Chapter 10:

Disclaimer: I do not own any character but Vivian! She is the only one who belongs to me.

Emerson Hauser was back at the Alcatraz replica. He sat in an interview room with an inmate across from him. Ernest Cobb. His hands, cuffed, are placed on the glowing white squares of the table. He is staring at his hands, while Hauser is staring at him.

"What do you remember about her? Did she tell you anything?"

"Who?" Cobb asked.

Hauser sighed.

"I know you know who I am talking about. Vivian-Antoinette Blanch. Number 2067. Now stop trying to evade the questions. You're being difficult."

Cobb was silent.

"Come on. Answer the question."

"I don't remember anything."

Hauser rolled his eyes.

"You don't remember or you don't want to remember?"

Cobb went silent again.

"I don't remember anything."

"That's a lie. You were practically the only one she talked to. You have to know something."

"Well, she would always sort her food into different sections on her plate."

Hauser sighed again.

"I guess that's somewhat of a start. Anything else?"

"She killed another inmate."

Hauser sighed yet again.

"We know that. But the answers I am looking for are more about personality than what kinds of things she did while in prison. Did she tell you why she killed him?"

"Wasn't it pretty obvious?"

"I will be the one asking the questions, thank you." Hauser snapped. "Just tell me why."

"She didn't like anyone to say anything about certain subjects."

"Like what." Hauser said flatly. "What kind of subjects did she not like people talking about."

"I don't know."

"Oh come on."

"I don't want to talk about her. Please."

"Just try and tell me something else about her. Just try." Hauser was clearly getting aggravated, as the conversation was getting him nowhere.

"Vivian . . . she always wore that damn hourglass around her neck. She would just sit there, her mouth slightly parted . . . and . . . just turn it over and over. She would be so engrossed it that she wouldn't notice anything else."

"See? It's not that hard is it. Why did she do that, turning it over and over?"

"I don't know."

"I know you know"

"No. I don't."

"She talked to you all the time! What did she tell you? Anything?" This was going in circles, and so far no useful information had been told – except for the part about the hourglass. That was somewhat useful. But not very, it seemed.

"That doesn't mean that I listened! I just tuned her out! I didn't want anyone talking to me, let alone her."

"What did she do to you that made you so . . . upset?" He asked in an escalating tone as he raised his hand from its position on the table, now propped on his elbow. Cobb then glanced up at him for a couple of seconds, and then looked back at his hands.

"I really don't like to revisit it."

"Oh. That's right!" He said, chuckling. "I remember now. She really freaked you out didn't she? But you got your revenge. Why are you still mad?"

"She had no right to . . . just. I don't know."

"Well when we catch her, you can work things out. Thanks for no help." Hauser said. He slammed Vivian's file open, with her picture facing Cobb before leaving the room in a huff. Cobb leaned farther back in his chair and stared at the picture for a bit, until he could no longer bear to have her looking at him. Then he turned away.