Pulling a fast one and getting hitched at the nearest Births, Deaths, and Marriages office wasn't exactly how Lily imagined she'd get married, but it was the fastest way to keep Holly in the country.
They needed a doctor, a surgeon: Holly, specifically. Alby refused to go to a hospital, and she couldn't exactly walk into St Vincent's with a gunshot wound or it'd be reported to the cops before she could make a run for the nearest exit.
"You're not wasting my time?" Holly said, standing now at five ten and thirty-five years old. Lily — the Australian woman who'd been harassing her and hunting her down to try and convince her to come on some crazy overseas expedition — nodded.
"Please, Doctor Swain," Lily said. "We both need your help, and if you think we're crazy, maybe we are. But we also know about New York, what you saw in the library."
No one knew. That had been the entire point in changing their names when she turned sixteen. Her father now lived in Maine, old and tired of life. Tired of the questions about that blurry security camera footage, the pixelated photos and redacted files.
"Talk fast, Captain West."