The entire suburb had been built on the closed community theme, in which residents didn't really ever have to leave their small, safe, neighborhoods. Everything from schools to shopping centers were built right into the design, making life pleasant, if antiseptic and sterile, for all the residents of Glen Oaks.

Helen lived in one of the smaller homes in the gated community, a three-bedroom, three-bath, twenty five hundred square foot colonial style two-story. She loved her room, a large space with it's own private bath and sitting room, located on the second floor. In fact, the entire top floor was her own personal place, since her mother had chosen the smaller first floor guestroom as her own. Helen didn't like to think about why her mother had chosen the smaller room instead of the "master bedroom" where Helen now kept her things. It was very painful to think about the death of her father, just three short months ago, even though it had been his generous life insurance policy that had bought Helen and her mother the home in which they now lived.

As she walked, Helen thought about why her mother had been so . . .what was the word . . . fanatical? . . . about how safe Glen Oaks was. An eight-foot steel fence surrounded the entire suburb, with guard booths at both of the secluded entrances requiring a scan of a plastic ID card and voice recognition before granting entry. Each home was equipped with an advanced security system on the remote chance that someone from outside actually made it into the neighborhood. Every resident had to pass a thorough background check, and was required to produce reference letters before they could even consider looking at one of the homes. In the two and a half months since they had come to live here, Helen had not been outside the gates.

Helen couldn't really blame her mother for being almost paranoid about their safety. Her father had been robbed and murdered at a well lit ATM machine just blocks from the police station. They never found the person responsible, the person who had taken her father's life for two hundred forty seven dollars.

After punching in her personal access code in the keypad outside the kitchen door, Helen went inside and called out to her mother.

"I'm home!" She went to the fruit basket on the counter and took a banana before settling down at the kitchen table to start her homework.

"How was your day?" Lana Mitchell questioned her daughter as she walked into the kitchen.

"Oh, the usual. Daphne asked if I could spend the night with her this Friday?" Helen saw her mother's eyes narrow, and thought she knew what the answer would be, what it always was.

"Helen, I . . . I don't think it a good idea. I don't really know her parents, maybe she could come over here?" Lana replied, torn inside from the conflicting emotions that threatened to overcome her. She wanted Helen to feel safe and comfortable here, but was just not able to let her be truly independent.

"It's okay, Mom. I'll see if she can," Helen said kindly. She knew about her mother's struggle.

Time passed, as it always does, and healed, as much as it was able, the wounds caused by the violent death of Tony Mitchell. Lana found friendship, and then love with another resident who had been widowed, and was lonely. She also found she was able to watch Helen leave for school, or for outings with her friends without fear contracting her heart.

Helen blossomed into a lovely sixteen-year old, and with her long, wavy, auburn hair and liquid brown eyes, she was not lacking in the boyfriend department. She never seemed to stay with one boy for long, but was able to break off relationships with grace and kindness that left her with lifelong friends. One of these friends was a boy named Ryan Thomas. She and Ryan had gone out a few times, but found that they made better friends than lovers. The pair had become almost inseparable over the last two months or so, so much that rumors were starting to spread about the true nature of their relationship.

"Have you heard about Helen and Ryan??"

"They say they're only friends, but I heard that..."

"My brother's girlfriend's sister said she saw them together at...."

Helen tried to clear up the rumors several times, but found they got worse every time she got involved. So, she gave up and just enjoyed her friendship with Ryan.

One morning, as she sat in her sophomore English class, partly paying attention, and partly passing notes with Ryan, an aide came into the classroom and handed the teacher a note.

"Helen, could you come up here a minute, please," the teacher asked with a strange expression on her face.

Helen looked at Ryan and walked to the front of the room.

"Helen, please go with Ms. Walker here, to the office," the teacher said.

"What's this all about?" Helen questioned.

"I'm sure they'll tell you in the office," the teacher said.

Helen turned once more to Ryan, and with a small shrug, she followed the aide out of the room.

Helen had never been called to the office, and her mind whirled at the possibilities. Had she failed some test? Gotten accepted into the gifted program? Was she being kicked out? Were they advancing her a grade? Was this about her friendship with Ryan? Surely the rumors weren't being repeated in the office? She was very confused and anxious when she was ushered into the principal's office.

Doris Stafford usually loved her job. Being the principal of Glen Oaks High School was a dream come true for the forty-something doctor of education. It was times like these, though, that made her almost hate it. Giving bad, potentially traumatizing news to students, was rare, thankfully, but that didn't make it any easier. Especially when the student was well liked and popular. But, today was one of those days.

"Helen, please have a seat. What I have to tell you is going to be difficult."

"Yes Ma'am," Helen replied in a small voice, dread and fear swelling up inside her. This was serious.

"Helen, I don't often have to give news like this to students, but unfortunately, I have to give it to you."

Helen became even more alarmed when Dr. Stafford pushed a box of tissues closer to the edge of her massive desk.

"We have made arrangements for one of the aides to drive you to the city hospital. I'm afraid you mother has had a stroke," Doris had found, in her experience, it was better to just spit it out, rather like pulling off a bandage in one swift motion.

Helen's mind reeled. She had not been expecting that. She didn't know what she had been expecting, but that was definitely not it.

"My Mother . . . " she began.

"Yes, dear, I'm afraid so."

A single tear escaped and fell down her cheek, as she nodded and numbly followed the aide, Ms. Walker, to her awaiting car. She came out of her self for only a moment when they went past the guard gate and into the city that she had not seen for almost three years.

The hospital was an invasion of foreign sights and smells. She was told by someone, she didn't remember who, that her mother was in surgery, and she could wait upstairs. She followed the steadfast Ms. Walker to the intensive care waiting room, where she saw her mother's fiancé, Larry Ables, sitting and wringing his hands. He saw her and nodded. Helen did not feel particularly close to Larry, so she found a seat close to, but not right beside, his. The waiting was almost unbearable. Helen found Ms. Walker's presence an annoyance rather than the comfort that it was meant to be. She wanted to stand up and scream, to throw things, to kick the wall, but remained silent and unmoving. When a tired looking doctor in blood stained scrubs turned his eyes on Larry and her, she knew instantly, by the look on his face, what the news would be. Helen hung her head and let the tears flow in a steady stream, as she tried not to hear the doctor's strained sounding speech.

"I'm sorry . . . nothing we could do . . . damage was just too severe . . . arrangements will be made to . . ."

When Ms. Walker put a hand on her shoulder, Helen gave her a look filled with fury and disbelief that a stranger would try to invade the privacy of her moment. Ms. Walker jerked her hand back as if burned, and was shocked to find a small blister where she had touched the grieving girl.

Somehow, Helen got home, though she didn't remember anything after the incident with Ms. Walker. She found her hellish day was far from over when she was visited by an attorney later that day.

The ringing of the doorbell startled her. She had been sitting in her favorite chair, in the dark, crying, always crying, when it rung. She opened to door to a well-dressed man in his mid to late fifties who introduced himself as Mr. Carpenter.

It seemed he was, indeed, or had been anyway, her mother's lawyer. He apologized for disturbing her in her time of grief, but explained that the circumstances required him to act very quickly. Since Helen was a minor, she would not be able to live on her own, and even though the house in which she lived was paid for, she would not be able to stay there. He went on to say that since there were no relatives to take her in, she would have to go to a group home. This news was a big enough shock, but the true revelation came when he suggested she be placed with a relative of her birth mother.

"My birth mother? What do you mean?" Helen shouted.

"I . . . I'm sorry, I thought you knew. You were adopted from an agency in Japan. Your birth parents died when you were only an infant." He felt himself tearing up at the sight of the devastated girl. He was used to giving news at awkward times, but wasn't used to overturning lives. "Is there someone I can call for you?" he asked gently.

"Ryan Thomas," Helen whispered.

The next week passed in a blur for Helen. The funeral was a horrid affair, with well-meaning friends and acquaintances offering condolences and support that was almost too much for Helen to handle. The movers came and took all the furniture to a storage facility until she was able to sort through it, and before she knew it, she was packed and ready to leave for the dreaded group home. If it wasn't for Ryan, she wouldn't have been able to get through it all, and she wept openly, as did he, when she had to say goodbye, promising letters and visits that both knew would probably not happen.

The group home looked just like that, a home, and a very large one. She found it wasn't as bad as she had imagined, and soon became accustomed to the routines there. Her new school, however, was a much more difficult adjustment. Because she had lived in Glen Oaks, she was labeled as a snob from the beginning. It didn't help that her grief kept her from making friends. It didn't take long for the crueler students to zero in on a vulnerable target, or so they thought. The incidents started out as isolated. A popular football player came in to the nurse with second-degree burns on his hands. A rough girl with a reputation for fighting complained of severe fatigue. A few students found passed out in the parking lot. The incidents became more frequent, and most disturbing of all, all centered around one student, a new transfer named Helen Mitchell. When the school officials began to question her, Helen started skipping school, mostly for the safety of the other students. It was on one of these days that she met someone who would change her life.

She was wandering aimlessly around town, when she saw a sign for a seminar on prehistoric archaeology. It looked like a good way to pass the day, and went into the cool, dark building. When her eyes adjusted, she found herself in a small auditorium with about 12 or 14 other people. She took a seat towards the back, and waited. A woman in a well cut business suit, and long silvery grey hair came onto the stage and began to talk. She introduced herself as Dr. Goodman, and Helen found herself enthralled by the presentation. After it was over, she felt oddly drawn to meet the woman who could only be described as 'grey'. Helen waited while Dr. Goodman put away her papers and other things before she approached her.

"Excuse me, " Helen started.

"Yes, can I help you?" Dr. Goodman replied with a smile.

"I . . . I like your earrings," Helen found she was almost speechless, but at the same time felt as if she had known the older woman for years.

"Thank you, I like them, too. What is your name?" said Dr. Goodman.

"I'm Helen Mitchell, at least that's what I always thought," Helen was surprised at how easy it was to talk to this woman. She wanted to tell her everything that had happened over the last three months.

Dr. Goodman looked closely at the girl that stood before her. <Yes, this is the one,> she thought. "Would you like to join me for dinner? I hate to eat alone," she said aloud.

"That would be nice," Helen replied.