The one thing Harlow missed, living in Bixby, NV and spending his days in nearby Perfection, was hearing his name. Not that he hated the name everyone knew him by; afterall, he'd chosen it himself. But there was something overwhelmingly calming about picking up the phone and hearing the name from his old life float through from someone who really knew him. Relief, giddyness, on a bad day intoxication, would all flood through him.
Some days he wondered if maybe he should tell them. Why he was really here, who he really was. Would it really be that bad? If they knew the truth? He hadn't planned on becoming so close to these people when he first came here, hadn't planned on it taking this long. When it started, it was just another job. In and out, change some lives for the better in-between, and celebrate another payday.
It was too late now, though. Anything he said would be met with paranoia and distrust. Not that he could blame them, of course. There was so much mystery and subterfuge surrounding their valley and their everyday lives, and they didn't even know as much of it as he did. He wouldn't trust him either.
However it ended though, however exiled and shunned he became for his actions, win or lose, Harlow knew one thing with absolute certainty.
It would be worth it.