She ran.
In truth, if she had not had Kasha, Abigail would have remained behind to fight. But after being shot up and recovering under Cash's care, being told about the potential upbringing of the little girl and the sorrow that would come, Abigail and Kasha left Pollopel, left New York and just plain left.
Everyone knows She wasn't a fighter no matter that the ability she possessed would have made her a significant asset to whomever could have gotten her to join them afterward. She left one morning very quietly on that boat and as it disappeared down the river, so did she from the lives of most of the people she’d known.
She made her way to Canada with Kasha. She kept her promise to Cash and didn’t try to seek out Robert. Let a sleep dog lay and set about to living as quietly and out of the public notice as much as possible, having applied for refugee status for herself and Kasha. To the wilds of British Columbia she went, an apartment in the central interior for the better part of two years. She and Kasha settled into a very un-glamourous and simple life, taking nursing classes, working as an EMT and keeping her head down, pick up Kasha, return home, a model citizen. She watched the US implode, martial law and each night after Kasha went to bed, watched in the hopes that none of it was people that knew and loved while also silently relieved that she had gotten out. But she could only take so much heartbreak. In the years that passed, her mother passed away from heart troubles and the thought of her father alone and the turn over of the government to the new regime drew her back.
Forgoing refugee status, she immigrated back to the states, jumped through the necessary hoops and settled back home. By home, that is Butte La Rose. Back to that two story country house. She could return to a life of general legality. And so she and Kasha settled back into that sleepy hick town. Dean was retired - in as much as farmers retire - and he could look after Kasha while Abigail continued going to school. She picked up hours running as an EMT on weekends and where she could, and finished her studies with nursing (some things needed to be repeated). She kept herself busy, all of them busy. For the most part she existed there and there only, focusing on her father and her daughter. Even managed to legally adopt Kasha.
But the government wouldn’t be the government if they didn’t turn up one day, knocking on the door and inquiring politely to speak with her. Tribunals were going, testimony would be needed by those who had seen or been victim to the atrocities committed. They wanted her help. She had a statement on record with the FBI before, with regards to Kazimir Volken. Would she be willing to do it again? And to speak on other things. There was initial reluctance, but eventually agreed when it came out that one of the ones on trial would be James Muldoon. Leaving Kasha to remain in Butte with Dean and so the little girl would not miss out on school, she made the journey to testify.
It was likely the first time that many had seen her in ages. She hadn’t changed that much at all, save perhaps far more weight on her since she wasn’t like the others living in hiding anymore. All sunday best, she sat through the trials, swearing oaths to speak the truth, nothing but the truth with that little cross resting on the hollow between her collarbones. The Veranzo Narrows bridge, her part in killing Kazimir. Staten Island and the inability afterward to find anyone to help get justice. The decline of everything and the eventual need to go to ground. Everything laid bare before the tribunals. Everything as they likely wanted. Except for one trial.
James Muldoon. There and only there, did she testify for the defense, and not the prosecution, acting as a character witness. Sitting across from the man who was her husband, she testified to the treatment she had received when she first met him. Her few interactions if any with him. How she had wanted so very badly in that first year to see him as he is now, standing trial. That he had come back into her life under a different face, a different name and while she could not state with a certainty as to why he did it, she could state that she had no doubt that the man she had married, was not the same man that she had met those years ago. He was not a man who deserved to die. If her testimony could bring him to a life in prison instead, she would consider that justice enough because in the end, he had tried to save others. This likely did not go over well with others. How could she be ‘for’ him after everything that was done. She could only lift her shoulders, cite a Christian duty in her heart and also that “Beauty loved a beast. Is it wrong that in the end, I did too?” But like many others, her former husband found his end by hanging. Abby remained around long enough to attend his execution, his promise to wait for her as she watched, her own promise that he wouldn't die alone surrounded by strangers. She left the city that evening and returned to Butte with a Capuchin monkey and trying to escape the celebrity-dom that those who were Ferryman experienced and had testified seemed to gather. And a hundred thousand richer in part of James' will of legal money. Now married to a ghost.
She finished school, made that transition from running around in an ambulance to running around in a hospital, namely the emergency room. Four years of school, brought her to where she had started so long ago. Healing with her hands. Just in a far different method. She turned to her next goal. Nurse practitioner. Words spoken so long ago had stuck with her. That she could be a doctor if she really wanted. Truth be told, she couldn’t. Too much time spent on the run and that niggling voice in the back of her mind that always told her she wasn’t smart enough. But nurse practitioner, she could. So she found a program in New Orleans and commuted day in and out from Butte la Rose to New Orleans. That took it’s toll and her trip to New York has made her realize part of what was missing. One night over a strong cup of tea and a talk with Dean, it was made obvious where she needed to go.
Back.
Elmhurst was hiring, she wasn’t in danger of turning into fire at the drop of a hat anymore under pressure. Time had given her what she needed and practice. She could continue her education there, there was a program that would take her credits and everything she had already worked toward and in a year or two, she would be a nurse practitioner with a masters of science under her belt. Kasha would remain in Butte to finish out the school year, and then come out to New York once Abby had settled and found them a home. Houses were expensive, but not really and she was sure they could find something between the relocation offer, the hospital's offer and the inheritance. She was better off for the moment in the south and Abby could fly or drive out once or twice a month. She’d bring the monkey with her - her father didn’t like it, nor what it represented. She felt the pull. She knew in her heart of hearts that she had to go back. She’s run away once, but she needed to return and help make right on the friends and family she felt she had abandoned and rebuild. And so with a job offer from Elmhurst, and enrolled in a program to see her as a nurse practitioner down the line, a fresh registration card with the ink still drying - she can’t work without it given the nature of what she does - she’s stepping foot in New York again. Abigail Caliban - yes, she kept it in the end, yes, technically she's Abigail Muldoon but that's a cask of worms that she and the government were not keen on dealing with - once again taking up that position of neutrality. She hasn’t warned anyone - except Francois, Huruma and Cash - that she’s coming and hoping to quietly settle back in. As if.
