Who Will Save Her?

3.

The sign reads:

— Forever Moments Photography

Inside, a frowning woman waits with her newborn infant and a toddler dressed in a tiny cowboy suit.

The cracked, boarded-up glass door opens inward; Milly enters.

A photographer squints with annoyance. "Late?" He points at a dress, then a narrow door.

In the tiny changing room, Milly's phone sprays holographic fireworks above an on-screen message:

— You were born 24 years ago this minute!

Grimacing, Milly waves it away, then stumbles out.

The photographer zips up the back of her "Wild West"-style costume dress.

Seated under bright lights, Milly smiles, accepting the infant. "Hey, little girl." She props the newborn upon her lap.

The child's mother intervenes. "No, cradle her. Support the head."

"Wait," Milly says, "how old's your son?"

"Thirteen months."

"Close enough. Only him, then." Milly gives the infant back to the mother.

The little blond boy is seated next to Milly. His pale complexion matches hers. Milly glares yet allows him to play with her hair.

The photographer smiles, swirling his hands. The boy laughs. Milly instantly adjusts her expression: cheerful and proud. The camera flashes seven times.

Milly's face drops. "Are we done?"

"Hmm." The photographer flips through the images. "Pretty good. Even better. Amazing. Wow." He shrugs. "Actually, yeah — done. You're a natural." He steps into the adjacent room.

The mother retrieves her son.

Milly counts bills and hands over cash. "As agreed, plus a little extra."

"So kind"—smiling, the mother accepts—"paper money?"

"It still works."

"Yes, I just, w-what was your name?"

A dirty-faced man bursts into the studio. "Babe, what's going on?" He scowls. "Who is she?"

The mother squirms. "Um, she—I ..."

"She's helping a friend." Milly spins, offering her back to him. "Unzip me."

He squints in confusion.

Milly pulls her hair aside. "Please?"

The dirty-faced man tugs her zipper down.

She yanks the bulky costume over her head, disrobing down to just her bra and slacks.

He gawks.

The mother discreetly slides the cash inside her diaper bag.

"Thanks." Milly slips her blouse on. She collects diamond hoop earrings from a tray, guides them into her ears, and looks away as the mother gathers her children and leaves with the dirty-faced man.

Alone now, Milly retrieves her bracelet. At the press of her thumb, it loses shape, metal collapsing like putty. In one quick moment, with faint sounds like bits of crushing ice, the bracelet transmutes into a small knife. Milly tilts the blade to the light, then presses her thumb once more. The metal sags, then embossed details reemerge with muted crackles as it hardens again — as her bracelet. She fastens it on as she examines the camera.

The photographer returns, photo chip in hand. His eyes narrow with concern.

Milly glances up. "I just needed to make sure that's it."

"My camera's old and rare, but good. I even fit you in last-minute."

"Thanks."

"Who were those people?"

"We've all just met. Acting! No need for concern." Milly smiles, mimicking the swirling hand gesture he used before. "You're a natural."

His shoulders relax. He hands over the photo chip. "Hope you like them."

"They're not for me." Milly pays with cash.

"Huh, antique — United States." He holds the bills up to the light. "Legit. OK."

She puts on her mask and jacket, then walks two blocks to the train stop. Passing glossy, glowing advertisements, Milly hops over a drone, cleaning stairs, on her way up to the platform.