“That's what you didn't get – you did fall in love with me. I AM that guy in Rome, not the agent in that interrogation room. You ARE that girl in Rome, not the insurance agent from Detroit. Those are who we really are, and I think that's why we found each other there.

“Fuck, I don't know. Maybe you'll never even hear this. Maybe you deleted it. Maybe you're listening to it right now, picturing that I'm next to you. If it's the last one, then please, please hear me.

“I'm in love with you. Right now, this moment. Back then, when you were here. In the future, whatever happens. It's love. I should have said that more. I should have touched you more, held you closer, never let you go. I should've quit my job, should've begged you to stay, should've come home with you. Gone anywhere with you. I would live my life in a thousand hotel rooms, a thousand double beds, if it meant getting to be with you.

“You changed me, Ms. Duggard. You made me come alive, and I didn't even know I was dead. I was just some guy, before you. You made me a man.

“Please say you haven't forgotten us. Please say you'll never forget. Please say that sometimes at night, maybe sometimes, you remember what it felt like when I got to touch you every night.

“Never forget. Always remember. And when you do remember, when you're ready … come find me.”

Mischa. Lost. Her. Shit.

She stumbled out of her bedroom, sobbing and crying, not even sure what she was doing. She rooted around in the closet, then finally found her laptop. She hadn't used it in a while, because she didn't have internet – couldn't afford it anymore. But she could steal it, so she went out onto her fire escape. She could pick up a neighbor's signal from out there. She sniffled and snorted, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and quickly turned on the computer.

Come find me.

She tried to call him, but he'd pulled a “her” - his number no longer worked. Fuuuuuuck. She googled his name, but hardly anything turned up. She found the Ansuz website, and he was actually listed in their employee directory, which kind of shocked her. Even more shocking was the branch he was listed under.

Ansuz. Office #349-A. 820 Lafayette Street, New York, New York, United States.

He's in America. Holy fuckballs, he's in America.

Mischa got up early the next morning and called the phone number for his building. She didn't get anywhere. He wasn't there, and they absolutely would not give out his private number or address.

Come find me.

He wasn't there the next day. Or the day after that, either. Or at any of the sixteen random times she called throughout the day.

She was suspicious. Something wasn't right. The receptionist was either lying, or not telling the whole truth, or something, but it was becoming increasingly clear that Mischa was never going to reach Tal over the phone at that building. Maybe he wasn't even really there ...

Think. Think. He always knew how to find you. You should at least be able to find him.

She went to her parents house.

“Hey Dad,” she called out, walking down into the basement. He was sitting at his workbench.

“What's up, sweetie?” he asked without looking up.

“Where is he?”

“Well, praise the lord,” her dad chuckled, twisting around to face her. “Took you long enough!”

“Yeah, yeah – where is he?”

“Was it Mike? I thought that would do it.”

“Less gloating. More talking.”

“Well, honey, I haven't talked to him in over a month and a half. Last I talked to him, he was in New York, but he said he was gearing up for a big job,” her dad told her.

“Big job?”

“Yeah, some long term gig. Something to keep his mind occupied, you know,” he told her.

“Long term ...”

“Yeah. But I don't think he's gone quite yet.”

“Why? Dad, if he told you anything, I swear I'll -,”

“Nope. Just a hunch I have. New York. That's where he was last.”

Then I guess I'm going to New York.

Staying with him, staying in Istanbul, wouldn't have been right. She'd been telling the truth, she'd needed time to heal, to get over what he'd done and forgive him. Needed time to find herself, for once.

But Tal had been right, too. They had been in love, and not just for a moment between seconds. Not just in some timeless space. In the real world, in the now, in every moment. She should've trusted that, should've trusted him.

Now she had to trust that same love would help her find him.

Mischa wore her nicest power suit, did her makeup extra nice, put on her most expensive shoes, and she marched across the lobby of Ansuz Office #349-A, New York, New York.

“May I help you?” a pleasant sounding secretary asked.

I hope she doesn't recognize my voice.

Misch knew Tal wasn't there, because she'd called before going down there. She asked to speak with someone about hiring a security team. After five minutes, she was called into an office. A tall guy with blonde hair smiled big at her.

“Hello, Mrs. …,” he fished for her name.

“Duggard. Ms. Duggard.”

She gave him the story she'd practiced all week. She was the assistant for a famous country-singer – who also happened to actually be her second-cousin, so she figured it was okay – and was looking over security companies, trying to find one that would suit them.

It wasn't normally the kind of security Ansuz handled, but the man seemed slightly enamored with her. Or her low cut top. He prattled off figures and numbers and success stories, listed off impressive clients they'd had in the past.