Boone, Iowa. January 14th: 6:23 P.M.....

  I type in the name "Agnes Alf" before quickly pressing the enter key to begin my google search. The screen flashes before a long row of headlines fills the screen up, most already looking like rubbish to me.

Using the mouse, I slowly move the screen downward as I look for any 'useful' information about our friend here. I stop on a headline dated back in 1925, something about it catching my attention.

"Agnes Alf, a Swedish professor of genetics, that was recruited by the US no more than twenty years ago, dies of a heart attack early Monday morning."

I purse my lips, scrolling through a few of his accomplishments listed under the short paragraph about his parting. Something about this guy just doesn't make sense. Maybe it's the fact the reporter makes him out to be a world renowned guy, yet hardly makes the effort to give him a good hunk of the paper when he dies. Then there's also the fact that, even though he's some "professor of genetics," which are highly sought after, I can't seem to find where he was working for the last twenty years despite the paragraph saying he was recruited by the US.

So for where, and what, did he work?

I glance up at Casey, who's irritably hovering over me as I bend over a computer, face hard and impassive despite his eyes that don't seem to have stopped moving since we got here.

We're now in the small town of Boone, Iowa. A good four hours away from Sewerd, my home. Stopping only once to grab something in the Wendy's drive thru, we'd managed to get here before seven o'clock. Just in time to do some quick research at the local library, probably head out a little ways, grab some supper, and find somewhere to sleep for the night before we head out again.

Ugh. The life of convicts on the run.

I frown, still hating that small fact and feeling yet another stab of resentment towards a certain icy blue-eyed, black-haired someone for getting me into this mess in the first place.

Focusing back on the computer, I click on an image on the bottom right. The screen once again goes dark before coming back up with the image of a grainy photo. A man in his late forties, sporting a small and neatly trimmed mustache and a white lab coat, stands behind a large table. Small glass test tubes and other things similar to that sit around on top of the tabletop, a clutter of objects only someone trained in that specific field could identify.

The man has an amused grin on his face as he stares off to the left of the photographer, almost like he's just finished telling a joke to someone. And though he's takes on the look of an average, if not more than ordinary, person with a lab coat, I get the sense that, behind his smiles and jokes, lies a burden like no other.

"Casey," I whisper to get hit attention, not taking my eyes from the screen. I instantly feel his attention zone in on the picture. His posture noticeably tenses, and I feel him lean down from beside me to get a closer look.

His arm brushes against my right shoulder as he places it on the back of my chair, a hint of pine needles and a freshly trimmed garden aroma filling my nose as his face lowers to a few mere inches next to mine.

Woah, Nora. Breathe. This is the guy you hate, remember?

"That's him." Casey mutters back, never moving his eyes from the photo as he seems to grow enthralled by it. I frown again, crossing my arms and trying to shift further away from him without it being too noticeable.

"And how would you know?" I throw my hand out. "Amnesia, ring a bell?" I have to remind myself to keep it down when one of the librarians tosses me a look from across the room. Ducking back behind the computer screen, I run my hand through my tangled hair.

He lifts his shoulders in what I'm assuming was supposed to be a shrug. "It just feels. . . right." Is his short and to the point answer. I grind my teeth together slowly, his stoic behavior really rubbing me the wrong way.

Where's the panic? The fear? The uncertainty that's constantly bothering me?

See. Not fair.

"Oh yeah, just like your name and this guy's name?" I mock, not actually expecting a answer, but getting a nod regardless. This guy doesn't really get sarcasm.

Excusing that from my mind, I voice my doubt. "But how could he have anything to do with you? I mean, I could see seeing as he's some 'genetic scientist' and what not, but he's been dead for almost a hundred years. He wouldn't have been around."

Casey's quiet for a moment before slowly pulling back to stand over me once again. "Does he have any living relatives?" He questions, somewhat surprising me.

Hey, he's a man of very few words. So when he actually speaks first, I'm allowed to be a little surprised.

Typing a few different combinations, I come to the information I'm looking for. Oh yeah, am I good, or what?

My brows furrow as I look over his family tree. "This guy didn't get out much or something. He hardly has any relatives whatsoever, none the less actually alive," I muse, mostly speaking to myself but confident Casey can hear me regardless.

I'm about to give up on his 'severely lacking in relatives' search when my gaze halts on the final name and date. Finally one that doesn't have "Deceased" written next to it.

"Hold up." I click on the name, and the screen takes me to a small site that has less on it then the other guy, if you can believe it. "Agnes Alf Jr. Born July 10th, 1995. Great grandson of Agnes Alf." I look back up at Casey, and our eyes meet as I finish.

"He's still alive."

Casey absorbs this silently, eyes back on the surroundings. "Find his address." He takes a step back, watching as a man crosses the room. I give him a slightly irritated scowl. "I'll try. But I'm not that adept in all this research mojo," I rant as I click a few more arrows that leads me to a digital phonebook. "I mean, it can't be that easy to," I type in his information I'd gleamed from the other site, pressing enter once again. "find. . . him."

The final word dies on my tongue as the results load on the screen. And right there, is an address. A currently in use address.

Geez. It's almost like he's trying to be found.

"Well, that was. . . unexpected," I mutter to myself in disbelief. I can feel Casey quickly scanning over the screen until he's satisfied. "Let's go," he says before turning like he's about to leave.

I practically jump in my chair. "Wait! Don't you want to see if I can find any information on you? Maybe your family?" I question, already jotting down the guy's address so I can clear the search engine.

"No."

I look up in surprise, only to see Casey glaring at nothing in particular, jaw tight. "What do you mean, 'no'?" I raise my eyebrow up at him, daring. He crosses his leather clad arms, tilting his head down so his baseball cap covers his eyes.

"Not right now at least." He lets a breath out through his mouth, something I've noticed he's been doing a lot recently. "We need to get moving. I don't like it here." He shifts like he's uncomfortable, and I spot him glancing around again. I scowl at his vague explanation.

"Alright. But I can't promise we'll find another computer that's so 'free reign'." I shrug, clicking out of my pages before standing up. "Probably a good idea. Who knows if they have this guy on their radar. They might've already been alerted about someone searching his name." I move to follow Casey, feeling a bout of sarcasm hit me.

"Oh yeah, why would we want to know anything about you anyway? It's not like it's your fault we're being hunted."

Casey stays silent, the only action to show he heard me being the slight hitch in his steps.

He totally didn't appreciate that.

*Time Skip*

I dip my fry in my ketchup before lifting it up to my mouth, the delicious salty mixture immediately enveloping my taste buds. I chew it up, swallowing it down with a sip from my coke.

7:30 P.M. We're now situated in the town's Applebee's restaurant, practically finished already. Immediately after leaving the library we'd walked down the street where we'd parked the mustang a ways away, due to caution of course, before making our way here where we'd been quickly seated and served.

Not many people out today.

I glance up across the table, immediately feeling a flash of guilt.

Casey sits across the table, already having eaten his rare steak he'd ordered, that dejected look back on his features. His shoulders slouch as he absentmindedly tracks his fork through the leftover grease on his plate, eyes distant.

Yes, and I'm feeling a tad bit guilty about my comment I, unthinkingly of course, blurted out earlier. I shouldn't be so hard on him. This is obviously just as hard on him, if not more, as it is for me. Even if he likes to pretend it doesn't.

But like now, he sometimes lets it show through.

"Hey, we'll get it figured out," I softly tell him, abruptly getting the urge to reach across the table and place my hand on his that sits next to his plate. I almost feel like smacking my head.

Where the hell did that thought come from?

He doesn't even glance up at me, fork still moving through the grease. I blow a breath out, feeling my anger ignite for no apparent reason. "And okay!" I huff, sitting straighter. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier." I gesture outwards towards him, only to realize, in my anger, I'd calculated the distance from my arm to my cup wrong.

I can only stare as my glass cup, recently refilled, slides across the few inches of table before it hangs suspended in air a split second before falling to the floor.

There's suddenly movement, like a blur, in front of me. And suddenly, I'm looking at Casey, who's now perched on the end of his seat, slightly leaning over the table to his left, his left hand now firmly clasping my cup as he slowly brings it back up to the tabletop.

Not a drop missing.

I blink in disbelief, mouth slightly unhinged as I stare at it. Casey swallows, blinking rapidly himself as he continues to look between the cup and his hand. He suddenly snaps out of it. He quickly places the cup back on the table in its original position, immediately sitting back in his seat as his eyes snap up to scan the room for any possible witnesses.

The couple of people that are here all continue what they're doing, nothing to show they'd just seen someone move faster than humanly possible.

I swallow the sudden dryness away from my throat, trying to force my eyes to narrow from their wide birth and for my mouth to shut.

Casey lets a shaky breath out. "Sorry," he sheepishly says once he's come to the same conclusion I had about our anonymousness. He runs a hand through his tousled black hair, avoiding my eyes.

I open my mouth to say something, but he suddenly jerks up into a sitting position, acting like he's had about five double shots of espressos as his hands fiddle with each other and his eyes flicker around everything, never pausing longer than a second on one thing. "I'll be back," he says before turning, then heads down between the tables towards the restrooms.

I bring my napkin up to my mouth, only just now realizing my hands are trembling.

Quickly placing the napkin down, I fold my hands on my lap, drawing in deep breaths to help calm myself.

Yeah, 'cause I really needed a reminder that I'm with some amnesiac 'super soldier' that seems just as freaked out about himself as I do.

Real comforting.

Five minutes later Casey returns, and without a word, we leave the correct sum of money and head back out to the vehicle like none of that just happened. The car ride commences with silence, and before I know it, I'm pulling into the parking lot of a cheep looking motel.

It's hardly a five star hotel, but it'll do. It has to do.

Another five minutes later and I find ourselves standing next to each other in one of the halls in the motel, each of our designated room keys in our hands. We look at each other a second, Casey obviously trying not to show anything, before he breaks away, turning towards his room that's directly in front of mine.

"Night," I whisper as he steps into his room. He pauses in his doorway, and two beats go by. "Goodnight," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

I sigh, really wondering what's screwing with my head and turning me all sappy. Facing my own door, I insert the key, then I enter my own shabby little living space for the night.

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A\N

  And an update!! Be surprised!

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Maggy