A.N. First and foremost just want to say thank you for all of the R&R, F&F, as you know I love to know how you all are feeling about the direction and such.

Also I've appeared to have lacked on my PRing in the chapter after the prolog. I meant Ms. NOT Mrs. Private NOT privet. And lastly, it's not so much an error as let me clarify. Yes the bank occurred on Halloween of 2010, Lauren makes a reference saying 3 years instead of 4. It's September in the story not October, thus she was speaking in a general specific sense since it has not technically been 4 years.

Sorry again for errors and hopes that clears things up. Thank you all again

Pokie.

Chapter Three: No Way Back

(Lauren's POV)

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Saturday

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McConnell's Pub—12:05 a.m.

"I'm fucking telling you, I got the bitch right here. The fuck do you mean where? Here! McConnell's place. No she ain't dead-not yet anyway. She's just passed out on the floor. No stupid, she ain't drunk I knocked her ass out."

The sound of his panic filled and quickly elevating voice continues pulling me toward consciousness. I feel my hand tremble and I hold my breath, praying her didn't see it. There is this pause, this silence and I can swear he saw. He knows I'm awake, his footsteps prove that.

Or maybe not.

The steps grow further and this terrifying silence I find myself stalled in dulls as the faint sound of his voice begins filling it.

I open my eyes, first just to half mass to survey my surroundings, but there's nothing out of the ordinary. It's dark and smells like shit, but then again what is there to expect from a run down, shithole in the middle of nowhere.

The repeated trembling in my right hand grabs my attention, but I don't feel like there is any extensive damage done. Everything feels normal, my throat sore along with my neck. I'm sure I have a rather nasty bruise forming on my lower back, but nothing else. Which is why I can't figure out the termer, temporary most likely, something brought on by extreme stress or a bruise on a nerve possibly.

I hear his footsteps again as I start to push myself up. I could run, couldn't I? I don't feel like there is anything wrong with my legs. I could try and fight him-I don't have the strength or skill. I could let him just kill me, probably be doing me a favor at this point.

"Sit down." He orders, bottom of his boot hitting my ribs giving me no choice but to fall back onto my face. "Do you know inconvenient this is?" another kick to my ribs, another yell of pain escaping. "This was completely pointless!" the volume behind his words continuing to grow. His hand wraps around the back of my neck pulling me up into a seated position. He shoves my shoulder, pushing me backward into the foundation of the bar, a pair of stools to my right getting knocked to the ground.

"You didn't have to break into my car and—"

"And what? Assault you?"

"If we're speaking in the literal sense this would be battery, not assault." I chuckle through a grown of pain, hands needless pressed against my right ribcage, as if it would help the pain.

"Fucking educated bitches." He snorts, kicking my foot as he runs his hand through what hair he has. "So what, you was coming here to kill me? Get revenge for daddy?"

"No." my answer coming through a clenched jaw, eyes narrowing as I look up into his.

"Then what, want the dick." He laughs, kicking my foot again.

"No."

"Well if you don't want to kill me and you don't want the dick, the what the fuck are you doing watching me?"

"Honestly?" I feel my brow raise as I smirk.

"Naw bitch, I want you to lie to me."

"I'm not even sure." I watch him as he just stares down at me.

"You're not sure?" he laughs, shaking his head as he takes a step back. "So let me get this straight, you been riding around following me, stalking me and you ain't even sure why?"

"Well, when you say it like that." I can't help but laugh to myself, a surge of pain shooting up from my ribcage through my chest.

"You know how stupid that shit is?" he asks, leaning back against a table top. "What I don't get is why me?"

"Why the bank?"

"Naw, naw I mean why me? It was Jason who pulled the trigger, killed your old man. I ain't have shit to do with that."

"Honestly," I press my palms against the floor, pushing myself up more into a seated position rather than a pathetic slump. "You're the stupidest. You were the easiest to get to, to keep track of, same routines and behavior."

"Opportunity?" his features scrunch as he nods, sort of like he approves. "It's what the bank was. Just a bet, could have been any one." He shoves his hands in his shabby jeans' pockets. "Make you feel better to know?"

"Nothing can make me feel better." I admit aloud, actually it's the first time I admit it at all. No amount of blame I can assign, no amount of anger-none of it will make me feel better.

"Naw, didn't think it would."

"You can quit the nice guy game. I know what you are. I know what's going to happen. I just don't know why you're waiting. What, is Jason coming? Need to wait for him?"

"You know, my old man used to beat my mom-I killed him. Then my stepfather did the same shit, killed him too. Apart from being pieces of shit, you know what they had in common?" he titles his head, eyes staying locked with my own. "Neither made me feel better. Call it what you will, justice or revenge, it didn't take the pain away. It didn't make me unsee what I seen. Didn't set me free from that person I became because of it."

"You're looking for sympathy-from me?" I snort, words barely making it through a clenched jaw.

"Shit, I don't want no sympathy. I'm trying to give you a piece of mind. If you haven't already, you will start to run through a list of-regrets. Cause see I been where you at, shot six times. Thought I was going to die, difference is I made it and you, well you ain't got that option. My point though, is when you're doing that, you're gonna wonder if killing us, if that would have made a difference."

"Fuck you." I push at the floor, the pain resonating in my chest and an unwavering anger just enough to keep me from giving into my fear.

"I ain't never killed a woman before." He admits, but his voice changes and in this moment, I realize without a doubt I'm not making it out of this. "I've beaten them before, but never killed one." He reaches around his back pulling out a small, semi-automatic, handgun. I can't tell what model, though in the grand scheme of things, I don't think it matters much now. "Get on your knees." He orders, eyes going to the ground.

I do as he says, pushing myself onto my knee. Eyes wandering to my far right where the door is, I wonder if I could make it there. Probably not, just end up getting shot in the back, not exactly how I would want to die.

I swallow back the lump in my throat, hands pressed against the tops of my thighs to keep my balance.

"Do you—want a minute to pray or some shit?" he asks, and I would have told him to go fuck himself again-except, my fingers press against something hard in my pocket.

"Y-yes, please." A vile taste fills my mouth at the words, me saying please to him but it's a necessary evil.

I fake a sob, allowing tears to slip down my cheeks. Forcing another sob, I lean over moving both hands up to my stomach. I take a breath, left hand holding firm as I lean down further forcing another sob. My right hand slipping inside my pocket pulling out a smaller, flip blade knife.

I had completely forgotten I had been carrying it until I felt.

I force another sob as I push the blade open, but I do it wrong—the blade cutting my leg, making the sob sound genuine.

"Alright, it's enough." He barks, left hand pushing my head back up by my forehead, right hand holding the gun aimed just inches away.

This voice in the back of mind shrieks that I'm not cut out for this, I won't do anything other than piss him off. I won't do anything other than make him mad and then, who knows what will happen before he finally killed me.

There is another voice, a dark and angry voice that screams this is my opportunity. Do it. End it here and now. It won't be hard. He deserves it. Shove the blade into him and that it'll be over. Remember I made my father a promise. He deserves to die, not me.

Then there is this last voice, it's not screaming or shrieking. It's not even a panicked voice. It's just a calm voice, a voice that says simply 'I don't want to die'.

I hold my breath, looking up into his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He says, his elbow tightening.

Whether it be a conscious action-or one of instinct I bring my arm up in this bent angle, the blade slicing through the skin on his wrist like clothe. The gun falling to the floor as he yells out in pain, stumbling backward.

I jump up to my feet the best I can, already angled for the door. I run as fast as I can toward the door, never once looking back.

His hand grabs a hold of my shoulder pulling me backward before throwing me onto a table.

He's yelling something, I can't hear him—or rather I can't make out the words. My head turned to my left, eyes on the door.

So close.

He's managed to get between my legs and though I'm struggling against him, kicking out, his position prevents them from doing anything other than waste energy. His left hand holding my right shoulder against the table. His right forearm digging into my other shoulder nearly immobilizing it as his hand covers my mouth.

I try and twist my head, try and break free from the hold. His blood running down my face, covering my mouth, traces slipping passed my lips as I struggle to breathe. My left hand ripping at his shirt the best it can, given the limited mobility it's given.

I feel a familiar feeling of lightheadedness, my vision starting to blur.

This is it.

But-it's not.

I feel his weight lessen, hand leaving my mouth. Gasping for breath, lightheadedness and lack of balance still very present as I bolt upright. I just stare at him and he's staring at me just as surprised. One deer in headlights staring down another.

He looks down at his stomach and I follow his line of sight, his hands covering the left side of his stomach just below the ribcage.

Then my eyes move over myself, stopping at my blood laced hand gripping my knife.

I hadn't even realized I had still been holding it.

He drops to his knees and then his side.

His gasping doesn't last but seconds, blood quickly pooling underneath him and I find myself frozen.

"Holy shit." I breathe out, slipping off the table top and taking the few steps toward him. "Holy shit." I repeat, kicking his foot with my own. "Holy shit." I say a little louder upon realizing he's dead. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I feel my heart beginning to race fast than I ever thought possible.

I look down at my hand, at the bloody knife still in it.

I'm so fucked.

I toss the knife on the table behind me before jogging around the bar, quickly grabbing the phone. The fingers of my left hand on the buttons, the nine pressed without a thought. Then I freeze, my eyes catching my reflection on the derelict mirror above the sorry excuse for a sink.

'Hang up the phone Lauren.'

"It was self-defense."

'Don't be stupid.'

"It was self-defense. Most I can get is probation."

'Sure, probation with your career over. All that school down the drain, all the hard work gone away. You'll be flipping burgers at Burger King for the rest of your life, labeled a murder.'

"I have to call the cops."

'Sure. Explain to them why you were here and what you've been doing. Explain why you're carrying a knife while doing so. Explain how you expected this to turn out any other way than violent. Explain how if it was merely self-defense you choose to twist the knife.'

"I—I don't remember doing it."

'That will work well, claim insanity. Not even Evony will be able to convince a jury of that one.'

"Fuck."

'Correction, you're fucked. We're fucked.'

"Okay." I breathe out, my heart slowing. "Now what?"

'You know what to do Lauren, so do it.'

I pull one of those white hand towels from inside the sink. Quickly wiping down the phone in it's entirety. Using the towel I pull open the cabinet doors beneath the sink finding a can of Ajax, several Windex bottles and then what I need, a bottle of bleach.

"Lucky me." I snort to myself.

Standing back up I use my foot to kick shut the doors, my eyes locking on my reflection once again-I look away. Hastily I make my way back around the bar. Tossing the towel on the table I grab my knife, closing it and shoving it back in my pocket. As I do the realization that my other pocket is empty hitting me. Clenching my jaw I kneel down, hand patting his left pocket-it's his phone. I shove it in my back pocket and then go for the other, it's mine this time. I shove it in my other pocket as I stand.

I grab the towel, opening the bleach and then move back to his body.

I find myself just looking down at him-I feel nothing.

Kneeling back down I pour a decent amount of bleach over his hands, then his torso and lastly his face. I walk up the few feet to where he had me laying and pour nearly what's left over the floor. Then the last bit I pour over the table top when he hand pinned me.

I toss the bottle onto the floor, keeping ahold of the towel as I walk the last few feet to the door.

I stop, door open ready for me to run, but I can't help but to glance behind myself and the ruins.

No way back now.

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Ducky's Carwash—1:22 a.m.

I toss a bunched up pile of my jacket, shirt and towel from the bar into the trunk. Luckily my gym bag still in there providing me with a hoddie and a towel which saved me trying to clean off with a thousand paper towels. Slamming the trunk shut I walk around my car, a nice new shine to it. Looks flawless, only problem being my driver side window is missing.

Win some, lose some.

I feel a vibration in my pocket just as I go to open my door.

Bo: Are you still up? (1:24 a.m.)

"Now is so not the time." I sigh to myself, running my hand through my hair.

'You'll need an alibi. You're not a murder, no one would expect you to kill Bryan Wright and then have a conversation with Officer Friendly, thirty minutes later.'

Me: Yeah. (1:25 a.m.)

Bo: Yeah? I wasn't aware you used words like that. (1:25 a.m.)

Me: I'm full of surprises. (1:25 a.m.)

Bo: I see. (1:25 a.m.)

Me: Everything alright? (1:26 a.m.)

Bo: Yeah, fine. (1:26 a.m.)

Bo: I just got called in. (1:26 a.m.)

Me: Everything okay? (1:26 a.m.)

Bo: Yeah, yeah. Just a murder at some bar. Problem with being a new detective, you get the shit end of all the deals. (1:26 a.m.)

Me: A murder at a bar? (1:27 a.m.)

Bo: Yeah, probably a drunken dispute or some shit. I just remember you saying that you were up late. (1:27 a.m.)

Me: Yes, no problem. This bar though, which one is it? (1:27 a.m.)

Bo: Why? (1:27 a.m.)

Me: Curious. (1:27 a.m.)

Bo: Did you murder someone Dr. Lewis? Trying to cover your tracks? LOL (1:28 a.m.)

Me: You caught me. (1:28 a.m.)

Bo: Some shithole on Ashland I think. Mc-something. (1:28 a.m.)

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"Fuck!" my semi-yell covered by the sound of a passing truck.

'Relax. They'll find his body, that's it.'

"Bullshit." I answer myself, sliding into my seat.

.

Me: Mc-Something? Sounds like a great name for a bar. (1:30 a.m.)

Bo: Smartass. Lol. I can't remember, visit so many shitholes they all blend together, you know? (1:30 a.m.)

Me: I do. (1:30 a.m.)

Bo: Well, we're going to be there any minute so thanks for keeping me company. (1:30 a.m.)

Me: No thanks required. (1:31 a.m.)

Bo: Goodnight Lauren. (1:31 a.m.)

Me: Be careful. (1:31 a.m.)

Bo: Always am :) (1:32 a.m.)

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Saint Mark's Hospital—8:27 a.m.

-( Doctor Lauren Lewis, a rising star and medical savant is now the talk of the city. While her name first became known to the public in two-thousand and ten for what is now known as the crime of the decade, her success and charity work kept her name circulating for other reasons. With a seemingly unstoppable career on the rise, ties to local politicians and consistently on the list of who is who, it seemed to be a slam dunk that the men responsible for the bank massacre would be put away. But, was something going on behind the scenes? Does Doctor Lewis have a dark secret?

(Well Christina, you never quite know in these situations. I've met the woman at a charity fundraiser just last year and she seemed nice, but like the situation with serial killers-you just never know.)-

"That's great, I'm now being equated to a serial killer." I snort at the two women on CNN.

"It's not ideal." Nadia says, leaning back in her chair and clicking off the television on the wall before tossing the remote down on her cluttered desk.

"Should I be concerned?"

"You shouldn't be complacent."

"Nadia we go back years, you can't possibly think that—"

"That you're racist and insane? No, of course not. But my job as chief of surgery is to protect this hospital and it's interest."

"So what are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you that the hype surrounding your name and career has taken a turn from spectacular to well, in your words being equated to a serial killer. You still have backers, and the board feels that the money donated by Lexington and Devereaux has-bought another month worth of backing."

"And if in a month this doesn't blow over?"

"Then," she leans forward, forearms resting on desk. "You might want to consider making up with Evony so her firm can secure your position."

"So, I basically have to buy my spot in this hospital now?" I can't help but chuckle through a snort.

"Lauren, you're bringing a lot of negative attention to a teaching hospital. This isn't Grey's Anatomy, negative attention doesn't blow over in the next episode. Do you know why?"

"Um, because this isn't a television show."

"Exactly, negative attention stays and plagues a hospital. It costs money, you are costing money."

"Well, that's that then." I just nod, and settle back into my seat. "So much for friendship, hm?"

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Starbucks—10:46 a.m.

"Tall, large, Grande?" I look behind myself at the growingly familiar voice.

"They don't have large here."

"Really?" she give me this 'what the hell' look.

"You don't strike me as the Starbucks type."

"I'm not."

"Then you've taken up stalking me?" I raise an eyebrow, taking a step further up the line. I shake my head to myself, the image of the last time we were in line together rushing to the forefront of my mind.

"Oh yes, I figured I wasn't working enough hours as it was so thought what better way to pass my near non-existent free time, than stalk the insanely sexy attending-doctor-person."

"I'm a resident, not an attending, but thank you for the compliment."

"I actually asked Hale if he happened to know where you took lunch. He didn't. But he knows a nurse who knows another nurse on your service."

"Stalking on a whole new level I see."

"Well go big or go home."

"Again, you are stealing people's catch phrases." I manage a chuckle, only two more people a head of us. She smirks, eyes dancing over my face. She knows something is wrong, dammit-I can't deal with a round of twenty questions now. "So how did that thing last night turn out?"

"Um, unique."

"Is that so?" I glance over at her, trying not to act too invested.

"Turns out the guy wasn't dead, just got knocked out so damn hard a pitcher of water wouldn't wake him."

"What?" I stop holding up the line, turning to her. "Did you ever find out the name of the place?"

"Yeah, McKinny's. Turns out it wasn't on Ashland it was on Archer. Whole fuck up deal."

"Right." I nod.

"Listen, I hope you didn't mind about this. I just thought it would be you know-cute or something to popup."

"No, no it's fine. I'm just having some work issues going on right now."

"I don't suppose you want to vent to your friendly neighborhood stalker?" her brows raise, this silly smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Too soon." I smile politely and nod. "You know I'm sorry," I step out of line. "I have to get back to the hospital."

"Yeah, sure." She nods, the look on her face similar to a wounded puppy.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, it actually hurt to see the look written over her flawless features. Hurts more to know I'm the cause of it. I feel this need to comfort her, tell her I'm sorry. Tell her something, but I can't. I can barely keep my thoughts straight trying to get through my work, let alone trying to seem charming and pleasant in a social settings. I can hardly manage that during normal days.

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New Hope Recovery Center—5:06 p.m.

"Well if isn't my little sister, Super Woman in the flesh."

"Lachlan." I sigh his name, only three seconds and I'm already ready to punch him. Making progress.

"What brings you here? Feeling the need for a little therapy? Some board games?" he leans back into the couch, arms extended gesturing around the rec-room.

"I came to see you."

"Wow. Been a long while since you've wanted to see me."

"Yeah, well current situations at hand are taking precedence." I pull a chair up beside him before taking a seat. He's giving me this unusual look, most likely wondering why I went out of my way to bring a seat rather than just sit across from him.

"What's going on?"

"How are you?"

"Lauren cut the shit. We may not be Donnie and Marie anymore, but I know you. You have the same look you had senior year when they thought you cheated on the SATs."

"They got off."

"What?" his faint smile vanishes.

"The trial ended a few days ago, they got off."

"And you didn't think of telling me?" his voice raises as he stands up. I look behind myself, a pair of security staff taking notice. "I just fucking talked to you a few days ago. I deserve to know."

"Listen to me," I say under my breath, looking back up at him. "If you don't calm down they are going to make me leave."

"Maybe you should." He barks, jaw tightening.

"I need my brother right now." I reach up, taking his hand. He looks down at the embrace almost afraid of it. I don't blame him, it's been almost a year since we had any trace of physical contact when it didn't have to do with an altercation of some kind. "Please."

"It's alright. Bad news, I'll do an extra round of therapy." He calls out to the guards before taking a seat back down. He doesn't settle back in though, he sits on the edge, elbows resting on the top of his thighs. "What did you do?"

"I can't tell you, it would make you an accessory."

"Ah shit Lauren." He chuckles coldly, shaking his head. "Did you make the fucker suffer?" he asks, turning back to me with this intent look that scares me. Or perhaps what scares me the most was that the first response that came to mind was, 'not enough'.

"Look I came here because it might be the last time I can. I also wanted to ask you to do something for me."

"I can't help you much in here." His words this odd mixture of 'I still blame you for this' and 'I want to help you, but I can't'.

"Actually you can, remember right after dad died there was that issue with the lease on the house?"

"That my name was only on it, yeah." He nods as he speaks.

"My car is in the garage and I'm driving yours right now. All I need from you is if they ask for permission to search you say no. I'll-take care of it soon."

"You don't even know that it will still only popup in my name, we spent a lot of money fixing that."

"Yeah well," I run my hand through my hair as I look behind myself. "I'm hoping for just a little luck."

"Which one was it?"

"I can't tell you that Lachlan, it—"

"Will make me an accessory, but what do you think this is?"

"It was," I can't help but pause, the image of Bryan laying on the floor covered in blood and bleach still fresh in my mind. Though surprisingly, I don't feel as much guilt as I did staring down at him. "Bryan Wright."

"The Neo-Nazi fuck?"

"He wasn't a-yeah him." I nod, eyes going to the floor.

"You alright?" he asks, the back of his hand taping my leg.

"Yeah, actually I am."

"You going for his brother?"

"No," I shake my head, eyes meeting his. "I wasn't even intending for last night to happen. It was self-defense."

"If it was self-defense then why are you hiding evidence and here asking someone you can't stand for help?"

"Because there are-were elements of the—action that may have suggested otherwise and I panicked."

"You panicked?" He snorts, laughing as he leans back into the corner of the couch. "Bullshit, you panicked and they'd be at your door already. They'd be here wanting into the house. You didn't panic."

I lean back in my own seat, eyes never once leaving his.

Was he right?

Am I pretending to be colder than I am-or am I pretending to be softer than I really am?

Was it really self-defense or was it what I had been waiting for?

Did I want last night?

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Lauren's Apartment—9:02 p.m.

"I'm coming." I repeat for the fourth time, jogging down the stairs and tossing the towel I was using for my hair onto the couch. "Evony just use the damn key." I bark, as I get to the door. "What is-Bo?" my eyebrow raises, a faint smile starting to work it's way onto my lips. "You're not Evony."

"What did you do?" she barks at me, this look of pure anger written all over her face. "What did you do Lauren?" her voice raises slightly.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about." I'm so fucked. She knows. Any second her backup will arrive.

"Bullshit. What did you do?"

"Bo, I think you need to leave." I say, going to close the door but her foot prevents me from doing so. "Move your foot."

"Just let me hear you say aloud that he's still alive."

"I-what?" my head tilts as I study her face.

"Just let me hear you say he is still alive somewhere."

"I-I don't understand." I run my hand through dampened hair, a sigh escaping. "Alive?"