dwarf the V.R. displayed through Anselm’s windows. What kind of company had that ‘fifty-year-old man’ worked for? …He’d never really said. “…wasn’t he?” she finished.

“I don’t know,” Anselm replied. “Which is precisely why I want to talk with him so badly. There are…large matters at stake, as I believe you’re starting to realize.”

Yes. She was realizing very quickly now, which led her to the most frightening question yet. “Why are you explaining all this to me? I mean, you’re probably right about how no one would believe me if I tried to tell them, but you’ve also told me how to explain your disguise away. Why would you do that…if I might ever have the chance to tell someone?”

He studied her for a moment, then shook his head and smiled again. “This is exactly what I mean in calling you remarkable.”

“I’m not remarkable.” She saw no further point in pretending anything. The need to know whether or not there was a knife at her back outweighed her fear of finding out. She’d figured out years ago that any real shark in the water was smaller than the imaginary ones. Imagination had no upward limit, so imaginary sharks just grew ever larger. “I’m terrified right now. But if you’re going to kill me, I’d rather you just said so.”

His smile vanished. “Do you have any idea how few people would dare ask such a question—or even allow themselves to think it?” He leaned forward, earnestly. “I never said you weren’t frightened, Colleen. I said I was impressed by how little you let fear distract you. I am always very careful in the words I choose. It may pay well to note and consider my words just as carefully.” He leaned back into his chair again. “You are remarkable. Remarkably courageous, and remarkably intelligent. The proof just piles up here.”

“Okay…thanks. But you…didn’t answer my question.”

He actually laughed. One sharp bark that made her jump, before his face grew sober again. “Listen carefully then. I have never been a man to waste anything of value, and I have absolutely no intention, nor any need, of doing you harm. As I grow to know you better, the very idea appalls me. This little costume charade of ours that I have just explained to you is the least of our concealments. I have no concerns at all about what you might or might not say once we’ve released you—which I have every expectation of doing, when I can. Even if you managed to get someone to believe your tales, there’d be nothing whatsoever for them to find.” He gestured toward the window. “You yourself have no idea where you are, and frankly, almost nothing you have seen here actually exists.”

“You mean…this is all…?”

He nodded. “Nearly all of it. Nor will you have any way of telling, I think, which things here are or aren’t, however closely you may inspect them.”

She looked around again, numb with both guarded relief and profound incomprehension. If their tech was this good…it might as well be magic, and she knew far less about the world than she had supposed. “Then, why keep me here at all? I have no idea where Matt Rhymer is—or even who he is, really.” She looked Anselm directly in the eyes, hoping he would see she meant it. “And I’m completely sure that neither Dusty or Anna do either. I know them both well enough to feel very sure they aren’t lying to me. We have nothing you want. So if you really don’t mean to harm me, and you don’t care what I might say to people, why not just let me go?”

“Another very reasonable and well-articulated question,” he said, “to which I have several answers. First, while I have no concern about what you may tell others like yourself, I face opponents in this game who might do me a great deal of harm if they knew you’d been here at all.” Colleen could guess who those must be, not that she was about to let him know that. Anselm leaned toward her again, his face filled with regret. “There is something rather dreadful I must confess to you, my dear. Your abduction was…” he shrugged slightly, looking improbably sheepish, “all a terrible mistake, I fear.”

“What?”

“I did not request it. I did not want it. I was not expecting it at all. One of my subordinates, assigned to keep tabs on your fiancé, grew over-zealous, and decided on sudden, utterly unauthorized impulse that abducting you might force Dustin Clarke to take us to the Rhymer boy. I was, quite candidly, furious when he arrived here with you.”

Colleen was incredulous. “Then…if this was just a big mistake, isn’t that all the more reason—”

“No,” he cut her off, shaking his head sadly. “No one would believe I hadn’t ordered your abduction. There’d be hell to pay if they knew we’d taken you. Even if I’d already released you, they’d use you to destroy me now, whether you wished them to or not.”

“Well…have these other people been watching us too?”

“Oh yes. Far longer than I have. I suspect they sent the letter your fiancé received.”

“Then they must know about my kidnap too. Won’t they put two and two together whether I’m released or not?”

“Of course. I’m sure they have already. But without you, yourself, as evidence, they have no way of proving those suspicions true. If they did, I’m sure I’d have heard from them by now.”

“So…I just have to sit here? ’Til this whole ‘game’ of yours plays out?”

“I’m afraid so,” Anselm replied with what seemed credible regret.

Colleen rolled her eyes. “So what game is that, exactly? Who are these opponents of yours?” It couldn’t hurt to have some perspective on all this besides Rhymer’s. “Can I at least know what I’ve gotten tangled up in?”

He gazed at her strangely for a moment. “Have you no guesses of your own to hazard?”

“Me?” Had she slipped up again somehow? “How on earth would I know?”

“How indeed?” he asked. “And yet, I have the most peculiar feeling that you do.” He went on gazing at her, clearly waiting for something.

“I…have no idea what you’re getting at…” she said, praying to whatever powers might be listening that he hadn’t known about Matt’s other emails all this time as well.

Anselm responded with a small, sad smile. “I think you do, Colleen. I think you are still lying to me—much more skillfully than I’d believed you capable of doing at first. But then, everything about you has surprised me.” She opened her mouth to deny it, but he held a hand up to forestall her. “And that’s entirely understandable. You asked me last night what else I should expect of you, after having been abducted by us, and you’re absolutely right. I am not upset with you. Who in your situation would do otherwise? I’m not even going to try to wheedle out your secrets. They belong to you. As you know now, I never wanted you kidnapped to begin with. Our mistake has cost you and people whom you love dreadfully. The least I can do to express my regret for that is respect your privacy.”

She stared at him, smelling something rotten now among the lovely scents of breakfast. “I find that very hard to believe,” she said, “given…all the rest of this…”

He nodded in apparent commiseration. “I’d be quite surprised if you felt otherwise. But…I’ve given things a great deal more thought since our conversation last night, and concluded that, given all the rest of this, as you put it, it is clearly my job to win your trust, not your job to trust me.” He hunched his shoulders. “Unfortunately, we’ve likely more than ample time to see if I can do that job or not. I apologize again for that.”

Colleen had no idea what he expected her to say. This was not what she’d expected. Not in any rendition her mind could have cooked up.

“I have no idea what, if anything, you may already have been told about me, or about my opponents,” Anslem continued.

“Where would I have heard about you?” she objected. “I had no idea you even—”

“Be that as it may,” he interrupted, “there is more than one side to any story, as I have little doubt you understand quite well. I look forward to the pleasure of much more conversation with you while you’re here, and hope you will allow me to convey my side of the story you are caught in. Perhaps, as we get to know each other better, you will feel inclined to trust me more. If not, so be it.”

“Aren’t you the nicest kidnapper ever,” Colleen said, lest he get his hopes up.

He responded with a short rumble of half-swallowed laughter, as he got stiffly to his feet. “If the tragic misstep of your presence here should fall out badly for me, perhaps you will find it possible, at least, to tell my accusers that I did not treat you poorly. That could soften the consequences for me considerably.” He gave her one last narrow smile. “If you’re looking for an element of self-interest to explain my position, perhaps that will do.” Without waiting for any response, he turned wearily and started for the door. But as he got there, he turned back and pointed at her still untouched plate. “That should be fairly tasty yet, even cold. There really is no reason to mistrust the food here.”

With that, he stepped through the door, pulling it carefully closed behind him.

Colleen turned to look down at the little wedge of cake, then at all the other tasty things laid out before her, and picked up her fork. She was going to have eat eventually. And given everything she’d just learned, drugged food now seemed a laughably prosaic concern. She placed a forkful of the pastry in her mouth, and groaned with pleasure, wishing she had tried it while it was still warm.