A thousand miles away, the sound of a shell hitting the tiles reverberated around Stella Bonasera's eardrums. The force of the

bullet caused her to fall backwards, temporarily losing sight of her assailant. Fighting the urge to succumb to the hazy fog of

unconsciousness, Stella fought against the bonds that tied her to her own bed. Collapsing in a heap, she looked up one last time

to see the people that would end her life. Her breath came short, her lungs burned for oxygen. This was the end. And she knew

it.

"Stella… go home!" Mac said softly, "You've been at this for almost 6 hours."

She attempted to give him a disapproving look, but only managed a watery grimace.

"Mac, I can-" Stella began. "You're right. Let's call it a day."

Stripping off her latex gloves, Stella returned her partner's order with a weary smile.

"This case," he said, "Isn't easy."

"I know. The blood found on the victim's jacket belongs to 7 different people. I just can't seem to-"

"That's not what I meant."

She stopped mid-sentence and looked questioningly at him.

"I can't even fathom what this case means for you. The victim, the sole woman who cared for you… goodness knows how

she did it… but nonetheless, you must feel… something… I can understand if you don't want to do this."

"St. Basil's Orphanage was a long time ago Mac. Margaret Chamberlain is just a ghost of my past. Nothing more."

Mac looked sadly at his partner's eyes and sensed a hidden grievance.

"Stella…" he said gently, "It's alright to mourn…"

"I'm fine." she snapped, perhaps a little too curtly.

"Stel, I only meant –"

"Mac. This is a case just like any other. I don't need to be told how to do my job."

And without a backward glance, Stella Bonasera left the lab, the tension in the room lingering long after she was gone.

Parking the car in her allotted parking space, Stella gingerly grabbed her belongings and headed towards the stairs. Each

step was an effort as her bones screamed from fatigue.

She didn't even notice the black four-wheel-drive parked in her visitor's space, or the suspicious figure huddled against the

cold near the fire escape.

Her thin woollen jumper wasn't enough to block out the sharp, penetrating gusts of wind ripping through her body; her

nose dribbled and her eyes stung with icy needles.

Although normally the second floor was only a hop, skip and a jump for the usually lively woman, Stella couldn't find the

energy today to even make it up the first flight of steps.

Turning from the stairwell, she made her way over to the lifts and waited for the 1970's style elevator to come to a grinding
halt.

Waiting inside, humming tunelessly to the cheesy music, the lift screeched upwards at a snail pace, much to Stella's disdain.

Lost in wistful thoughts of hot showers and fluffy pillows, Stella was pulled from her reverie by a hard knock to her head, as
she tumbled onto the hard linoleum.

Sitting up cursing, she wondered why the elevator had stopped, and more importantly, why the lights had flickered and

gone out.