A/N: Well, months after of re-entering the Degrassi fanfiction world, I've decided to take a swing at actually writing one of these suckers. Warning to all: this fic is somewhat AU; I know, I know. Usually I avoid reading anything AU, and yet when it comes to writing, pretty much all of my fanfics are based in some alternate reality, mainly focusing on a "weak" or "nerdy" character and transforming them into a fucking badass. In this case that character is Clare Edwards, a (formally?) nerdy character who has risen to popularity over season 10. However, this isn't some done-to-death fanfic where Clare is goth or a cutter. So what makes this fic AU? What makes Clare badass? Ever watch the show Dexter? I'd like to it's something like that. Also, this fic features an OC, another one of my fandom turn-offs and yet I find myself creating one. And on a final note, this story will go chronological order, meaning the Degrassi crew (Eli, Adam, etc.) doesn't make an appearance until after Clare's fabricated back story is set-up; a back story that is completely unrelated to that of the actual show. Well if I haven't completely bored you into switching to some other website, than give it a read (and then a review, be as mean as you want).

Summary: Is it possible, in this modern age for someone as innocent and reserved as Clare Edwards to even exist? Or is the entity of "Saint Clare" just a mask to cover-up a deeper disturbance? What happens when the mask begins to slip, and the reputation she built becomes threatened by a horrid past?

Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi or any of its characters.

The Cover-Up

To anyone at Degrassi Community School who knew her, the name Clare Edwards triggered several words. Innocent; she seemed incapable of breaking the rules. Intelligent; her reputation as a "brain" had been constant since first grade. Virginal; the purity ring and the silver cross said it all. But this was all they thought of her, because that was the only side of herself that Clare showed to the external world. For the sake of her family, she went to church and attended youth group meetings, but she never shared her true feelings about religion, her life or her family with anyone at school or church. All they got was a cookie-cutter image of a good Christian girl, perfectly portrayed down to the last detail.

She was thoroughly convincing in this role, perhaps Oscar-worthy. The entire school was convinced that she was a know-it-all Jesus freak. But deep down, behind the cross, the purity ring, and the high IQ; Clare Edwards wasn't really sure of what she was, besides empty. Not that she would ever admit it out loud, but to Clare, the bible was just another work of fiction. School was a haven for idiots and hormones. And her perfect Christian family was not really her family at all.

Perhaps the biggest secret harbored by Randall and Helen Edwards, from the rest of the world was an unfortunate miscarriage that occurred when Darcy was only six years old. The events that followed this tragedy resulted in the adoption of three-year old girl with bright blue eyes that sparkled with uneasy amount of mistrust. Her adoption was unorthodox to say the least. Randall contacted an old college buddy at an adoption agency with hopes of claiming a child with as little wait as possible. Helen had been crushed by the miscarriage, and the only thought that brought her ease was the thought of another child, a sibling for Darcy, and the final piece to a perfect family portrait.

Randall's connection was able to make good on the deal; he used his own connections with the Vancouver police force to find a child ready for adoption. The child in question was a girl, barely past her third birthday and recently orphaned as a result of her mother's gruesome murder. She had no other family, and since her mother was broke, she had no real records besides a birth certificate. Helen didn't question her husband about how he was able to adopt a child without any screening process or waiting period. But that didn't stop Randall from questioning his friend at the agency about the speediness of the adoption.

With much reluctance, Randall's friends told him about how the child was orphaned. Recently, the Vancouver homicide department discovered the scene of a gruesome crime in an old warehouse. Five people had been murdered, torn apart to be exact- by dogs. The teeth marks in the flesh and roughness of the severed limbs had been an indicator to the medical examiner. The floor of the warehouse was a mess of blood and body parts with the occasional clump of dog hair. But perhaps the most heartbreaking sight at the initial examination of the crime scene was the presence of young girl, curled beneath an old table. The blood from the victims stained her light blue pajamas.

One of the officers working the scene, Daryl Scottson, immediately recognized the girl as the child of one his female Criminal Informants. Originally brought in on drug charges, she agreed to work as a Criminal Informant for the police in order to avoid jail time. He had worked very closely with the woman in recent weeks, planning what would be a huge sting on a shipment of cocaine to Vancouver. She was very nervous about the situation, fearing for her life and that of her daughter's. All she wanted was to leave her criminal past behind her and be a mother. Scottson promised her over and over again that everything would go smoothly and that she would soon be free of her debt to the justice system. The ambush was scheduled for the day after they had discovered her body along with four other poor souls.

Someone had talked, he had failed her.

Scottson knew his only shot at redemption was to find her daughter a good home, putting her in a group home just wouldn't do. He immediately made a phone call to his family friend at a top-rated adoption agency and told him of the child. The girl's mother named her Maya, Randall and Helen Edwards re-named her Clare.

Randall almost called the deal off when he first hear about his new daughter's past, worrying that it create serious psychological problems later in life. But his friend assured him that children Clare's age can easily forget traumatic events; it was the mind's way of protecting them. As it turned out, things went fine. Helen was smiling again, Darcy reacted to the presence of a sibling with much joy and minimal questions, and Clare (despite her initial quietness) was indeed a beautiful child. He didn't bother to tell his wife about Clare's past other than her original name, which Helen, for a lack of a better term- despised.

"Maya? It's so…ethnic-sounding." Helen quipped as she examined the child for the first time. "It's not at all fitting for such an angelic face. Do you think changing it s out of the question?"

"Not really." Randall answered honestly. "She's still young, if we start her off with a new name now, chances are she won't even remember the name Maya when she's older."

They decided upon the name that was supposed to go to Helen's failed pregnancy- Clare. Randall, being an inquisitive man, had looked up both names. The name "Clare", of Latin and French origin, meant clear and bright. The name "Maya" had several meanings in various languages; but perhaps the one that struck Randall the most was the Sanskrit meaning- illusion. It was ironic- the child's new name proclaimed her clear and truthful, while her old one marked her as a lie. Common logic suggested the meanings be switched, but Randall made no mention of that to anyone.

Randall knew that he couldn't keep Clare's origin a secret from her forever, but the years in which followed were perhaps that happiest of his marriage. The four of them, together and happy. Shortly after Clare's adoption, Randall was offered a job at a law firm in Toronto, prompting the family to pack up their home in Kingston. Not only was Randall getting a bigger paycheck, but the move would also make it easier to hide the truth about their adopted daughter.

Clare was around nine years old when her suspicions about being adopted kicked in. Darcy had told her so, and even though she knew this was something that all siblings told each other, she couldn't help but think Darcy was right. She looked nothing like her family-their brown eyes, tan complexions, and straight hair. Her eyes were oceanic blue, her skin was one shade away from albino and her hair fell into annoying little curls. But it was really the sense of otherness that ate away ate her.

When she approached her father about the issue, she was surprised by his nervous manner. After fumbling with his words, Randall came clean…almost. He told Clare that her real mother had died when she was very little and that she should feel very special and loved to have been adopted instead of living in an orphanage. Clare took the news decently enough.

That night, Clare had the dream for the first time. A woman with sad blue eyes kneeled in front of her, pleading her to close her eyes, to look away. She tried to run towards the woman, to help her, but a strong pair of hands held back her small frame with ease. And then, the barking started, and the woman was swarmed by several vicious looking dogs as they tore into her already beaten body.

Clare woke up from the dream in a cold sweat and ran to her parent's room, ignoring Darcy's sleepy questions. Clare told her half-asleep parents about the dream and Randall instantly felt wide awake. He told Helen to go back to sleep and brought Clare downstairs to his office, where he explained to the stone-faced nine year old about her mother's death, and how she watched it happen. He told her how it was important for her never to tell anyone about it. The very next morning, Randall woke the family up early to go to church, something they usually only did on Easter and Christmas. Helen, who always felt like they should be attending services more, questioned him with giddiness. Randall answered-

"I feel like the girls need a deeper connection to their religion." Helen was overjoyed by this revelation and even more so by the proposal to enroll Darcy and Clare at a private Catholic school as well as youth group meetings. However, Randall was going to church more so for himself than for his daughters. Now that Clare knew the truth, things would only get steadily worse within the family. He needed something to help hold it all together.

Darcy took to her religion immediately, but Clare showed hesitance. Being a skeptical child, she had enough trouble believing in Santa Clause, yet alone the lord almighty. Randall made her promise to go along with it, for his sake. Clare agreed, feeling somewhat closer to the man who was legally her father; they had a deal, they had a secret.

"Just think of it as wearing a mask. "He told her. "Even though you don't believe what the preacher is saying, make him and everyone else think you do. Never tell anyone that you don't care for any of this. When you're all grown-up, you do what you will with faith, but for now, just –"

"Lie?" she questioned.

"It's not really lying; you're just…withholding information. Just like you need to do with what happened to your mother." Randall knew all these secrets could be confusing to a nine year old, but Clare was exceptionally bright, not just for her age, but for anyone.

"Ok…dad."

As a reward, Randall presented Clare with two pieces of jewelry that would help to shape her mask- a purity ring and a silver cross on a chain. She wore them from that day forth, and played the role of a religious girl to the full extent.

At one point in time, Darcy owned a dog; a Yorkshire terrier named Scruffy, and he was solely Darcy's dog. She got him as a gift for her thirteenth birthday, a signifier of her growing responsibility on the path to adulthood. Clare never much cared for dogs, but after she found out what happened to her mother, she began to hate dogs with passion.

Needless to say, Darcy's thirteenth birthday present irked her somewhat. Darcy even let the dirty thing sleep in the room they shared, and once or twice she caught the little mongrel lying on her bed, shedding his filthy hair all over her clean sheets. If Darcy was watching, she would gently nudge the dog off her bed with annoyance, but if Darcy wasn't in the room, she would physically kick Scruffy onto the floor with her hardest pair of shoes on.

Randall insisted that the dog stay outside at night, tied up in the backyard. Scruffy would spend hours howling and barking at whatever noise the night made, but Darcy was a heavy sleeper and Randall and Helen slept on the other side of the house. Clare was the only one being tormented at night by the mangy animal, as if having dreams about savage dogs weren't enough now she had one sitting outside her window.

One night, it all became too much for Clare.

She kicked the sheets off her bed in annoyance, it was 3 AM and she had yet to sleep a wink, she wasn't even tired. With quiet feet, Clare slipped out the room and down the stairs, slowly opening the backdoor. Scruffy's attention turned to the opening door, he whimpered in anticipation at the promise of human company.

Clare walked towards the dog and stopped right in front of him.

"Shut up." She said softly, as if the animal could understand her. Scruffy barked in response.

"I said, shut up. I can't afford to fall asleep in school you mutt!" she hissed. Scruffy barked, yet again.

Clare's bright blue eyes narrowed into crosshairs. She grabbed the slack from the leash as well as Scruffy's neck. He immediately began struggling, trying to jerk his way out of her grip, but he was a small dog and still technically a puppy at that. Clare dropped to her knees to get a better hold of the beast before looping the leash around his neck several times.

She took hold of both ends of the leash and pulled with every ounce of strength her ten year old frame could produce. Scruffy tried to bark again, but it was quickly silenced into a strangled hiss. His eyes bugged out of his little head as if he was surprised, in shock that anyone could strangle such a loveable animal as himself.

But Clare didn't love Scruffy, she didn't really love anything.

After several long moments of Scruffy's fading pants, he dropped to the ground. Clare immediately felt a sense of pride, but it was soon washed away by an unbearable panic and for good reason too.

"Clare?" the girl in question whipped around to see her father standing before her in his pajamas and slippers. His eyes dropped down to the dead dog, and he did his best not to scream. After watching her father bite his lip hard for a few seconds, Clare decided to just be honest.

"He was keeping me up all night, Dad. If I fall asleep in Mother Janet's class again she'll give me the ruler!" she tried to explain. Randall just held his hand up.

"You don't need to justify anything, honey. Not right now anyway. Get Daddy his shovel; we can't let your sister see this." Clare returned with a shovel and watched as Randall quickly dug a shallow grave in the patch of dirt that Helen used a flower garden in the summer. While her father was occupied with creating Scruffy's final resting place, Clare removed the dog's collar, stuffing it in the pocket of her pajama pants- a keepsake.

After the corpse of Scruffy was buried away, Randall took his daughter into his office for yet another private chat. To be honest with his own self, Randall had always known this day would come: the day when Clare would harm a living being. How could it not? Trauma at a young age, watching your mother be torn apart by dogs- its how serial killers were made in most Hollywood movies.

"Clare, you can't tell anyone about Scruffy."

"I know."

"You know Darcy's going to very upset when she realizes Scruffy is missing. We're going to have to tell her that he ran away, chewed through the leash."

"Okay."

"Are you proud of what you did?" Randall winced when asked her; he almost didn't want to hear her answer.

"I know what I did was wrong, I know the bible says not to kill and I know how important that is to you, dad. But, what if some things… deserve to die?"

"What do you mean?"

"Scruffy never stopped barking at night. He was always getting fur on my bed and-" she stopped.

"And what?"

"And making me mad."

"You can't act out every time you're angry Clare, you have to suppress it. "

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I promise." She said it all with a straight face, as if they were engaged in heated game of poker. Randall couldn't tell if she was bluffing or not.

"It better not."

And so it was, another secret to add to the growing chain of lies that connected Randall to his adopted daughter. The next morning, Randall greeted his eldest daughter at the breakfast table with a "chewed up" leash and a sad look in his eyes. Darcy reacted as he expected, horribly. She screamed and cried before running off to her room to make "Missing Dog" posters. Clare sat through the entire thing, focused only on the bowl of cornflakes before her. Out of the corner of his, Randall could have sworn that he saw his younger daughter smiling as Darcy pounded up the stairs. He turned his head to look at her full-on, but she had already resumed to eat her cereal.

Months passed, and Darcy had given up on the search for Scruffy. Randall relented to his wife's pleas, and bought his eldest daughter a rabbit to help her forget about the dog that was secretly buried in the backyard. The rabbit mysteriously disappeared, as did the hamster he bought as a replacement pet. Darcy, heartbroken over the consecutive "disappearances" of her pets, decided to just give up on animals.

Unlike Scruffy, Randall had no idea what Clare did to Twinkle the rabbit and Jipper the hamster. Regardless, he knew she was responsible for destroying her sister's confidence in pet ownership. In contrast to "The Scruffy situation", Randall decided not to confront Clare on the matter; he had no evidence this time.