Finding Clara Ch. 00: Introduction

It has been an unusually quiet evening. Peaceful. The only sound is that of the leaves softly whispering in the gentle breeze. Outside the world is cloaked in an almost impenetrable darkness. Glistening snow covers the frozen earth like a thick blanket. Perhaps tonight will be the night. The thought comes unbidden and I silently scold myself for it; getting my hopes up will never do me any good. So why have I not learned that particular lesson yet? After all, it has been two years since she fled, leaving behind not only me, but everything that she possessed. Picking up the black velvet box that rests in the left-hand corner of my desk, I carefully open it. Nestled into the cushion is the diamond and emerald ring that I had gotten her before... I shake my head. There is no point in allowing myself to travel down that path. Not now. Closing the box I take care to place it in precisely the same place that I had found it the morning after she left, and settle myself in to wait for the report.

My study is one of the smaller rooms in my house. A handcrafted, Victorian-style mahogany desk dominates the center of the room. The surface is bare, polished to a high shine by my housekeeper, save for my Blackberry and the box containing the ring. Covering three of the four walls - the fourth wall is simply a floor to ceiling window that overlooks a picturesque garden - are detailed maps of every city within three states. Black dots mark the areas that have been searched. The window, which is made out of bulletproof glass, is located at my back.

With only a quick rap on the door to announce himself, he strides purposefully into my study, stopping directly in front of my desk and assuming the standard military parade rest position. At six foot ten and built like a bodybuilder, Michael Vladimir Romanov cuts a striking image. His pale complexion, white blond hair, and blue eyes so dark they appear black, all tell of his Russian roots. Comfortable, worn jeans hang loosely on his hips; a black shirt stretched taut across his chest. The only accessories he wears is a black military-issue watch and his dog tags.

When I was born my father traveled to Russia and offered his parents a chance to give him a better life. At five years old he left his parents and the life he knew behind and was sent to a special training program that was developed for young children in his position. Trained in Krav Maga, Taekwondo, Judo, Silat, and Kung Fu, he is a force to be reckoned with. He also mastered the culinary arts and five languages while he was in training. Six years later, he returned and was sworn to be both my best friend and my protector. That duty has led him around the world and into the Marine Core. "Sir," he says briskly, disrupting my musings, "we have found her."

A thousand questions threaten to burst forth with that one proclamation, but I repress them, allowing only one to escape: "Where?"

In all the years that I have known him, I have never seen Michael hesitate. Not once. He does now, however, "In an old alleyway a state over... Sir, she was not alone." White hot fury rises up inside of me, jealously rearing its ugly head, and I have to force myself to remain seated. Has my beautiful, ungrateful little girl been unfaithful to me as well? After all that I have done for her, all that I have given her... Not once did I ever ask for anything in return, except her faithfulness and obedience. It is all that I can do not to lose myself to my rage and I have to force myself to listen to what Michael is telling me. "When I found her she was drenched to the bone and draped protectively over a child. Both were, are emaciated and dressed in rags. They were nearly frozen to death. If I had found them even a few minutes afterwards, they would have been lost."

"A child? Are you sure? Whose is it? Is she... Are they alright? Where are they?" The questions finally break free and tumble out of my mouth. It is only when I hear him clear his throat and look me in the eye that I realize that in order for him to be able to get an answer in I will have to compose myself, cease my inquiries, and listen.

With the slightest hint of sarcasm he begins, "Fortunately, I still retain the ability to identify a child when I see one." He pauses a moment, making sure that he has my full attention, "If I had to venture a guess, I would say that the child is yours and is the primary reason for her unexpected departure. You made your distaste for the possibility of a child quite clear. At the current moment they are outside waiting in the car; she is asleep in the backseat and he is asleep in the front. When I found them I took them to a private hospital, you will receive a bill for that within the next few days, by the way, where their immediate needs were attended to. Apart from being underweight, they have been declared to be in perfect health." He falls silent, allowing the information to sink in. "Sir, I also took the liberty to stop at a store and purchase a playpen, diapers, food, and some clothes for the boy until you decide what you want done with him."

Boy. Toddler. Mine. The words reverberate in my head, rising and falling in volume until it is a constant hum. "Do we know his name?"

"No sir, and I highly doubt that we will until she wakes up. Would you like me to go wake Isabella so that she can care for the boy while you tend to her?"

She? Her? He acts as of he no longer knows her. Which, truth be told, is quite possibly the reality of things. A lot can happen in two years. Hell, a lot can happen in two minutes. "Yes. In addition, instruct her to order furniture and make the preparations to convert one of the spare bedrooms into a nursery. She should probably set up an appointment to get some clothes and shoes made for him as well." Standing up I walk around my desk, "And unless she desires to add 'governess' to her list of duties, she should contact the agency and hire a suitable one for the boy."

"Yes sir," Michael says, inclining his head slightly in my direction before turning on his heel and delivering my orders to the housekeeper. Taking a deep breath I make my way out to the car. After two long years she is finally home.