The drive to Nathaniel Williams' apartment building had been one of the most uncomfortable of Norman's life. He sat, half squirming in the passenger street while animosity poured off of Blake so violently that Norman could feel its cancerous hands reaching for him. He pushed himself as close to the door as possible, attempting to put room between them. Blake was white knuckling the steering wheel and growling at anyone he decided was driving too slowly. The radio was off and the silence just added to the tense climate in the car. Cars had never been a lucky place for Norman, he always seemed to get trapped in them, forced to face terrible situations with nowhere to run.

When he was eight his dad picked him and his little brother, Daniel, up at school and drove right past the house. When Norman asked where they were going, his dad pulled onto the freeway and told him and Danny that he was dropping them off at their grandma's house, because their mom had just died. Norman had wanted to throw open the door, jump from the car, and run away as far and as fast as he could. But he was trapped, stuck in the car, feeling his nose sting with tears and his heart rate rising. All he could manage to say was, "You told us she was just a little sick, you said she'd be fine!"

"I didn't want you and Danny to worry…"

"What do you mean she's dead?" Daniel's tiny voice had asked. He was only six, too young to really understand, and their father didn't seem to be preparing to explain it.

"Norman, please say something to your brother, I can't do this…"

He'd felt terror rising in his spine, he was only eight, how was he supposed to explain to Daniel that their mom was dead?

Norman's memory was broken by Blake's booming voice. "Does this look like the right place to you, Norman?" Blake asked mockingly.

Norman looked up, noticing that they'd pulled up outside the apartment building. He nodded, ignoring Blake's tone.

"Let's get this over with," Blake said, getting out of the car.

A few minutes later they were outside Nathaniel's apartment. Norman knocked on the door. Blake folded his arms and leaned impatiently against the wall. A few seconds ticked by and Norman knocked again. "Mr. Williams?" he asked loudly. There was still no answer, he turned to Blake and shrugged. "I guess he's not home."

Blake impatiently shoved him out of the way and shook his head. "Jesus Christ…" he muttered as he backed up and kicked the door open. "We didn't come all the way down here for nothing, Jayden."

"Blake, you can't just break into someone's place," Norman said urgently.

"What are you gonna do? Call the cops?" Blake laughed at his own joke and entered the apartment.

Norman felt his cheeks get hot. "Blake! Anything we find in there is going to mean nothing in court if you just barge in!"

Blake rolled his eyes. "Who's the court gonna believe? Us, or some crackpot child killer? If that what he turns out to be…"

Norman rubbed his temples. Did he really have a choice? He'd already inferred that it wasn't smart to cross Carter Blake. He sighed and followed Blake into the apartment, leaving the door cracked behind him. A wall of moist heat hit him as soon as he stepped foot into the first room of the apartment.

"Jesus," he said. "It's a damn sauna in here…" He trailed off as he took in the state of the apartment. The walls were covered in crucifixes, not a patch was left bare. The widows were covered and the apartment was only lit slightly by candles scattered here and there around the room. He managed to locate a light switch and flicked it on. Nothing happened. "No light bulbs?" he said more to himself than Blake. "He's pretty religious, I take it?"

Blake scoffed. "Pretty religious? Nathaniel Williams is a run of the mill Jesus freak. Last year we arrested this guy for harassing people in the park. He was screaming about the apocalypse or some shit like that, scared a bunch of kids and old ladies, mostly. When he was brought to me for questioning he started having a fit and was ranting about how I was the Antichrist or something. He's a fucking lunatic if you ask me… I'm gonna go look in the bedroom." Blake disappeared into a dark hallway.

Blake was an unbearable asshole, and maybe a bit of a lunatic himself, but he was no Antichrist. Norman turned away to examine the walls, the sight of all the crosses made him shudder. They seemed so menacing, so sinister. He stepped away from the wall, desperately wanting some fresh air. He was heading for the hallway to catch up with Blake when he heard the door creak. He turned around and saw a short, thin man with black eyes holding a paper grocery bag. He looked thoroughly confused.

"Mr. Williams?" he asked, immediately feeling sorry for breaking into his apartment.

"Yes?" the man examined Norman closely, looking at him as though he were seeing his insides. He used to know someone who looked at him that way…

"I'm Special Agent Norman Jayden of the FBI," he said, flashing his badge, trying to sound as gentle as possible. "I just want to ask you a few questions."

"Why?" Nathaniel asked. "I haven't done anything." He gripped the grocery bag to his chest.

"Just let the agent ask his questions, Nathaniel," Blake said, he'd appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Nathaniel's eyes widened at the sound of Blake's voice. He slowly turned his head towards the kitchen and dropped his bag of groceries when he saw Blake standing there.

"Oh dear, merciful Jesus…" Nathaniel began to back away and started saying a prayer. Norman had never seen such genuine fear in his life. This guy really believed that Blake was the antichrist.

Blake rolled his eyes. "Oh cut the crap Nathaniel," he approached him, getting uncomfortably close. Nathaniel pulled his hands up to his chest, trying to protect himself, he looked near tears he was so afraid.

"Back off, Blake," Norman snapped. "Listen Nathaniel, we just want to ask you if you know anything about some kidnappings that have been going on in the area. Where were you last Wednesday around four thirty in the afternoon?"

"I was here," Nathaniel answered.

"Do you know anyone who can verify that information?" Norman asked coolly.

"I-I don't know… I…" he stuttered.

"It's alright Nathaniel, there's no need to-" Norman was interrupted.

"Does the name Jeremy Bowles mean anything to you?" Blake took a few steps towards Nathaniel and folded his arms.

"No sir," Nathaniel answered.

"What about Johnny Winter?" he edged even closer. Nathaniel shook his head. "Bullshit!" Blake yelled. "It was all over the news."

"I don't own a television," Nathaniel said, not looking at Blake.

"What about the newspaper?" Blake took a few more steps towards the terrified man.

"The only text I read is the Holy Bible," he said. Blake laughed wickedly and got inches from Nathaniel's face. Norman half expected him to punch the poor bastard, but instead he put his hand on his shoulder.

"You took those kids didn't you?" he whispered. Norman knew Blake was relishing in Nathaniel's fear of him, if the psycho could bottle the emotion and wear it every day like perfume, he would. "Did the voices tell you to do it? Did they tell you to take those poor kids and drown them in the gutter like fucking rats?"

"Blake, that's enough!" Norman said.

"What else do the voices tell you to do?" Blake whispered.

"Stop it," Nathaniel pleaded.

"Blake! I mean it!" Norman ordered.

"How many more kids do you have to kill, huh, Nathaniel?" Blake grabbed Nathaniel by the collar.

"Please! Stop!" Nathaniel cried.

"Blake!" Norman took a few steps forward to pry Blake's grip loose when he threw Nathaniel on the floor. In an instant Nathaniel was on his feet and had a semiautomatic handgun pointed right in Blake's face. Norman pulled his FBI issued Glock and held it steadily in Nathaniel's direction.

"You are the Antichrist!" Nathaniel screamed, not taking his eyes off of Blake. "With God as my witness I'll send you back to hell from where you came!"

"Nathaniel put your gun down now!" Norman yelled, feeling adrenaline shoot into his bloodstream. His heart pounded violently in his chest.

"Jayden shoot!" Blake said, looking genuinely afraid.

"Nathaniel, stand down!" Norman ordered. He felt his heart pounding in his ears now and he couldn't keep his thoughts straight. The world around him began to spin, and he felt sweat trickle down his neck. Norman couldn't see a thing, all he heard were the panicked voices around him. It was as if the world had completely melted into a dismal pool of black and grey.

"Shoot, Jayden, shoot!" Blake sounded desperate now.

Norman felt his finger squeeze the trigger on his gun and a loud crack shocked his brain, returning him to reality. The world came back into focus. Blake was clutching his chest, looking shook up, he released a heavy breath, a sigh of relief. Norman's icy eyes traveled from Blake to Nathaniel, who was lying on the floor. A halo of blood surrounded him on the carpet. A head shot. A fucking head shot.

"Oh my God…" Norman said, dropping his gun on the floor. He felt him limbs go limp and he had to fight not to collapse onto his knees. "I-I shot him…"

Blake nodded. "You sure did."

"He's dead…" Norman couldn't believe his eyes. He was horrified. "I just killed a man…" He felt his stomach flip up into his throat and a wave of nausea crashed over him.

I didn't know what to do, I couldn't see a thing…

"You didn't have a choice, Jayden," Blake said. "That guy thought I was the Antichrist, he was going to kill me," he pulled his radio off of his holster. "This is Lieutenant Carter Blake. I need an ambulance at 425 Hamilton Road, Building 5, Apartment 12. I have a suspect who sustained a gunshot wound to the head," he glanced at Norman, who looked more pale and sick that usual, he clicked off the radio. "You did the right thing, kid."

Norman shook his head and backed up against the wall. He slid down into a crouching position and put his hand over his mouth, he felt instantly anesthetized. He'd never killed a man before.

Blake clicked his radio back on. "Send counsel for my partner…"

Norman had hardly noticed Blake's request for counsel. The terror of knowing he'd taken someone's life was sneaking up his veins. How could he have made such a horrible mistake?

A few hours later Norman sat in the car with Blake, waiting outside a corner market for their second suspect. The counsel Blake requested for him had consisted of a smartly dressed police department employee, most likely a crisis counselor, telling him that he'd done the right thing, and that he didn't have a choice, because his first interest was protect his partner from harm, which he had done.

The silence between him and Blake was uncomfortable to say the least. "Was that the first time?" Blake finally asked after some time of silence.

"First time that I killed somebody?' Norman asked, glancing sideways at Blake.

"Yeah," Blake kept his eyes on the market outside.

"Yeah…" Norman traced his finger along some steam that had collected on the base of the window. "My partner shot a serial killer once, but I uh, I've never done anything like that…"

"It's always hard the first time," Blake said. "Then it gets easier."

Norman felt disgusted. "You know this from experience?"

"When you've been a cop as long as me you've seen a lot of bullshit, kid. I've capped my share of trigger happy speed freaks. I didn't have a choice, it was me or them, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be me."

Like I believe that…

"So your partner killed someone, huh?"

"Yeah," Norman shifted uncomfortably. "It was my fault…" he trailed off, wondering if he should bother telling Blake the story or not. The man had seemed unnervingly sincere since Nathaniel forced him to face possible death…

A few years back he and Katie were hot on the trail of a one John Calder, informally known as The Gutter, who was violently murdering young men in the Baltimore area. They managed to corner him in outermost Maryland with backup over thirty minutes away. Not wanting to risk his escape, they entered his apartment. Katie went out onto the fire escape to see if he'd jumped down, and Norman checked the bathroom. After pulling back the curtain on the shower he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head. Calder had come out of nowhere, he grabbed Norman's gun out of his holster and tossed it into the tub, then he wrapped his arm around his neck and dragged him out into the living room.

Calder smiled menacingly. "On your knees pig," he'd demanded. Norman did what he was told and Calder pressed the cold end of the gun against his forehead. "Call for help and I blow the girl away the second she climbs in from the fire escape."

Norman swallowed hard, feeling for an instant that he was about to die. It was the strangest sensation…

The sound of a handgun being cocked broke the silence. "Freeze!" Katie's voice emerged from the fire escape. "Put your gun down or I'll shoot."

Calder reared his head back and laughed maniacally. "I'm not afraid to die, sweetheart."

"You have five seconds before I discharge my weapon Mr. Calder," she warned. "5…"

"Do you want to know what's wrong with you Feds?" Calder asked.

"4…" Katie's voice didn't show the slightest bit of uncertainty.

"You think you're invincible," Calder grinned.

"3…"

"Your partner didn't even have his gun drawn," he said.

"2…"

"He deserves a little punishment for his arrogance," Calder pulled back the hammer on his gun.

"1…" Katie fired her Glock without hesitation, hitting Calder in the temple. He fell to the ground. Sheer terror flashed in her eyes for a second at the realization that she'd killed someone. She lowered her gun and stared at the space where the man had stood only seconds before. After some time of silence she holstered her pistol and asked him if he was alright…

Norman felt Blake's eyes on him. "What happened?" Blake asked after the prolonged silence.

He decided not to tell Blake the whole story. "I uh, I was careless in the pursuit of a suspect and as a result I was held at gunpoint without a weapon. She saved my life."

"Tough break," Blake said. "Hey look, I heard about what happened to your partner, I'm really sorry. Being a badge widower is never easy."

Norman looked at Blake, surprised at the comment.

Maybe this guy should get held at gunpoint more often… it makes him bearable

"Thanks Carter," he said.

Blake abruptly elbowed him and motioned to a man walking outside. "That's our man." They got out of the car and approached him. He was tall, muscular, and wore a red sweatshirt. "Mirsolav Korda?" Blake asked.

"Uh, yeah…" the guy looked guilty enough. The tattoos on his face suggested he'd had a run or two in prison.

"I'm Lieutenant Blake, this is Agent Jayden, we want to ask you a few questions."

Korda licked his lips and looked back and forth between the two. Norman took a step back, sensing that something was about to happen. At the FBI Academy in Quantico they teach cadets to always trust their instincts, and Norman was preparing for this guy to make a break for it.

"Alright," Korda shrugged and walked between the two, heading for the car.

He seems to be complying…

Suddenly, he threw his coffee in Blake's face, shoved Norman and ran off towards the market. "Ah, shit!" Blake yelled. "Don't just stand there, idiot! Don't let him get away!"

Norman took off after Korda narrowly dodging two cars and knocking over a guy carrying a few boxes. The pursuit ran him through the market. Norman dodged customers, employees and jumped over a few cash registers before he ended up in a meat locker. Korda was nowhere to be seen.

Where are you, you son of a bitch?

He drew his gun, wondering for a moment if he'd make the same mistake he did earlier. Would he kill another man today? Would this one deserve it? Korda had a pretty violent record, maybe Blake was right, kill or be killed…

He pushed through the carcasses hanging from the ceiling, he didn't hear anything, the locker was so impossibly silent that Norman's ears started to ring. He lowered his gun for a split second in defeat.

Damn it, he must've gotten away…

Before he could think about how cold he'd become skulking around in the freezer, he felt an explosion of pain in the back of his skull. The world flashed a bright white and then black, he dropped his gun and fell to the ground, feeling dizzy and disoriented. He turned to see Korda gripping a crowbar tightly in his hands. It came swooping towards him again and he grabbed it, holding it tight. His heart pounded in his ears as he struggled for the weapon. He kicked Korda forcefully in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Norman leapt to his feet, the pain in his skull made the world spin swiftly around him and he almost fell over. Korda came for him again and Norman couldn't react fast enough, the bar came crashing down on his right shoulder. He cried out in pain and managed to elbow Korda in the nose, a loud crack broke the air and he dropped the crowbar. Norman hastily picked it up and gripped it tightly. He hit Korda swiftly in the back of the head, and he fell to the ground. He wasn't unconscious, but he writhed in pain on the concrete floor.

Motherfucker…

Norman dropped the crowbar and breathed deeply. He reached up and touched the throbbing spot on the back of his head. His fingers met a warm liquid.

Blood, great

He rolled his right shoulder and rubbed the spot that had instantly burst into a black bruise, hoping to soothe it, but only caused more pain. A few seconds later Blake strolled into the meat locker. "Where the fuck were you?" Norman yelled.

"I was right behind you, kid," Blake said impatiently, laying some cuffs on Korda.

"I had your back today, Blake!" Norman snapped. "The least you could do is be in tow when I'm after a suspect, he nearly bashed my brains in!"

"Don't get your panties in a wad, Norman!" Blake yelled, any cordialness from earlier had since sloughed off. Blake grabbed Korda by the shoulders and yanked him up off the floor. "You're coming with us punk."

Korda's expression contorted and he spat in Blake's face. Norman prepared himself to witness another bout of police brutality. However, Blake just grinned, wiped the spit off his cheek, and then smeared his saliva covered fingers all over Korda's face. "Disgusting," Blake hissed. "Let's get this piece of trash back to the station Jayden."

Norman nodded, and picked up his gun off the ground. He holstered it and followed Blake back to the car. Once they were safely inside the vehicle Norman pulled a tissue out of his pocket and dabbed the back of his head gingerly.

"You should probably get checked out once we get back," Blake said, after seeing the blood soaked tissue.

Norman shook his head. "Nah, I'll be alright, it's just a small cut. You know, head wounds bleed more that wounds anywhere else on the body because there's more blood circulating up there."

"Whatever," Blake scoffed. He looked at Korda through the rearview mirror. "So Korda, how does it feel knowing you're going to be charged with assaulting a federal agent?"

"Fuck you," Korda muttered. Blake grinned and took his eyes off of the rearview mirror.

Questioning Korda was a nightmare. Apparently the only reason Blake had acted so level headed during the arrest was because he was planning to beat him senseless the second he was in an interrogation room. They sat Korda down in a chair, but didn't remove his handcuffs.

"So," Blake began. "Where were you last Wednesday around four thirty?"

"I was at work," Korda snapped.

"Where do you work?" Norman asked.

"The gas station on Gramercy," Korda replied.

"Does the name Jeremy Bowles mean anything to you?" Blake asked.

"Nope," Korda was emitting waves of arrogance that was beginning to get under Blake's skin.

"What about Johnny Winter?" Blake probed further.

"Johnny Winter?" Korda licked his lips. "That whore's son?"

"I beg your pardon?" Norman asked.

"Yeah, didn't you know? Lauren Winter is a fucking hooker, she lives in an apartment building a few blocks from here. Fifty bucks buys you ten minutes, boys," Korda said smugly.

"So you knew Johnny Winter?" Norman asked.

Korda shrugged. "He hung around sometimes, he seemed like a pretty good kid, you know, for being a whore's son."

"Why did you run from us?" Blake asked.

"Look, I did some time, I missed my last meeting with my parole officer," Korda said.

Norman nodded, this guy wasn't a serial killer. He was a sleazy no good scumbag, and a pathetic excuse for human life, but he wasn't a child killer. "Alright Mr. Korda," Norman began, but Blake put his hand up.

"You expect us to believe that?" he barked.

"C'mon Blake…" Norman sighed.

I've had enough of your sadistic shit today…

"The FBI doesn't come after you for violating parole, you were running for a different reason weren't you?" Blake got in Korda's face. "You get off on killing kids, Korda?"

Korda didn't say anything.

"Do you like watching them kick and scream and gasp for air while you drown them?" Blake growled.

Korda shot up out of his chair in disgust. "What the fuck man? That's sick! I don't wanna hear any of that shit!"

Blake turned to Norman. "Good actor," he said. "Where'd you study, Korda? Julliard?" He laughed, a real belly laugh. "Sit down."

The air in the interrogation room got heavy and tense. Norman wasn't sure who was more afraid of what was going to happen next, him, or Korda. Korda didn't make a move. "I didn't kill any kids, okay? Like I said, I did time, I robbed a few places, I messed a few guys up good, but I'd never kill any kids."

Blake stood up and slowly approached Korda, once he was an inch from his face he grinned. "Sit down," he commanded again.

"I didn't kill any kids," Korda insisted, no longer cocky or smug. A flash of fury ran over Blake's face and he grabbed Korda by the sweatshirt and slammed him down on the table, knocking his head hard against the surface.

"Blake!" Norman had acted before he had a chance to contemplate the consequences of jumping between Blake and his victim.

"Fuck off, Jayden!" Blake yelled. "This guy is a suspect, and should be treated like one."

"You can't beat a confession out of someone!" he yelled.

"Listen to your partner!" Korda spat angrily.

That was the wrong thing to say, Norman saw the anger written all over Blake's face. Blake pulled back his fist and started pounding it into Korda's face. Korda pulled up his handcuffed limbs, trying to protect himself. It seemed as though blood was flying everywhere, and the sickening sound of his skull violently smashing against the table over and over again made Norman's blood boil.

Oh for fuck's sake!

He braced himself and shoved Blake as hard as he could, hoping it would get him off of Korda long enough to talk some sense into him. Blake hit the wall behind him and stared at Norman in disbelief. "That's enough, Blake!" he yelled. Blake took a few steps forward and grabbed Norman's shirt.

"You don't call the shots around here, kid, this is my investigation!" Blake sneered.

"This is our investigation!" Norman yelled as he yanked out of Blake's grip. "And you can't beat up a handcuffed suspect just because you're pissed off at him! He's not a child killer, you don't have to be a profiler to see that!" Blake's black eyes burned into the young agent, maybe he was coming to the realization that he was neither intimidated by him nor afraid of him. "Enough is enough," Norman added.

Blake's eyes narrowed, he shoved Norman and stormed out of the room, slamming the door hard behind him. Norman let out a heavy breath he'd been holding the entire time and straightened his shirt. Korda had rolled off the table and onto the ground, he was curled up in a ball, there was a sizeable amount of blood around his head.

Norman crouched down. "Are you alright Mr. Korda?" he asked. Korda moved his hands and looked at him. His face was swollen and bruised already. "I'll get someone in here to help you," Norman said. He stood up and ventured out into the police station.

I hope Blake gets his ass tanned for pulling a stunt like that! Trying to beat a confession out of a suspect! What was he thinking?

Several hours later, Norman was in the safety of his hotel room. The windows were shut tight against the rain and the only light was the soft blue glow coming from behind his ARI glasses. He ran his fingers lovingly across the keys of the piano he saw in his virtual world. The room around him wasn't a hotel room at all, but a lounge, with rich, soft carpets and warm wooden paneled walls. He could even smell the subtle, lingering scent of cigarettes in the air. He pressed one of the ivory keys, gingerly, to see what sound it wanted to make. It was deep, low, and vibrated through his entire body.

Norman had always loved the piano. He used to play it well, too. Extremely well, actually. When he was about five, his mom took him to a music store in Boston when he'd asked about the pianos in the window. He was a natural, or so everyone said. Once he sat down at the keys things seemed to fall into place, he understood music, understood the melodies, everything went perfectly smoothly when he set his fingers on the delicate keys. Everyone treated him like he was special because of it. They all said that he was some kind of child protégé. When he was a kid he just thought it was silly that everyone doted on him the second he sat down at a piano.

After his mother died he stopped taking lessons, and stopped doing recitals. He didn't have the time, his dad was such a mess… and someone had to take care of Danny…

He pressed down on another key and listened to its sound. He took a deep breath and pressed a few more keys, until the baby grand was resonating a tune that sounded a lot like something Pachelbel would write, but it wasn't quite the same, it was darker, uglier… He could never be as good as he once was. He lifted his tired hands off the keys.

"Why'd you stop?" a raspy voice asked from somewhere above him. "I thought it was beautiful." Norman glanced up to see a slender form lying on top of the piano. She turned on her side, resting her head in her hand. Her yellow eyes glowed beneath her messy bangs, and the freckles on the bridge of her nose were exactly where he remembered. She wore a short, silky nightgown, and her smooth legs stemmed out in just the way he liked. She was so simple, so plain, why was she so beautiful?

He didn't answer, he just stared at her, afraid that she'd disappear if he blinked. Her eyes traveled to the half empty bottle of Vodka on the bench beside him. "Rough day?" she asked.

Norman felt his heart sink. "I killed a man today…" he said. "I shot him."

"I know," she said sadly. She reached out and brushed some hair off his forehead. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"No," was all he managed to push out.

"I killed a man once," she said softly. "Don't you remember?"

"Of course I do…" he trailed off. "But John Calder was a murderer, Katie, I shot an innocent man."

"He pulled a gun on your partner, you didn't have a choice," she said. Her face turned from thoughtful to concerned. "Speaking of partners," she pulled herself up into a sitting position and slid off the top of the piano and onto the bench beside Norman. "What's going on with this Blake guy?"

"I have no idea," he said, sighing heavily. "I think he's used to being able to do whatever he wants, he's like a spoiled child. He didn't so much as get a slap on the wrist for what he did to Korda today."

"Be careful, Norman," she said, very seriously. "Carter Blake is dangerous, he doesn't have your back at all. He could get you killed."

Norman rubbed his neck. He felt near tears. His head was throbbing, his shoulder ached, his nose was burning from the three doses of Triptocaine he'd taken since he got back to the hotel room, and he'd killed an innocent man. The only comforting thing was the soft sound of Katie's breath beside him. Was she real? She seemed real enough, but Katie was dead. The dead don't breathe…

"Promise me you'll tread lightly around Blake," she said.

"I promise," he answered.

"You've got to snap out of it Norman," she said quietly. "Shaun Mars will be dead in less than a week with the way the rain is coming down…"

"Shaun Mars?" he asked, looking at her very seriously. "The runaway?"

She sighed. "Shaun Mars isn't a runaway Norman, think about it, he's hasn't turned up after two days, and he disappeared in broad daylight. That's the Origami Killer's MO."

He carefully set his hands on her shoulders. "How would you know that?" he asked urgently.

She shrugged. "Don't they say that in death, all of life's questions are answered?"

He just stared at her, not entirely sure what to say.

"Don't let this kid slip through your fingers, Norman," she said. "I know you. You'll never be able to forgive yourself if you do." She ran her fingers through his hair. "You should go talk to his father, he knows more than you think."

"I don't have any evidence that proves the Origami Killer took Shaun Mars, Katie," he said despairingly.

"You don't?" she asked, sounding sly.

"No."

"I think you do."

"No, I don't, Katie."

"Trust me, Norman, you do," she grinned. "You just forgot to present it. You've always been terrible at public speaking…"

It was hard to keep my thoughts straights with that sadistic, psychopathic asshole jumping down my throat every few seconds…

There was a silence between them. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she stretched her neck from side to side. There's no way she couldn't be real. He could hear her breathing for god's sake! ARI has been known to conjure up some pretty powerful hallucinations, though…

He felt his throat get tight with tears as he stared at her sitting there on the bench beside him. They could have had so much together.

"I miss you, Katie," he said abruptly.

She turned towards him, very slowly, as if it hurt her to move. "I miss you, too, Norman," she said sadly. "It gets lonely here, sometimes."

He turned towards her and carefully reached out to caress her bare knee, wondering if he'd be able to touch her. His fingers met the warm skin of her leg. She moved closer to him, sliding one of her legs on top of his. He put his hand on her thigh. "I can't do this without you," he said.

"Yes you can," she said seriously. "You have to, I'm never coming back, Norman. It's all you now."

He swallowed hard and blinked back tears. He couldn't cry in front of Katie, he wanted her back so badly. He leaned forwards and set his forehead on hers.

"I just wasn't ready," he said, his voice cracking.

She put her hands on the back of his neck. "Neither was I…"

He couldn't fight it anymore, he felt his heart sink, and when he blinked, tears poured down his cheeks and he wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could. He felt her arms around him, too. He knew she had to be real, or he would let himself believe that until he was ready to let her go.

~Okay, so this chapter is about as twice as long as the ones I usually write, I just couldn't find a spot to split it in that felt right, I hope it wasn't too long and tedious to read! My next chapter will have some characters meeting (most likely Norman and Ethan... I can't promise though) I appreciate the comments I received on my last chapter, you guys are awesome! Thanks to everyone who read as well :) Feedback is appreciated as always!~