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zipped pocket. She remembered enough to know it had three numbers programmed into it: The first belonged to her handler, the second to her sister. The third was a text-only number where she could leave messages in an emergency. She turned it on and texted “call me” to the man on the other end.
    There were still magazines inside the bag and she took them out and set them on top of the toilet paper dispenser. She placed the tickets and various papers with flight information there as well. There were tissues and scraps of airport bar napkins and a broken pencil. Beyond those scant few items, the bag was empty and falling to tatters. She took the money out and started to shove it in her waistband when she realized she still had just the t-shirt on and not much else. She’d need to keep the backpack and maybe buy some shorts or pants in one of the airport shops, if she could find one that sold more than just Seattle Mariners shirts.
    And shoes . She felt gross putting her bare feet down on the nasty bathroom floor.
    She gathered up the junk and threw it in the trash after she left the stall, leaving only the money, phone and the snapped pencil to put back in the bag. As she did, she noticed the faded words written in marker on the inside of the old backpack.
    If found return to 4486 Southmoore Ln. Talmadge, Calif.
    Deena thought about the address. It was where she and Harper had grown up. She wondered if her dad still lived there, if the old fort was still hanging in the tree. She wondered if everyone still remembered what happened, what she did there.
    She stared at herself in the bathroom mirrors and tried to figure out a way to make it look like the “nude except for a t-shirt” look was what she was going for, but it wasn’t working. She stretched the shirt as far down as she could and managed to get it to cover up the important parts. She wished she had a fanny pack instead of a backpack. There was no way to strategically tie a backpack around her waist without looking completely crazy; as opposed to an exhibitionist teen.
    She took one last look in the mirror as she prepared to walk out. God, I hope teenage girls are still dressing slutty this year.
    Deena’s phone rang. She pressed the button to answer, put it to her ear and said “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m out.” She said it on impulse, though the idea had come to her earlier. She was a kid again. She could pick an entirely new path for herself. Even if her second childhood might only last a day or so, at least it would be different. “Goodbye.”

4
    Morgan watched Mr. Marsh hang up the phone. They’d talked about the call Marsh had received from Deena and this next conversation only seemed to confirm she’d gone off her nut. He was slightly uneasy when the older man turned his attention to him. “That was Deena’s handler, Avi. He says he never saw her get off the plane and she hasn’t contacted him yet. He’s looking for her, but no success yet.”
    “So, you think she’s serious about leaving?” Morgan asked.
    “Hard to say. We knew it would happen sooner or later,” Marsh said. “I was beginning to hope for later.”
    Morgan tilted his head slightly and furrowed his brow. “She’s done this before. It’s no big deal. She’ll be back.”
    “She’s gone off on her own, but she’s never actually told anyone she quit before.”
    It was true. In the many years Morgan had worked with Deena and her sister, Harper, he could remember Deena vanishing for days at a time, resurfacing as if nothing had happened. “First time for everything.”
    “You know the sisters, yes? You’re aware of the younger one?”
    Morgan almost laughed. “You know I know them. I was there when you brought them on. I remember that witch, Deena, or whatever she is. Everyone that works for you knows about her.”
    Marsh smiled. “We get things done here. When someone hires us for a job, they know it’s going to get done in a manner that bespeaks