The Originals

“He was the only person in my mom’s address book that I didn’t recognize.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Sean asks quietly. “We’ve driven all this way to see someone who could be anyone?” He doesn’t sound mad, just tired.

“Yeah, but when I saw his name, I just knew it was him.” I look at Sean, and he glances at me, then back at the road. “I know it’s him.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon,” he says with a small smile. “But you have good instincts: I’m sure you’re right. At least, I hope you are.”

“I’m right,” I say, hoping that I am, too. Then I yawn. “Hey, we have to stop somewhere until morning. It’s the middle of the night; we can’t show up now.”

“Good call,” Sean says, yawning too. Which makes me yawn again.

We start through a tunnel originating in Oakland and dumping us out in a town called Alameda. It looks cute, but it’s dark and my eyes are fuzzy from trying to read using a convenience-store flashlight, so I’m withholding judgment until the morning. Sean finds us a hotel, where we sleep for not enough hours. Then by the light of the too-bright California sun, we pull into a driveway in front of a massive Victorian; we’re filled with a lot of nervousness but also, though this part goes unspoken, high hopes.

The four of us get out and walk up the steps. The day assaults my sleepy eyes; I squint as I reach over and ring the bell. It’s one of those doorbells you expect to be answered by a butler. Instead, a man about Mom’s age opens the door. Not to be gross, but he’s kind of hot.

“Hi,” I say nervously, thinking maybe we should’ve called first like Bet suggested. I force myself to speak. “Are you Mr. Weller?”

“I am,” the man says. The sun is right behind us; he’s squinting at me sideways. “How can I help you?”

For a split second, I think we’ve driven all this way for nothing. That I’m standing in front of one of Mom’s former coworkers or her high school sweetheart. But then a cloud blocks the sun and I see the look in his eyes: It’s recognition. I was right.

“We’re here to find out whether you can get us new identities,” I say bluntly. I hear Ella suck in her breath a little; it’s probably not how she’d have done it.

“That’s quite a request,” he says warmly. “Come on in and we can talk about it.” He holds the door open, welcoming us into his home like we’re long-lost relatives. His face is friendly, but I don’t miss his deadpan glance down the street before he closes the door.

Who or what is he looking for?

“I’m Lizzie,” I say as I step inside. “That’s Ella and that’s Betsey.”

“And I’m the driver,” Sean says, extending a hand.

“Sorry,” I say, “I’m tired. That’s my boyfriend, Sean.” Sean laughs quietly when we catch glances.

“Nice to finally meet you all,” the man says with a smile. He shuts the front door; it’s cool and quiet inside the large house. “Your mom’s an old friend; that makes us friends, too.

“Please… call me Mason.”

After a lot of explaining on our part, we wait in the comfortable living room while Mason calls Mom from the kitchen. He says he wants to tell her we’re all right, but I think he’s also asking permission to help us.

“Your mother said to call her later,” Mason says, returning from the kitchen with a bowl of pretzels in one hand and a tray of sodas in the other. “Here, I thought you might be hungry.”

Sean wastes no time digging in, but Betsey, Ella, and I look at Mason expectantly.

“And?” I ask when I can’t take it any longer.

“And it’s fine,” he says, half smiling. “I’ll do it.” He pauses, then stands up. “It’ll take about a day, so you’re welcome to stay here tonight. In fact, I insist that you do.”

“Thank you,” Ella and I say in unison. He laughs a little.

“Let’s start with pictures—for your driver’s licenses and passports.”

Ella frowns. “Can I brush my hair and teeth first?” she asks. “I mean, I’ll be carrying those things around forever.” Mason nods.

>I stand up a straighter.

“My life, Mom,” I say quietly. “Did you hear that part? I said my life.”

“That’s what we want,” Betsey says from behind me. “We want our own lives back.”