She retraced her steps from the walk home the evening before, and found herself near the Widow’s Walk and the ferry wharf. There was enough light available for her to check her watch: five fifteen. There were people bustling around the wharf, she could see the shapes though she couldn’t tell any thing else about them. Looking at the Widow’s Walk, she saw that someone was standing at the railing of the outdoor patio seating, and she thought it looked like the priest she had met on the ferry. Curious, she set off to be certain, and quickly reached him.

"Good morning, Angie," Father Mac said, "You’re up early this morning."

"I’m still on New York time," she replied, thinking it as good a reason as any for her early morning walk.

Molly came out to them at this time, saying, "I’m going upstairs now, Father Mac. Be sure to call us if there’s any news." Then, seeing Angie, said, "Oh, good morning, Angie, can I get you anything?"

Angie saw how tired the woman looked, and wondered just how much rest she had gotten in the evening. She was about to say no when Father Mac said, "Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee, Angie?"

"Coffee would be nice," she admitted, to which Molly said, "Fresh pot just brewed. Come inside, though, it’s so chilly out there."

Father Mac gestured for Angie to go first, and she quickly walked into the heart of the pub.

"Are you hungry, Angie? We still have a little left of Boris’ special comfort food," Molly offered.

"Well," is all Angie said, but the look on her face told Molly all she needed to know.

"He makes this wonderful stuffed pancake, sort of a cross between a perogi and a Scottish pasty ... you have to taste it. I’ll go heat one up for you." Molly quickly ducked into the kitchen.

Angie looked to Father Mac, and saw that he seemed much as he had when they met on the ferry. "Were you able to get some sleep last night, Father?" she asked him.

"Oh yes, we all took turns resting upstairs," he told her, studying her face as he spoke. "And yourself, did you sleep well?"

Molly came out with a plate filled with what looked like a large crepe. "It’s a blinch something," Molly told Angie, to which Father Mac stated, "Blinchaty Pirog."

"That’s it. Boris says his grandmother would serve it on mornings of funerals, that’s why he calls it ‘comfort food’. I brought you a small one, I hope you’re not offended ..."

"Thanks, Molly, it smells delicious," Angie said, cutting a small section with the edge of her fork.

"Okay, you’ll take care of things here, Father Mac?" Molly said, and Father Mac nodded agreement.

"We’ll be fine, Molly, go take your rest now," he told her. Satisfied, Molly left the room to again go upstairs for more sleep.

Angie ate the breakfast slowly, enjoying it more than she had thought she would. There were onions, mushrooms, and ground beef covered with a tomato sauce, as well as other items hidden by the taste of dill and garlic. Once done, she looked to Father Mac and said, "So, how do I pay for this, are you working the cash register, too?"

"Oh, no," he said, "this is free for those who served in the rescue mission."

"But I didn’t," Angie stated.

"Ah, but your cell phone did, and I believe this would be wasted on it," he replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Would you like some more coffee?" Father Mac asked, after they had sat in silence for a minute or two.

"Yes, that would be nice," Angie said, looking up from staring at her coffee cup. Father Mac suspected that she had not been thinking about coffee, but rose and fetched the pot to refill both of their cups. Then, putting the pot back on the burner, he studied Angie for a moment before returning to their table.

"Sometimes it does one a world of good to talk about it to a sympathetic ear," he told her. "We are quite alone, Angie. Kevin, Brian, and Nub are on Nub’s houseboat, waiting for the Coast Guard to resume their search. Boris and Molly are asleep upstairs, as are Alex and Dylan. The closed sign is on the door; we will not be interrupted unless there is news, and that will not happen until the Coast Guard resumes its search after dawn."

"It’s ... hard," Angie admitted. "And confusing. I received some news this morning that makes no sense to me."

"Well, that explains your frame of mind for today, but it does not begin to touch upon the sadness I saw in your eyes yesterday when we met. Just remember, Angie, that it does not have to make sense to me, only to you. Speaking of it will help place it all in perspective, and perhaps you will find your own answers in the process."

She nodded, sipped her coffee, and began her story.

"I used to work in the movie industry, until last year. Tyler FX, a small company, just me and my boss, Rollie Tyler. It was my father’s company at first, arranging special effects for movies, usually just blowing up cars and stuff like that. Controlled explosions. Dad met Rollie on a set, not long after Rollie moved here from Australia. Dad got to know him and saw Rollie was wasting his talents as a stunt man, Rollie was so brilliant. He could build these gadgets," and Angie got a faraway look in her eyes as she remembered the various and strange devices Rollie would cobble together and make work better than anyone had expected.

"Anyway, Dad hired him as an assistant. When dad died, Rollie got the company, changed the name, continued on. When I graduated college I became Rollie’s assistant, and we were good. Oh, no competition for ILM," and she looked at Father Mac. Deciding he didn’t know what she was talking about, she added, "Industrial Lights and Magic, the people who did the effects in Star Wars." Father Mac nodded, and Angie saw that he better understood just what she once did for a living.

"Then we made an enemy. Victor Loubar, master thief, international arms smuggler, assassin for hire, and master of disguise. He could make himself up to look and sound like just about anyone. One of the reasons he eluded capture for so long. It’s a long story," and she looked to her confidante for approval. Father Mac just nodded, encouraging her to continue without distracting her from her train of thought.

"Anyway, we got involved with the F.B.I. and helped them figure out what Loubar was up to. We stopped him, but he got away. We ran into him again, and it was the same story; we helped stop him but he got away."

"Then came the third time, last year, and it was different. Really different. And this time it made all the news, because he was hired to assassinate the Chinese Trade Minister and start an international incident. We stopped him, he got away, but the F.B.I. wasn’t going to sit and wait for him to show up again. They sent two agents from the Washington office and we managed to catch Loubar the next day."

Angie sipped her coffee, and sighed. "And that’s when the death threats started, for one thing. We never did figure out how he was sending them, he was secure in prison, no outside access. We thought. We all did believe it." She sighed again, and stared at her coffee cup for a moment.

Just as Father Mac thought it was time to prompt her, she continued. "He was wanted in a lot of countries for a lot of crimes, so it was a ‘delicate political situation’," and she said the last three words with a trace of scorn in her voice, "to decide which country had jurisdiction. While they were debating the fine points, Loubar escaped."

She then looked up at Father Mac, and he saw fear in her eyes. She saw some comprehension at what she had endured over the year in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, she continued.

"The agents we had worked with contacted me and offered to put me in the Witness Protection Program, so Loubar couldn’t hurt me. I said no, I wasn’t about to lose everything I had worked so hard for just because this guy was mad at me." A flash of anger passed over her expression as she said that, but it disappeared quickly, leaving Father Mac to understand that Angie’s fiery passions had all but been extinguished by the events she was about to divulge.

"But I did anyway," she sighed, "because Rollie disappeared that day and we’ve not seen nor heard from him since. Though we tried to find him. Mira and Francis, they’re cops in my precinct, and they’re good friends, too, we’ve worked with them on stuff," then realizing she was suggesting they had been involved in the movie industry also, quickly added, "police business, that is, and the Loubar thing." Father Mac nodded to show he understood.

"They tried to get ahold of the agents we had worked with, the ones that wanted to put me in the Protection Program, see if Rollie said yes to them, but never got ahold of them. Then we tracked down Rollie’s father. I decided I wanted to talk with Mangela ..." and Angie stopped, realizing she would have to explain Mangela for the next part to make sense.

Father Mac used the opportunity to reclaim the coffee pot and pour more into their cups. "Shall I brew another pot for us, Angie?" he asked. She sipped on hers, thought about it, and said, "Not for me, I don’t really need any more." Father Mac turned off the coffee machine and returned to the table.

"So, you were saying that you wanted to talk to Mangela," Father Mac prompted. Angie nodded. "Mangela is a friend of Rollie’s father. See, Rollie’s father had to travel a lot to support his family," and Father Mac could tell by Angie’s expression that there was more to this than the words she spoke, but he said nothing. "When Rollie’s mother died, well, he tried taking Rollie with him but that didn’t really work out for either of them." Angie chewed her bottom lip as she remembered some of the stories Rollie had told her about his con artist father. "So Mangela took Rollie in and became like a second father to him." Then Angie looked at Father Mac, and said, rather apologetically, "Mangela was a member of an aborigine tribe in Australia, and raised Rollie to their beliefs and customs and, well, religion." Father Mac again nodded, saying nothing but understanding that Angie feared he might say something concerning a non-Christian belief system.

When Father Mac made no comment, Angie said, "Mangela and Rollie formed quite a bond, and Mangela always insisted they were connected in the Dreamtime. I’m not even sure I understood half of what he meant, but I know once he came to New York because he knew Rollie was in grave danger before it even happened, and he warned Rollie and saved Rollie’s life. So I really thought Mangela would know what happened to Rollie and if I should be worried. But Mangela was on walkabout."

She looked again to Father Mac, who replied, "I have an understanding of the practice."

Angie nodded, and again sipped coffee. "I don’t know if I understand it. At first we were frightened, we thought it meant Rollie was dead and it had upset Mangela enough that he had to get himself back on his path, or whatever. But then we thought, maybe Rollie went to Australia to lead Loubar away from me, and he’s with Mangela in the Outback lying in wait for Loubar. So I thought that was so much like Rollie it had to be it, and I tried to get on with my life and keep everything cool for when Rollie came home."

"But he didn’t come home," Father Mac prompted when Angie had been silent too long.

"No. Mangela showed up one night, though. He was worried about me, his walkabout was over me. He told me a few things, all of them so hard to understand." She shook her head, chewed her bottom lip again, then her mood lifted and she was back to being matter of fact about the whole thing.

"He did tell me that Rollie was still alive, that he had found a path that would take him to where he needed to be. Now it was my turn to find my path. And that’s pretty much the end of my story."

"Except for the call this morning," Father Mac prompted again.

"And the dreams I had before the call," Angie decided.

"Perhaps you should tell me of that as well," Father Mac said, and Angie nodded. Quietly, she recounted the dreams, and after reaching the point of the drumming turning into knocking at the door and Callie telling her she had a phone call, she said, "Loubar had been captured in Seattle, about to board a ferry for Hope Island. He was disguised as Rollie, insisted he was Rollie, but the F.B.I. knew how to remove the mask, it’s not that easy to take off, you see, and after they proved he was Loubar, and read him his rights, he immediately confessed to having killed Rollie. He even said there wasn’t enough left to give a decent burial to."

"Do you believe that?" Father Mac asked, gently.

"No," Angie said, "Mangela said Rollie was alive, so he’s alive. I just don’t understand why Loubar would confess to that crime. It just doesn’t fit his profile."

"Well, I’m no expert on International Law, but I suspect such a confession would muddy the waters more than it had been. Perhaps this Loubar ... I have the name correct?" Angie nodded, and Father Mac continued, "perhaps he did so to buy some more time in our penal system and begin the jurisdiction battle all over again, which would allow him to escape again as he had done before."

Angie sighed. "That’s what Mira thinks, too, but the Feds have declared Rollie officially dead. They say they believe Loubar. I don’t know what to think."

"Oh, you do, my dear, your dreams have already answered that question. You believe he is alive, and your dreams used the imagery of the two people you would trust most to tell you not to give up hope. Seems quite clear to me."

Father Mac looked at his empty coffee cup, and said, "Are you sure you don’t want more coffee?"

Angie looked to her watch: six thirty.

"What time does the General Store open here?" she asked the priest.

"Six o’clock," Father Mac responded. Angie stood, asking as she did, "Can you give me directions? I want to do a little shopping."

"Of course, but first, I would like to ask a question, if I may."

Angie sat back down, a puzzled look on her face, wondering what part of her story he wanted more information on.

"Two questions, actually," he told her. "Callie came to me in private last night, concerned about you, Angie. She gave me no details, she said your story was yours to tell in your own time, but she was worried that in your grief and sorrow you had become blind to truths evident to anyone else who knew your story. Now I have listened and watched as you told this story, and I see nothing to even suggest this fear that Callie holds. But, as I have told you, it is a small community. Molly will mention that we had breakfast together, and Callie will ask if we spoke. What can I tell her to ease her fears, Angie?"

In answer, Angie reached into her wallet for a photo. She handed it to the priest, saying, "This is Rollie Tyler, Father."

He looked at the picture and, with eyes wide in amazement, said, "This looks like Reverend Cooper."

Angie took the photo back and replaced it, saying, "Yeh, and Callie is convinced that Rollie is Daniel, and nothing I say can convince her otherwise."

"Indeed," Father Mac said, a quizzical look in his eyes. "Could it be? If Rollie did indeed take up the offer of the Witness Protection Program, might not he have taken such an identity and moved to such an isolated area as this?"

"No," Angie said firmly. "You don’t know Rollie. He walked away from Mangela’s religion, but he has such respect for others" religious beliefs that he would never pose as a minister even to save his life. And even if something had happened and he had found a calling as such, he wouldn’t take on a new identity. It’s out of respect for the members of the congregation," she explained, certain that Father Mac had opened his mouth to again play devil’s advocate. "If anyone ever learned he had changed his identity through the Protection Program they would lose all faith in him. Oh, he’s not a real minister, he’s just pretending to be one, and he would feel that he had betrayed them. Even if he was true in his calling, it just wouldn’t be right."

Father Mac nodded agreement. "I will find something to say to Callie, but I’m sure she will come to see this after service tomorrow. Right now she is fully the reporter, investigating a potential story. Tomorrow she will be a member of that congregation of which you speak, and will think as one."

"Thank you, Father Mac. Daniel seems to be such a nice person, I would hate for him to suffer just because he happens to look like my former partner." Angie again stood.

"One last thing, Angie, if I may," he said, and she again sat. "Now I must ask you to keep this a secret from anyone else, but I would very much like to use a portion of your story as the basis of a play. You see, every year a play mysteriously arrives at Callie’s office, and the islanders perform it, never knowing who the playwright is. I am that playwright, and I would prefer no one ever knew it, but I see potentials in adapting the story you have told and would like your permission to do so. With a multitude of changes, of course."

Angie smiled. "You have my permission, and I’ll tell no one of your secret."

Father Mac then smiled, and rose from his seat. Angie followed, and he walked to the front door. Opening it and stepping outside, he gave her directions to find the General Store, then looked up at the sky.

"We have beautiful sunrises here, Angie, when the weather permits us to see them," he told her. "The sun has risen, though the fog still hides it, but soon the Coast Guard will sail, the sun will burn off the fog, and a new day will bring new hope." He then turned and said, most seriously, "Believe in the power of hope, Angie. I believe your dreams spoke a truth you have always known. And I do expect I’ll see you at the dance tonight?"

Angie was surprised at the last question, but said, "Yeh, Nub is taking me."

"Good, good," Father Mac approved. "Well, my dear, I will see you later. Do have a pleasant shopping trip. It was good talking with you. You helped an old man stay awake," and as he said that noises were heard in the main room, suggesting that Dylan and his mother were now up and about.

"Thank you, Father Mac, for everything," Angie said sincerely, and walked off towards the General Store.