It's chapter three for the story "Three" so you can bet it's special. BTW, has anyone been catching on to the many ways I've thrown in parallels to the name of this story? I find it amusing.

But off that...YOU GUYS MY DEADLINE FOR THIS STORY IS FRIDAY AND I AM FREAKING OUT BECAUSE I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO FINISH. Actually I might, but, there's a problem. I write on my iPad. I have a driving test tomorrow to get my driver's permit. If I don't pass, I lose my iPad. So as a heads-up, you all might not hear from me if I don't pass for a long time. But if I DO pass, then you can bet this story will be finished; I probably only have two chapters left.

So...enjoy?

Disclaimer: I don't own House of Anubis.

Saturday, June 25th, 8:43 A.M.

Blood.

Patricia Williamson is seeing blood.

There's so much blood. Too much blood. Mara's blood.

BANG.

The gun in Jerome's hand shakes, having fired.

The man who shot Mara swears. Moves a hand to his arm. His fingers come back red, and he glares at Jerome. Raises his gun. Aims it, all while continuing to stare at Jerome angrily.

Tears streak down Jerome's face. Drip off his chin.

But when the gun is pointed at his face, the tears begin to fall less. He stares at it now. He stares down the barrel of the gun with a steady, unmoving gaze. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't dare blink. He has to keep reminding himself to breathe. He counts. One, two, three.

"I'll shoot," the man warns.

Jerome drops his own gun. Laughs bitterly. "Go ahead," he prompts.

The man falters slightly.

BANG.

That's when Mick's gun takes him out.

The man bleeds right next to Mara. He's dead fast. Mara isn't; her body shakes and trembles as each new wave of pain takes her, and she cries soft, pained tears while trying not to full out sob.

Jerome drops to his knees beside his wife now. "Mara," he says softly. Gently.

Mara's eyes are closed. "J-Jerome," she mutters, keeping her eyes closed.

"Jaffray, we're going to get you to a hospital," Jerome says. His voice trembles. Cracks. "But you've got to stay awake for me, okay? Don't go to sleep. Try to open your eyes."

Mara sleepily smiles. Keeps her eyes closed. "M'kay," she mumbles.

Patricia has watched the whole thing.

She's dumbstruck by the way Mick kills. Dumbstruck by the idea that Mara might die. Dumbstruck that this is all happening on one day, and it's not even Friday the 13th or anything special.

"Mara. Mara, stay with me," Jerome pleads, and he takes his wife's hand. Stains his fingers with her blood. "You're going to be alright. Mara? Mara, I love you. Please, please open your eyes."

Mara tries. She can't.

"There's an ambulance on the way," Mick offers.

Jerome isn't listening. "Mara," he repeats. Keeps pleading.

Patricia looks at Fabian. Looks at Joy.

Fabian is holding Joy. Joy's crying into his shirt. Fabian keeps his arms around Joy, muttering soft words into her ear. They would appear to anyone who did not know them as a couple, the way they act.

Patricia's head reels.

This is too much. Too much death. Too much blood.

But all Patricia knows is blood.

That's all she has known since her parents were criminal investigators. Since she's been studying criminal justice in college. Since she killed a man just today and now is a killer. So it's true that she knows blood, but she doesn't look at Mara.

She doesn't want to look at Mara. Doesn't want her mind to condemn a friend.

Too much.

It's still too much.

Joy comes up beside Patricia. Grips her shoulder. "Patricia," she says quietly, "Fabian and I were talking, and we think that we should just go ahead and publicize that someone is stealing money from the company."

Patricia breathes. Keeps seeing Mara. "Why?" she manages out.

"I- well, I talked to Mick and- no. God, it's just...just-"

"Joy. Spit it out."

Joy inhales. "Mick thinks whoever shot Mara didn't just shoot her."

"So you think it was planned," Patricia finishes.

Joy shrugs. "What else could it be?"

Sirens sound. The police have arrived. They rush to the third floor, take the dead man, rush Mara to the hospital with Jerome stuck by her side. A few linger to question the ones who witnessed what had happened. They talk to Mick. To Nina, who saw Mara get shot. To Joy. To Fabian.

They even try to talk to Patricia.

"Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what exactly you saw-"

Patricia doesn't want to. "I'd rather not," she tells them.

"Ma'am-"

"I don't want to, and you can't make me!" Patricia snaps angrily.

A low whistle sounds.

"Don't worry, boys, this is normal," comes the chuckling voice of Eddie Miller as he walks over to where Patricia is. "She's just cranky this early in the morning," he adds, winking at Patricia.

Patricia frowns. "You," she spits.

"Yeah, me," Eddie mocks, and he turns to the policeman who had been trying to talk to Patricia. "Sir, I'm really sorry about my girlfriend. She's just in a delicate state, considering her friend has just been taken to a hospital after being shot. Normally she'd talk, but, I'm afraid she's really upset right now. Maybe later?"

"Girlfriend?" Patricia hisses to him so only he can hear.

Eddie smirks at her.

The policeman leaves. Apologizes. Asks Patricia to talk later if she can.

Eddie turns to Patricia once he's gone. "You're welcome."

"Fuck off," Patricia snaps.

"Is that really a way to treat your boyfriend?" Eddie teases.

"Ugh, don't mention the thought," Patricia groans. "You really should not have said that, you know, because now the whole office is going to think we're dating."

"Right, the whole office who isn't even hearing this conversation."

Patricia glares. Turns. Leaves.

"And just so you know," Eddie calls after her, "the tattoo is for you."

Patricia tenses. Doesn't reply. Doesn't dwell on it.

Tries not to think about it.

Tries not to think about anything.

Tuesday, June 28th, 10:40 A.M.

Patricia opens her eyes with a jolt.

"Mara's dead," she whispers softly. "Isn't she?"

Eddie sighs. "We...don't know," he admits, answering one of her questions for once.

"What do you mean you don't know? It's simple; either she's dead or she's not."

"It's complicated," Eddie counters, and he sighs again.

Patricia frowns. "Stop sighing," she orders.

"Stop telling me what to do." Eddie rubs his face tiredly. His voice breaks.

"Then start answering my questions."

"I can't do that for you. Only you can," he replies quietly.

"I can't answer my own questions," Patricia snaps.

"Yes, you can. But you've got to keep going. Tell me what you remember."

"Damn it, I don't want to!"

Eddie leans forward.

His hand touches Patricia's. His fingers are tentative. Gentle. He lifts her hand slightly. Curls his fingers underneath hers. Gently rubs the surface of her skin with his thumb.

Patricia is lost for words.

He's holding her hand. Holding her hand like he wants to. Like he needs to.

"I know you don't want to," he murmurs. "I know it might hurt you. I know for sure it's going to hurt me. It might hurt many other people too. I don't want to put you through that. I wouldn't if it were up to me. But like it or not, you're our last hope for many things we don't know."

Patricia stares at him.

"Don't touch me, Slimeball," she finally mutters quietly.

Eddie pulls his hand away. "Sorry," he replies, but he doesn't look sorry as his green eyes scan hers, trying to see something in her eyes that she doesn't think she has.

Patricia exhales. "I'll keep going," she says begrudgingly. "But on one condition."

"What?"

"You tell me what are the things you don't know that I might."

Eddie thinks about it. Considers it. "No," he says finally. "No, I can't do that."

"And why not?" Patricia is annoyed. Annoyed he'll touch her hand in an almost caring manner and then just shrug off her one condition to keep recalling a day he doesn't deserve to hear about.

"Because then you're going to try to think about only those specific things. And if you do that, you migh skip something important to you," Eddie explains. "Then you might miss something that might change your mind about a few...things."

Patricia frowns. Still doesn't like him. Still doesn't trust him.

"Fine," she grumbles against her better judgement.

And she closes her eyes to remember.

Saturday, June 25th, 9:00 A.M.

"Ms. Martin, explain to us why you saw Mara get shot," Joy says sharply.

Patricia stands back and watches as Joy grills Nina suspiciously.

Nina isn't fazed by the interrogation, thought Fabian looks embarrassed for both Nina and Joy. "I work next to Mara," Nina says simply. "She had been telling me about something when the man came over to us and demanded Mara give him some sort of password."

"Did Mara seem to know the man?" Fabian jumps in.

"No," Nina replies. "He didn't know who she was either; he just came over, asked if she was the company's treasurer, and then began to badger her about a password, which Mara didn't give him. Eventually he got fed up and insisted she had to give him the password or he'd kill both of us."

"Why didn't you call for help?" Joy further questions.

"He said if we did, he'd shoot," Nina answers. "We were scared, okay? What would you do?" She wraps her arms around herself defensively, looking upset. "I wasn't able to guess he would shoot Mara anyway."

Fabian steps forward. "Nina-" he starts gently.

Nina shakes her head. Stops him. "I'm just going to get back to work," she says stiffly, and she moves to get to her cubicle, not meeting the eyes of anyone there.

Joy looks at Fabian.

Looks at Nina.

And she surges forward. "Nina," Joy says softly. "Don't think we're trying to blame you or anything. There's just something that is happening with the company and we need to know who the man was. If it means anything...I'm sorry."

Patricia looks at Joy, realizing Joy is pushing aside her feelings for Fabian in favor of his feelings for Nina. Patricia reaches over and brushes Joy's shoulder, letting her friend know that she's doing the right thing.

Nina seems to realize this as well, and she pauses. Thinks. "I accept your apology," she says quietly. "But I need to know what's going on with the company."

"Everyone will," Joy answers. "Right now, I want the company to be closed for today and everyone sent home. I'll have Amber send everyone an email that explains everything, and this will be resolved once I get the police involved."

"Police?" Nina echoes. Her eyes grow wide.

"Yes, police," Joy says tiredly. "Mick," she says, and she turns to the blond security guard, "get the other guards and tell them to get everyone out of here and to their homes. Then ask one of the police officers if I might be able to talk more about what happened today."

"Sure thing, boss," Mick replies.

Joy looks at Fabian and Patricia. "You two get home," she says. "I'll get the email sent and tell the police everything. This'll work out, hopefully..."

"Joy, I want to help you," Fabian insists.

Joy just shakes her head. Won't let him. "No. You've got to get home."

"Then let me stay with you while you do everything," Fabian offers.

Joy hesitates. Considers it. "But...," she says tentatively.

"Oh, just let him," Patricia mutters. She's annoyed. Tired. Annoyed that Joy hasn't admitted her feelings to Fabian already. Tired of the sexual tension between the two.

So the two of them go. They both say goodbye to her.

Patricia leaves after they go. Heads home.

She's still in shock.

Eddie knows she killed a man. Mara got hurt. Mara might die...

She reaches her apartment. Enters the place. Sighs. It's early and the day sucks. Why does it have to be today when her life gets fucked up? Can't it wait until after the weekend at least?

Patricia takes off her shoes. Goes to take a shower.

She needs something to get her mind off today. Needs something to get everything out of her head. Needs something that will relax her. Needs something that won't result in a gun or blood.

She starts the water.

Reaches out to the rushing stream. Fixes the temperature. Touches the numbingly cold water and decides it's perfect. Perfect to forget. Perfect for a person who doesn't want to ever not forget.

She pulls her hand back.

Droplets of water drip down her wrist. They remind her of blood. Cold and wet. Wet and cold. Her head reels. Why is it that everything reminds her of blood? Cold and wet. Wet and cold.

Patricia shuts her eyes.

One, two, three.

Her cell phone goes off.

Patricia doesn't turn off the water. Doesn't worry about it. Just goes into her room wearing her underclothes and nothing else, keeping a towel draped over her shoulder as she answers the phone.

"Hello?"

"Patricia." It's Joy, but her voice is frantic. Breathy. Scared.

"Joy?" Patricia says questioningly.

"Yes, it's me- listen, I need you to do me a favor." Her voice stays frantic.

"What?"

"I need you to go to the police station in exactly one hour. No earlier, no later. Someone's waiting there. You'll ask for him- his name is Rufus-and he will give you a key. Drop the key off at my apartment. Then go home and lock yourself in. Don't go anywhere except for your apartment. Can you do that?" Joy's breathing slowly calms down.

"Joy, what the bloody hell is going on?" Patricia demands, confused.

"I...can't say right now. Can you do this for me or not?"

"Why can't Fabian?

"Fabian...he can't. God, Patricia, can you or not?" Joy's voice is raw. Desperate.

"But why?" Patricia isn't whining. She trusts Joy and understands she has to do what Joy tells her. But she also suspects there's more to what Joy is telling her, and the situation is suspicious.

"I can't explain. So can you?" Joy pleads.

"Alright, alright, I'll do it," replies Patricia.

"Good. And Patricia?"

"What?"

"Can you...not tell anyone about this?" Joy's voice is timid now. Meek.

"Don't worry, I won't tell a soul," Patricia says, confused.

"And...Patricia?"

"Yeah."

"I-I know you and Eddie are...complicated, and stuff, and I really can't go into details right now...but please don't trust him. Don't speak to him." Joy's voice is slightly stronger. More hostile, but still meek.

"Joy-"

"Remember when you first met me?" Joy's voice holds a tinge of sadness. "I warned you I wasn't a very patient person, remember? I told you and all the other employees who worked with me to always count to three to muster courage or wait out a dangerous situation or to keep a level head. Well, I'm asking you to keep counting, today and always. Alright?"

"Joy." Patricia is even more confused.

"Please don't ask questions. I- I have to go!"

And she hangs up.

Patricia lets go of the phone. Lets it fall. Tries to remember the information. Shakes her head when she realizes she can, but doesn't know quite what to make of it. Stands and heads back to her bathroom because now her shower is going to have to wait.

And she realizes the water isn't sounding anymore.

She tenses. Remembers to count as Joy said. One, two, three.

She grips the towel and ties it around her body. Grabs her gun from her room, which she quickly clicks into place, and she nudges open the bathroom door with her foot and raises the gun. Positions it.

And then- "Patricia."

Patricia whirls around. Gun stays in the air.

Eddie Miller is standing there. In her apartment. The man who knows she killed a man. The man who has her name tattooed on his neck. The man who Joy has cautioned only seconds earlier not to trust.

Patricia tightens the towel around her body. "What the hell?!" she exclaims.

"Don't shoot!" Eddie raises his hands. "I-"

"You pervert! Why are you in my apartment? How are you in my apartment?!" Patricia is freaking out. Horrified. Maybe even scared, now that Joy has said not to trust Eddie, and Patricia trusts Joy.

Eddie takes a step back. "Patricia! Please, just- let me speak."

"I am not going to let you speak!" Patricia snaps, and she trains her gun.

"I-I know Joy told you not to trust me-"

"How do you know that? First you sneak into my apartment and now you're listening to my phone calls?! Joy's right, I never should trust you! You- you had better leave, or I'll call the police," Patricia says.

"Patricia," Eddie says softly, "please. Please let me speak."

"Why should I-"

"Damn it, Patricia, let me fucking speak!" Eddie snaps. "I know you always have to demand things and always question everybody because that's who you are, but there's no time for any of that! You have to let me tell you what's going on."

Patricia lowers her guard. Stares. "And why would you know what's going on?"

"Because I'm in the middle of it," Eddie answers. "Now, just listen to me. If you'll put down the gun, then we can sit down and have a normal conversation. I'll tell you everything and answer every question you might have. Does that sound good?"

"No, not from the mouth of a liar it doesn't," Patricia snaps.

"Come on, Patricia," Eddie growls, upset. "You don't have to trust me. You don't even have to believe me if you don't want to. But can you please just listen to me?"

Patricia frowns. "Fine," she spits. "You have ten minutes."

"Thank you." His answer is one of relief.

They sit at her table.

She doesn't get rid of the gun. Does put it down, though.

"First thing's first, you can't go to the police station. Rufus is a very dangerous man, and Joy has been led to believe that by sending you, she'll get the key that is holding Fabian in a locked room full of explosives. But Rufus has no key. All he has is a smuggled gun, which he's going to use to kill you, just like the man this morning."

"That man...he was..."

"Sent to kill you. However, he went into the wrong apartment when he saw someone who looks like you, who I assume is your twin?" Eddie doesn't pause for confirmation. "Joy thinks Rufus is going to save both her and Fabian and that I am the bad guy here."

"Oh, and I assume you're the good guy, then," Patricia says sarcastically.

"I am, actually," Eddie says nonchalantly. Calmly. "I'm an FBI agent, sent here on exchange with an American employee as a ruse because I got a lead that Rufus was targeting the company you work for. And Rufus knows I'm here."

"Then if he wants you, why is he trying to kill me?"

"Because he knows I...uh..." Eddie blushes. Hesitates. "Well, he's noticed that I've, um, gotten to like you since I've been here. And he thinks we're so close that if he were to kill you, then I'd willingly give in to whatever he said to do."

Patricia blinks at him. "You like me."

"Well, nice to know that's your top priority here," Eddie jokes.

"Don't joke, you idiot," Patricia snaps.

Eddie looks down. "Okay, maybe I do. So what?"

Patricia is confused. All this time, she'd assumed Eddie hated her. He always voiced that. He never made it seem he liked her. How can she just believe that?

"Prove it." Patricia's words comes out curtly. Like a challenge.

"How can I prove it?" Eddie is startled by her words.

"Why do you like me?"

"You're not even going to say anything about me liking you? I mean it's not like you were leading me on or anything, but, don't you like me a little bit too? I alway thought..." Eddie trails off.

"Shut up, Slimeball, and just answer the question," is Patricia's snappy reply.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says, and a few seconds later, he's smiling. "I really do like you. You're stubborn and mean and malicious but you're also loyal, and caring even if you deny it, and you just blow my mind, you know? You don't care what people think. You say whatever is on your mind. And maybe you're a little pushy, but...I like the way you are. You're...you, and I like that."

"Liar." The word comes out sharply. Like she's been waiting to say it.

Eddie laughs dryly in disbelief. "That's all you can say," he huffs.

"What? Did you expect a confession of my love too?" Patricia mocks.

Eddie looks at her, hurt. "Yacker, I just poured out my heart to you here."

"Yeah, what a bloody coincidence that you like me right when Joy tells me you can't be trusted," Patricia retorts. "How can I believe you with just your words? You can make all that up."

"You think I can say something like that and make it up?"

"I don't know what you can do! You broke into my apartment, know I killed a man, and claim you're some sort of James Bond or something! I don't know what to expect out of you," Patricia says bitterly.

Eddie tugs down his shirt. "This is your name, remember?" he says. "I told you I got this tattoo for you, and I didn't lie. One night I was drunk and you were, as always, on my mind, so I ran away with that. I got this tattoo a few weeks after I met you. You have to believe that."

"So what?"

"So...you should just admit you feel something for me, too," Eddie says quietly. "I'm just a tin can standing in front of a tank, asking if she'll let her walls fall down, because mine have already fallen."

"You're really thick to assume I like you, you know," is Patricia's reply.

"I know."

"And...if what you're saying is true..."

"It is."

Patricia sighs. Eyes him wearily. "I don't trust you," she states. "And I'm not sure I even believe you. But if you can somehow get me to Joy and Fabian and explain what's happening to them and to the company, I'll try to both trust and believe you."

"And admit you like me too?"

"Oh, don't push it, you arse."

Eddie smiles. "Well, I'll take what I can get, then. Keep asking questions."

"Right. Where are Joy and Fabian?"

"Fabian's being held in a room full of explosives that are timed to be set off in about four hours. Joy, at least to my knowledge, is being held by some of Rufus's henchmen and was able to contact you and feed you the fake information through her phone, but is most likely being held at gunpoint," Eddie answers readily.

"And what's going on with the company?"

"Rufus wants money," Eddie replies. "He has an ongoing feud with one of the company's associates, Victor, and decided to get back at Victor by stealing this money. He did so successfully for a while, but Mara changed the password and he sent in a man to get the new one, leading to today's events."

"Well, why did Joy and Fabian get taken? They just went to the police and to send an email to everyone," Patricia said. "It's not like they went after Rufus or did anything."

"Yes, but they were a threat to Rufus," Eddie counters. "They could've ended Rufus's little game, and he couldn't stand the idea, so he sent in men to take them and kill them."

"Wait, his game?"

"Yes. Twisted it may seem, Rufus finds every one of his little plots like a game," Eddie replies. "I analyzed lots of his work when I was assigned to this case. He treats everything like a ploy. Treats every person involved like a player."

"So that's it, then? I'm a player in his sick, twisted games?"

Eddie shakes his head. Looks at her.

"No, Patricia. To him you're not a player; you're bait."

Okay you are all amazing people, especially my reviewers:

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