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On the doorstep of a little house in Forks, Washington, a basket is placed.

The doorbell rings.

There are footsteps, and then there are not.
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Lynn is in the middle of grading essays - this is pretty common, for her. She teaches at the nearby high school - she gives a lot of essays. She marks off someone's grammar, then gets up to answer the door.

She looks in the basket, confused.
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In the basket is a pale, sleeping child. She looks about three, or at least three-year-old sized, but with no baby fat to speak of and an odd maturity to her face. She is swaddled up in a blanket.

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Okay then, small child, in a basket, left on her doorstep. That's certainly a thing that doesn't happen every day.

If Lynn has anything to say about it, someone's getting arrested for negligence. It will not be her. She picks up the basket, gently, and she takes it inside. Then, she starts considering what she's going to do. The obvious answer is call the police. Because there is a girl in a basket and the girl's parents are either going out of their minds with worry or should be in jail. For the rest of their lives.

But maybe she doesn't know everything. Maybe things are more complicated than they appear. She's going to wait until the girl wakes up, get the full story from her.
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The girl naps for a good twenty minutes after being moved indoors, and then she blinks sleepily and sits up, trying to paw her way out of the blanket.

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The English teacher helps her, gently.

"Hey there," she says, voice just as gentle.
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"Where am I?" wonders the basket child.

She has a funny, not-American accent - it's close to Scottish, but not very.
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"In my house -" she rattles off an address. "Forks, Washington. Where are you from?"

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"I don't remember."
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Well, that's a bad sign, but not terrible - she's little, she can't be expected to have memorized where she's from, yet.

"That's okay. What's your name? I'm going to see if I can find your parents."
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"I - I don't know."

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"I'm Lynn Adams," she volunteers. "You're safe here, it's okay. Is there anything you can tell me about your parents?"
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"I don't remember having those."

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"Okay. That's all right - can you tell me anything you remember? Is it just you?"

She doubts it, because there isn't a way that a little girl can live alone at this young age. But, she is focusing on keeping calm and not panicking the poor girl.
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"I don't remember anything."
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That throws Lynn for a loop. Nothing? Nothing at all?

"That's all right, it's okay," she soothes. Because even small children would be very frightened by - not remembering anything. "Are you hungry? Or thirsty?"
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The child shrugs. "Not much."

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"Okay, well. Let me know if that changes, all right?"

She considers, briefly, what her next course of action's going to be.

"I'm going to be on the phone for a little while, and then some people might come by to ask you some questions. Do you want me to answer questions for you, so you don't have to?"
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"What kind of questions?"

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"Like - where you come from, if you remember anything, if there's any sorts of places that you remember - that sort of thing. The people will want to get you back to your parents if a bad person stole you, or away from them if they left you on a doorstep."

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"Are you sure I have those?"

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"Well, everyone starts out having two parents, but sometimes things happen. So sometimes people only have one or they end up not having any. Do you remember having no parents?"

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"I don't remember anything before I just woke up," says the child.

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"Okay. But you remember things from after just fine?"

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"Yeah. You helped me get out of the blanket and you have a name and it's Lynn." She attempts to get out of her basket. The basket tips over on top of her.

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Lynn smiles, just a bit at this. She picks up the basket, revealing the mysterious child.

"That's good, if you couldn't remember that it'd mean you were hurt."
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