What Comes Around

Atalanta

Closing her eyes, she cursed her freezing room. Atalanta knew she was meant to be enjoying her Saturday, her weekends. But that hadn't been the case for awhile, not since she lived near Boston with her best friend.

　　She had tried to ring Aunty Olive, but she had been told that Olive Ryans had killed herself a few weeks ago, that her best friend/sister was missing.

　　Atalanta knew she should be grateful, since her mother passed away. Aunty Olive and her aunt paid for her schooling, apartment and bills, along with other things. Otherwise she would have had to drop school, and now. There was nothing she could do to pay back her beloved aunty. The least she could do was keep an ear out for her sister figure, even if Josephine was a year older then her.

　　Not only that, but her nightmares were slowly getting worse. A screaming woman with flowing white hair, along with a thin man with shoulder length midnight black.

　　Pulling her knees to her chest, she could spot that Ashley had left her book at her house. Ashley was a pretty little thing that needed a bit of help with her homework, since her parents worked and usually weren't home till late, Atalanta offered to babysit and tutor her in the subjects she didn't understand.

　　Like maths and science.

　　Thinking about babysitting and jobs, Aunty Olive had warned her of people offering jobs to those in need, to those who were despite. Told her to walk in the other direction, because those people would sooner sell you into the sex trade then give you an honest job.

　　That was the last thing she had told her. If only she had Josephine's way with words, even if she helped with a few articles about local artists; because her talents laid in painting and drawing, along with calligraphy. If she was lucky she might make some money off her paintings, but the art world was hard to break into, no matter which section you were aiming for.

　　"Who's there?" Atalanta whispered to herself as she walked towards the door, baseball bat picked up along the way. Peeking through her door, she saw that it was two man holding up a badge for the FBI.

　　"We're with the FBI," he told her, he was most likely in his early thirties, even if he did have grey hair gracing his temples. One's voice and tone did give away a few things about their owner, this one was weary. Very weary. "I'm Agent Dominick."

　　Nodding her head, she paused when she remembered that the door was still closed. Meaning, he couldn't see her nod and she had a book to return.

　　"Good morning," Atalanta said as she opened the door, allowing the two into her apartment. One made her hair stand on end, but the other was fine. "What brings you gentleman here?"

　　"Gentleman?" Agent Dominick asked. "Your, what, fourteen? -"

　　"Olive Ryans babysit me when I was younger," she told him, Aunty Olive had helped with her English homework, so she thought it made sense that she pick up some of her aunt's favourite sayings.

　　"That's who we were going to ask about."

　　"May I see your badges? Just so I know your telling the truth?"

　　"Of course."

　　"Bradley Dale Edmund Lincoln Hayden Cooper Dominick... you have more middle names then Josephine and Olive, combined."

　　"His parents never liked their kids," his partner told her. To Atalanta, his eyes reminder her of a snakes, he was going to be someone to keep an eye on. FBI or not. "Jake Smith."

　　Looking at his badge, she gave Agent Dominick his back, smiling as she sat down in the living room, pointing at the cough across from her. "Common name."

　　"Common family."

　　"We're here to ask about Olive and Josephine Ryans," Agent Dominick told her. Agent Smith placing a recording device between them. "Neighbours said you were close."

　　"Olive was like an Aunt. Another mother," she told him, smiling as she thought about the better days of her childhood. It wasn't her fault she was born out of wedlock, stupid real aunt wanting to get her out of the picture. "Much better then my actual aunt. Josephine was my older sister."

　　"We've discovered that Mrs Ryans didn't kill herself..."

　　"Of course not. Aunty Olive would never leave her daughter, not in a million years would she kill herself."

　　"No, she was murdered. Forced to drive off the road, do you know who'd want her dead."

　　"A few people. Not everyone is happy when their worse secrets are reviled on the internet."

　　"And Miss Ryans."

　　"Same."

　　"A few people want her dead as well."

　　"Both of them were bloggers. A few newspapers have published Josephine's work, it's dangerous, but it does put food on the table."

　　Agent Smith coughed into his hand, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he looked at her. "Did Mrs Ryans tell you about her research, anything at all."

　　"No. She hasn't," Atalanta lied. She wasn't told anything of importance, but she wasn't even willing to tell him that much.

　　"Do you know where she keeps her research material?"

　　"No. She kept them under lock and key, not even her daughter knew where they were." That would keep them from asking Josephine that question, since she knew her older sister would never admit to where they were.

　　"Did Miss Ryans tell you anything?" Agent Smith asked, his voice seemed harder and harsher.

　　"She's worse then her mother," Atalanta told him as harsh as his words were. "Getting information from her, even as children, was like pushing a bolder up hill and keeping it there."

　　"Thank for your time...."

　　"Atalanta Frost O'Milly," she told Agent Dominick, when it looked like he didn't know how to finish his sentence. "Guess, Agent Dominick, we both have parents that didn't like us very much."

　　"Atalanta? Like from the Greek Myths?" Agent Smith asked her, the glint growing in his eyes.

　　"Yes," she answered him. "The Princess that left on a hill by the king, that was raised by a bear, killed Artemis' boar and got tricked by three golden apples."

　　"Thank you for Miss O'Milly," Agent Dominick told her, a pleasant smile on his face. He was safe, something made her believe that it was safe. Handing her a card. "If you can think of anything, don't be scared to call."

　　"Thank you."

　　Watching as the two left her apartment, Atalanta quickly locked the door behind them. She didn't want to take any changes of Agent Smith coming back and asking her any more questions.

　　She didn't trust that man, not with her family secrets. Not with a bubble floating through the breeze. Didn't trust him as far as she could throw him and she doubted that she could pick him up to begin with.

　　He felt as bad as Voldemort's henchman, willing to anything for their master. But the question remained, who was Agent Smith's master?