DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harper's Island or any of the characters. I own this storyline, though. I'd very much like Henry on a silver platter, though...

SUMMARY: End of Episode 12 "Gasp". We all know how it ended: Henry stabbed Trish. But what if...Trish fought back?

A/N: Okay. I've been wanting to write this storyline for a very long time and this chapter isn't as long as I wanted it to be, but it's something. I've proud of it.
Don't get me wrong! I love, love, LOVE Henry, but I have yet to read a story where Trish lives (if there is one, please point me in the direction!), so I've decided to write this.

I hope you enjoy! :)

-nikki. :)

A Flaw in a Flawless Plan
Chapter One -- "Not Part of the Plan..."

"Sully was right. Wakefield has an accomplice, it's just not Jimmy," Henry calmly said as if he didn't just tell me that he gave Wakefield the key.

As if he didn't just plainly confess that he was the second killer.

I didn't know what to think. I was already frightened beyond belief. I had ran as fast as I could once I threw myself out that window. I knew Wakefield wouldn't be far behind me; the bedroom door would be no match for his inhuman strength.

So I ran. I hadn't known where I was going. I hadn't known if Wakefield had killed Henry, so when I saw him, I felt elated. The love of my life was alive. It gave me hope, small hope, but hope nonetheless.

Of course, the hope was replaced with horrific fear once I realized that Henry was Wakefield's son.

"No…no!" I breathlessly gasped, backing away. All this time…Henry…no…can't be…

"I know how hard this must be for you," he said, grabbing my thrashing arms.

"You're lying!" I cried as I twisted in his arms, falling to the ground. I was distraught and scared, yet somewhere in the back of my mind, I still got a bit angry when Henry kept telling me to stop. Stop? He wants me to stop panicking?!

I tried to crawl away, grasping the earth and roots, anything I could find. I didn't get far before I felt Henry's hand roughly grabbing the nape of my neck. I thoughtlessly grabbed a palm-sized, sharp rock in my left hand before I was forcefully, and painfully, pulled to my feet.

"Don't make this harder than it is," he said.

Another cry escaped my lips as Henry's grip tightened on my neck.

My left hand reflexively tightened around the coarse rock.

"It had to happen on our wedding and I needed everyone here," he explained with a whisper in my ear. Shivers crept down my spine. "You see?"

"You killed them," I whispered quietly. I didn't trust my voice. It was shaky and hoarse from crying. "You killed my father and J.D."

Tears overflowed my eyes and spilled over the brims. "Oh, my God," I repeatedly said.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm sorry they had to go. It was part of the plan."

I was frightened and in a state of shock and disbelief, but my anger was slowly escalating and I could feel the rock cutting into my palm as I gripped it tighter. Part of the plan? What damn plan?

And then Henry said the worst thing imaginable. "But I really wanted to give you the wedding."

"You bastard," I spat angrily through gritted teeth.

And then, on pure impulse, I spun in his arms and thrust my left hand, still gripping the rock, into the side of my fiancé's head.

The blow to his head knocked Henry down to the ground, landing with a grunt. His hand immediately clutched his head and blood seeped out of his wound onto the ground.

With wide eyes, I stared at him. Henry was my friend, my love, my soul mate. But he was also Wakefield's son, his accomplice, a murderer. I meant nothing to him. I owed him nothing. He was dangerous and he killed and helped kill my friends and family. Everything was a lie.

Henry groaned and I could hear footsteps in the distance. Heavy, menacing footsteps. The air got knocked out of me as I realized that Wakefield was still out there. And close. I took one last look at Henry who was trying to heave himself up onto his knees.

In a petty attempt to slow him down, I threw the rock with as much force as I could muster directly at Henry's chest. I heard him cry out in pain. I also heard running footsteps gain closer and closer.

I turned around and ran as fast as my bare feet could take me in the opposite direction.

A/N: It was a short chapter, but it needed to be written. I would really appreciate reviews! Quick question: Would you like this story to be written strictly from Trish's POV or would you like me to alternate between Trish and Henry?

Please review and tell me your thoughts! Thank you!

-nikki. :)