Niki screamed as the support beam she'd been holding for Monica dropped from her hands, and another large chunk of wood fell from the ceiling above. She had become dependent, she realized. Dependent upon her ability, dependent on others...

She had become weak.

She sank down, the feel of defeat overwhelming her. The building was going up in flames around her, and she could feel the fire licking at the air around her, inches away. She didn't feel the urge to fight anymore.

She didn't like feeling weak. Ever since Jessica died, she'd blocked out the memories. Her father's alcoholism, his abuse... When he'd killed her, it had stopped. And she'd made herself forget until years later, when all of this had started.

Only luck had stopped her from becoming the same dirt-bag that he had. She'd even become an alcoholic for a time. Raising Micah, though... The little genius of hers was what convinced her to stop. She smiled now, thinking of him. It hadn't taken her long to realize that he couldn't grow up with an alcoholic for a mother. It had still taken her a while to quit, though. She could remember going through AA. The "twelve-step program".

A year.

That's how long it had lasted before this all started. And unless Jessica or Gina had been drinking a lot, this made almost two years. One more month... It was a shame she'd never live to see that month.

The flame began crawling up her skin, slowly, and the pain was excruciating. But she didn't cry out. Screaming and crying, those were for the people who still had some fight left in them. Now that she'd decided she was useless with Jessica and the strength... there was no need.

She smelled burnt hair in the air, and knew it was her own.

"Can't be much time left now."

That voice... that damned cocky voice.

"No. You're not real."

Jessica smiled. There were no mirrors around, but in her mind's eye, Niki could see her.

"I'm as real as you are. And I'll tell you what... you're right about being weak. Without me, you were never anything but a poor, weak little child."