I hate college. That is all.

oOo

Chapter 10:

"I want to say somewhere: I've tried to be forgiving. And yet. There were times in my life, whole years, when anger got the better of me. Ugliness turned me inside out. There was a certain satisfaction in bitterness. I courted it. It was standing outside and I invited it in." - Nicole Krauss

"When I said the words, 'I'll see you soon,' that wasn't supposed to be translated into 'I'll see you tomorrow.'"

The night before had taken its toll on me as so many had before. Morning came much too soon, along with it a big day for the boys. It didn't take much to get Luke out of bed after he had such a good night's sleep – in fact, he was already awake and playing with his toys by the time I went to get him ready for the day. Isaac, on the other hand, being the stubborn teenager that he was, was a completely different story.

"Aiden, I swear to God you need to get your ass up and out of that bed in the next ten minutes or we're going to be late!" I called up the stairs from the living room. "Your uncle is a lazy bum," I told Luke while the young boy finished his breakfast at the kitchen table. "If he doesn't get up and get dressed in the next five minutes, I'll make him walk to school."

Luke giggled, shoving another spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

When no noise came from upstairs, I let out a frustrated huff and stomped up the stairs. "I'm going to kill him. I'm officially going to kill him. There is going to be a bloody homicide in this household in the next few minutes if you don't," I slammed open his bedroom door, "get your lazy ass out of bed!"

A mumbled response came from the lump under the piles of blankets.

"I told you that if you stayed up all night then you wouldn't want to get up today. If you don't get up now, I'm going to the bathroom and coming back with a bucket of cold water to pour over you."

"Yeah, right," came his muffled voice.

I raised an eyebrow.

Less than two minutes later, splash echoed through the house, followed by a loud, high-pitched shriek.

The ride to both of the schools didn't take as long as I expected, but I spent over an hour and a half with the Assistant Principals of each school to make sure that Luke and Isaac's – or rather, Thomas and Aiden's – information had gotten to the schools. Not an hour after I arrived home, having every intention of pulling weeds in the garden around the house, a familiar truck was pulling up in the driveway.

Paul had laughed at the expression on my face as he climbed out of his truck. "You said you wanted me to fix the pipes and that's what I'm here to do. I couldn't let you down, could I?"

"No, I guess not," I conceded, nodding in the direction of the house while my hands continued their task of pulling a rather stubborn weed. "Door's open and you know where the kitchen is; have at it."

He gave me a salute. "Aye, aye, Captain."

For a good forty-five minutes I worked in near silence, listening to the wind rustle the leaves of the trees and lightly humming to myself. Despite the fact that I barely received any sleep the night before, I was in an oddly chipper mood. I didn't bother to question it because good moods were few and far between these days; instead I rolled with it, determined that nothing could bring me down.

When the garden looked halfway decent and my back had started to cramp, I stood, stretched, and surveyed my work, making a mental note to get some flowers to add a little color to the area. As I walked away, the grass crunched under my feet and the boards of the porch creaked under my weight.

Paul was flat on his back in the kitchen, long legs stretched out across the tile floor while half of his torso was hidden under the sink. I heard the tinkling of metal clanging against metal, and hoped that he was actually getting things done and that I wouldn't have to replace the pipes again in a few weeks' time. "Almost done?" I asked, heading to the fridge for a bottle of water.

"Nearly," he confirmed. "Just one more pipe to replace and then you should be good. If there are any problems, let me know, but it should work perfectly now."

"Oh, trust me, you'll be the first person I inform."

I could see him eyeing me from under the sink, gaze narrowed in my direction. Eventually he went back to working on the pipes, casually saying, "So you never told me if you liked the legends last night since we left right after they finished."

I chugged a bit of the water before taking a seat at the table, pulling my legs under me as I watched him work. The little plastic lid rolled across the table as I pushed it around with my fingers. "They were interesting; not what I expected. When you said that the Quileute people descended from werewolves, I didn't think you meant that legend says they actually had the ability to change into wolves. I know that the boys enjoyed it, too, even though Thomas fell asleep halfway."

"Claire fell asleep, too," he said. "There's something about the fire and the story and the generally calm atmosphere that just really relaxes you."

"It was nice," I conceded. "It was a bit cold, but that's really to be expected at the beach in the middle of the afternoon in Washington."

"Would be cool, though, don't you think?" he stated casually, pulling himself from under the sink. "To be able to do something like that – change into an animal at will."

I shrugged, taking another sip of my water. "Must be a terrible privilege to have that much power, but I don't know if I'd want it for myself. Besides, I don't know if that was my favorite part."

"Oh?"

"I liked the part about the Third Wife," I replied, shrugging one shoulder. "It was as accurate as it could be because women are always the people that get shit done. It's been the way forever and the human race physically couldn't survive without us."

Paul rolled his eyes but looked the slightest bit disappointed. "Of course that would be the part you hook onto. Honestly, I don't know what I expected, considering I'm talking to Man-Hater of the Year."

"You asked," I pointed out cheerfully, stretching my legs out under the table and gesturing my bottle in his direction. "And you're the one who wanted to be friends with me, so really, you have no one to blame but yourself. If you can't handle the feminist propaganda then don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."

"The blatant feminism is part of your charm," he replied sarcastically, tossing his tools back into his toolbox. "I get the whole 'women want equal rights to men' thing, but you've taken it a bit far, don't you think? There's a difference between feminism and misandry, and you're toeing the line pretty heavily."

"Look, I've been put down and shoved aside by men because of my gender ever since I was fourteen," I said. "Either I fight back against the patriarchy or get trampled into the ground."

He took the seat across from me, shaking his head. "That's an absolutely terrible attitude to have."

"Says you. It's gotten me pretty far in life." Before I could stop myself I blurted out, "People actually used to call me the Ice Queen because of my attitude."

He studied me carefully and I felt my cheeks heat. "It fits you." There was a pause. "But I get it. Really, I do. It's not your fault that your circumstances gave you a negative view of the world."

"No, it's not my fault," I agreed slowly, suddenly overcome with the urge to just blurt out all of my feelings and secrets. His expression was so open that I felt as though I could tell him everything at that moment. "But it doesn't change the fact that it happened. I'm… too far gone to go back to having any semblance of normality." I paused, clenching my jaw. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Maybe you need to talk it through with someone," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Someone who won't judge you; someone who's been where you are and understands how you feel."

I smiled bitterly. "And I suppose by someone, you mean yourself?"

"I mean anyone you feel comfortable with," he shot back without missing a beat. "Sure, I'd like it if you'd open up a bit because I'm really trying to figure you out, but if you don't feel like you can talk to me," he frowned, "then someone else."

"Have you talked about it?" I asked immediately, referring to whatever it was that he was hiding from me. "Have you talked it – whatever it is that made you the way you are - out with someone?"

He was silent for only half of a moment, awkwardly clearing his throat. "It's a small reservation; most people think they know the whole story, but they don't. My friends know, though," he added thoughtfully. "It's hard to keep important information from people you see every day."

Paul's words were bullshit and we both knew it. Whatever he was hiding was serious – or maybe it wasn't even one thing; maybe it was a multitude of different fuck ups in his life. Who knew? He slept around, so maybe he had some illegitimate kids running around somewhere. He wouldn't be the only one, since we both knew that I had one of my own.

"Funny," I deadpanned. "You don't exactly seem like the type to want to talk about feelings."

"I'm not, but –"

"But you want me to tell you about my life and my secrets?" I tsked, pushing away from the table. "A hypocrite if I ever saw one."

Paul watched me walk around the kitchen, a flash of something dangerous visible for only seconds behind his eyes. "Do you always do that when people talk to you? If the conversation gets on something you don't like, you insult them and change the subject as fast as possible? That's a shitty defense mechanism."

I opened my mouth to give back what would have surely been a snappy retort, but never got the chance. From the back of my jeans came the sound of heavy vibrations and lilting musical notes, startling me and nearly making me drop my bottle of water on the floor. Frowning, I dug my phone out of my pocket and held it up to my ear. "Hello?"

"Are you alone?"

The sound of the familiar voice made me freeze in place. I glanced at Paul; he merely raised an expectant eyebrow at me.

"No, I'm not," I answered calmly, trying to keep the suspicion out of my tone. "Why?"

"Are the kids with you?"

"No. Is everything alright?" I stated, eyes flickering to Paul and down to my shoes. He waited patiently, definitely too far away to hear the conversation.

"Get to where you can't be heard," she shot back immediately. "We need to talk. Now."

"Okay, just hold on for a second, Mr. Tombly," I pulled the phone away from my ear and covered the mouthpiece with my hand. "The files for Aiden are in my room, so I'll just go and get those. Sorry, it's the Principal for the High School," I told Paul, heading through the hallway and toward my bedroom. "He says I forgot to give one of the files."

He eyed me, something in his expression saying that he didn't entirely believe me. "Take your time."

I closed my bedroom door behind me and leaned against the wall, rolling back my shoulders in anticipation. "I'm alone. Tell me what happened."

"We have a huge problem," Mona immediately replied, her tone grim. "I sent you some information through your email that you need to look through as soon as possible. We've finally confirmed that De Palma is going after everyone that was involved in the trial."

"Who died?" I questioned her immediately, squeezing the bridge of my nose to stave off a headache.

"Damien O'Connell," she answered grimly. "His wife found him this morning, face down in their living room; bullet wound to the temple. At first she thought he had committed suicide, but then she saw the note that they had nailed to the wall."

A warning tingled in the back of my mind. Damien O'Connell, De Palma's lawyer? I had gone against Damien in several cases over the years and considered him nothing more than an annoying pest. The fact that he was gone forever shouldn't have struck a chord with me, but it did. My legs felt weak, so I sat myself on the edge of the bed. A note? That seemed random and out of place, too risky for someone as smart as De Palma. The thought of a note sent a chill up my spine, and I swallowed nervously.

"What did the note say? Did he sign it? Are we sure it's from him?"

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Jesus Christ, Mona," I snapped. "You called me for this and now you aren't even going to tell me what it says?"

"Because I know you're going to freak out," she shot back. "If I tell you, you can't panic, okay? Remember, he has absolutely no idea where you are right now and he won't find out where you are if you keep a low profile."

"What did the note say?"

There was the sound of shuffling over the line, as though Monique was sorting through a stack of papers. "He said…" she hesitated, then started her sentence over. "The only thing that was written on the paper was 'I know she's still alive; I'll never stop looking for her.'"

I tensed, my body going ramrod straight. The world dimmed around me and Mona's voice came through the phone muffled, as though I was hearing it through a tunnel.

"Audrey, are you still there? Hello, Audrey? Please say something. Damn it, I knew I shouldn't have told you this, but I though that you deserved to know –"

"When did this happen?" I asked blankly, my voice betraying no emotions whatsoever. "Who else knows?"

"About two days ago. The only people that know are the people working the case, O'Connell's wife, and the officer's working the scene; but even fewer know who the 'she' is. Everyone has their suspicions but there aren't that many possibilities as to who it could be, and my first thought was –"

"That it was me," I finished. I buried my face in my hands and took in a deep breath. "Mona, I swear to God –"

"Calm down," she commanded. "Remember what I said: you're safe."

"I don't care about me!" I yelled. Then, remembering that I had company only a few rooms away, I lowered my voice. "I care about the boys. What's going to happen to them?"

"You're all safe!" she exclaimed in a way that was little more than an annoyance. "All three of you are safe as long as you follow my instructions and blend in; have you been blending in?"

I thought about Emily, the bonfire, and the relentlessly persistent man currently taking up space in my kitchen. "Yes, of course we are."

"Good." A pause. "That's all I really needed to tell you; I sent you the details in an email, along with links to a few news articles that I think you'll want to see since I know you've been avoiding the news like the plague," she said, tone turning business-like. "I just didn't want you to have to hear the big news through a computer screen; thought it might be easier hearing it come from a friend."

"Nothing about this is easy." My voice cracked on the last word and I clamped my mouth shut, rubbing angrily at my eyes. I cleared my throat and sniffed, angry at the world and life and fate and anyone who had anything to do with putting me where I am today. This was hell in living form – having to spend every day wondering if it's going to be your last, always looking over your shoulder and worrying if tomorrow will ever come.

"I know," came Mona's soft reply. "I'm so sorry."

A few more pleasantries were exchanged between the two of us, but soon I had ended the call and tossed the phone onto my bed. I gave myself five minutes of silence, eyes squeezed tight and my head buried in my hands before I forced myself to stand. I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and my face dropped at the distraught expression that I bore. My eyes were puffy and rimmed with red circles, drooping slightly in my sudden despair. I shook my head and rubbed at them with my sleeve, realizing that there wasn't much that I could do to change them now.

Paul wasn't sitting in the kitchen when I came back; instead, he had made his way into the living room and was studying two pictures sitting on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. The first was taken when Luke was a year old and had just learned to walk. The image showed a widely grinning Luke who was in the process of toddling on his shaky chubby legs toward a laughing Isaac, who had only been twelve at the time. The second was the image I had found within the stacks of files in my room, the day Luke was born.

"The day Thomas was born and the first time he walked," I mumbled. Paul didn't move as I spoke, staring down at the pictures as I stared at him. "I was home that day and managed to catch it on camera; after that, it wasn't much of teaching him how to walk as it was getting him to slow down and stop bumping into things. I lost count of the lamps or mugs that he's bumped into and broken over the years."

But Paul's gaze wasn't focused on that picture anymore. "This is the only picture of you that I've seen in the entire house." The question behind his statement was unspoken, but it permeated through the air.

I shrugged and approached him, leaning against the back of the couch as he moved onto another photo - this one had only been taken last year, when Luke's former school had given his class a 'graduation' for successfully completing kindergarten. He waved at the camera, clad in a tiny, dark blue graduation gown and hat. "I don't like having photos of myself taken. Pictures are supposed to help you remember happy memories – my happiest memories are of my boys, so those are the pictures that I keep. Besides, I'm usually the one taking the pictures instead of modeling in front of the camera."

Finally he glanced over, and did a double take. His gaze narrowed suspiciously at my red eyes and puffy cheeks. "Katherine, are you okay?"

"Everything is completely fine," I said simply. And it wasn't exactly a lie; for Katherine Montgomery everything was okay, but Paul didn't know about Audrey Perdue and the panic she was facing at that moment – and he never would. "Absolutely, perfectly fine."

"Are you sure?" he pressed. "You look like you were –"

"You ask a lot of nosy questions that really aren't any of your business," I interrupted, effectively cutting him off. "I'm fine; everything is fine."

"If it wasn't, would you tell me?"

My mouth fell open and shut at the unexpected question. I studied him carefully, and it was at that moment that I realized what, exactly, our stare-down was: a battle of wills, him daring me to be honest because we both knew the true answer to that question. "No," I found myself replying softly, looking away from his stern gaze. "No, I wouldn't."

He didn't say a word.

"Does that bother you?" I asked curiously, before he even had a chance to speak. "Does it bother you that I wouldn't tell you if something was wrong?"

"More than it should," he admitted. "Why? Is there something wrong?"

"No," I answered immediately.

"You're lying."

I didn't bother to correct him. Instead, I changed the subject. "I think you need to go. I have a lot of work I need to finish here, then I have to go grocery shopping and get ready to pick up the boys."

I expected him to argue, but to my surprise he merely nodded. "I actually have to work in a few hours, so you're right; I should get going."

"Wow," I said before I could stop myself, following him over to the door. "Do I actually not have to have you forcibly removed from the premises?"

He gave me a sour look. "You aren't funny."

I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms over his chest while he stood on the porch. The muscles in his arms vibrated as he moved, flexing his fingers. "So where do you work?"

The corners of his lips twitched upward. "I work for the council doing things around the rez."

"Sounds interesting."

Paul shrugged. "It pays the bills, and it has its benefits."

"Oh? What kind of benefits?"

"Guess you'll just have to stick around and find out." He retreated off of the porch and headed over to his truck, giving a wave of his hand in farewell.

I shook my head as I watched him leave, only waiting until his truck had rolled out of the driveway before I shut the door.

Playtime was over for the day. Now, I had work to do.

Immediately making my way over to my laptop, I typed in my password, pulled up the Internet browser, and logged into my email account. There were several pieces of junk mail that I quickly deleted, before I clicked on the message from Monique's fake account. The message was titled, 'You NEED to see this immediately.'

The inside of the message was blank, but there were three attachments. The first two were pictures taken directly from the crime scene – one of the hastily scribbled and unsigned note – I'll never stop looking for her; I know she's still alive - and the other of Damien O'Connell facedown on his kitchen floor, a splatter of dark liquid seeping around his body. At the sight of the gruesome image, I winced and continued onto the next link – a news article from The Washington Post dated yesterday.

'Highly acclaimed lawyer Damien O'Connell, well known for being the defense attorney of suspected convict and recent runaway Frankie De Palma, was found dead in his home in Kent yesterday. His wife, who was the first to discover Mr. O'Connell, was escorted from the premises in protective custody, and sources say that she was on the verge of hysteria.

As the first responders and police commissioner refused to comment on the case, an inside source has managed to let it slip that Mr. O'Connell died from a bullet wound in his right temple. Whether or not this case is connected to other murders in the area is unknown, though there is much suspicion that Mr. O'Connell has merely become a victim of his previous defendant's anger just like his colleague – the esteemed Miss Audrey Perdue.

For those who don't know, Miss Perdue was the attorney in charge of putting Mr. De Palma in prison before his escape. She – and her teenage brother (17) and young son (6) – passed away several weeks after his escape in a fire that destroyed the entirety of their D.C. apartment. The cause of the explosion is said to have been a faulty generator, but there is suspicion of foul play. The police have also refused to comment on this case.

Services for the deceased will take place in Rose Hill Cemetery in two weeks' time.'

I shoved my computer shut without finishing the article and not bothering to close out the browser. I'll never stop looking for her; I know she's still alive. Rubbing angrily at my already itchy eyes, I pushed myself back from the table and gathered up my keys to head to the store, bracing myself for the rest of the day.

After all, there was no use in crying over something that I couldn't control.

oOo

A light rain was falling from the sky when I went to pick up Luke and Isaac from school.

"So how was it?" I asked eagerly. "Did you both make any new friends, did you enjoy the classes?"

"Most of the stuff we learned today were things I learned back at Lakewood Prep," Isaac replied. "So there were a few times that I almost fell asleep, but the good news is that I already knew most of the material. And I made a few friends, but not many because everyone looked at me like I was an alien."

"They don't get new students very often, so they were all probably really interested in you," I suggested. "I'm sure it'll pass sooner or later when something more interesting comes along; then the attention will be completely gone from you. What about you, Thomas? Did you make any new friends?"

"Yeah, mommy!" he exclaimed, poking his head forward in between the two seats. "I made lots of new friends and everyone was really nice. Miss Williams said that we're going to start going over our math stuff tomorrow."

"That's good," I replied. "Why don't we order pizza tonight to celebrate your first day? And I bought some ice cream when I went grocery shopping today, so we can have ice cream for dessert."

Luke's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. "Ice cream?"

"Yeah, hon," I reassured him cheerfully, pulling off the highway and down our driveway. "Ice cream."

Isaac gave me a strange look, as though he could tell what I was thinking. "We never have dessert and you're in an awfully cheerful mood," he stated casually, though his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did anything interesting happen to you while we were gone today? Anything that I should know about?"

Damn. I was too naïve to think that he wouldn't notice how tense I was at that moment; he was much more intelligent than I gave him credit for. When I was sure that Luke wasn't paying attention, I muttered, "Paul came over today and fixed the kitchen sink. We were talking and I received a phone call from Mona in the middle of our conversation."

Isaac's eyes shot up to his hairline. "Paul was at our house with you? By yourself?"

As I put the car in park, I turned my entire body to face him. "Seriously? Out of that whole statement, the one thing that pops out at you is the fact that Paul was over at our house?"

"Well, I'm kind of shocked," he said slowly, looking at me as though I were some foreign creature that had replaced his sensible sister. "Whenever you had to be alone with a guy that's, you know, five times your size, you usually freak out and go ballistic."

"The fact that Paul was over at our house doesn't matter!" I spluttered. "Forget I even said anything," I scowled, shoving open the door and hopping down onto the hard gravel. "Just forget I opened my mouth – I try to tell you something completely serious and you miss the point entirely."

"Wait a second!" he called out, chasing after me when I walked hand in hand with Luke toward the house. "Hold on, what did Mona say when she called? Do they have any leads? Are we going to be able to head home anytime soon?"

Home; did any of us even know what that was anymore? I felt guilty suddenly, at the innocent eagerness that was encompassing Isaac's expression, because I knew the truth. Even if De Palma was caught and imprisoned for good, we would never be able to stop running. If he weren't the one hunting us, it would be someone in his family – whoever helped him plan this escape attempt in the first place.

There would never be any peace, never going back to where we had come from before. This was going to encompass the rest of our existence.

I ruffled Luke's hair. "Sweetie, why don't you go play in your room for a while so that your uncle and I can talk."

"Okay, mommy."

I watched him as he ran off toward the stairs, oblivious to the danger that lay around him. "I know I really shouldn't be telling you this because I don't want to scare you, but you're old enough to know the truth. De Palma killed someone else."

Isaac tossed his schoolbag on the kitchen table, collapsing in one of the chairs. His expectant expression sunk, and in that moment, it seemed as though he had aged forty years. "Anyone we know?"

"Damien O'Connell."

His nose scrunched. "His defense attorney? That guy you always complained about whenever you had a big case?"

"The one and only," I said, collapsing in the seat across from him. "I won't give you the details, but his wife found him in their kitchen a few days ago."

"Why would he kill the guy who tried to defend him?" he asked, confused. "That doesn't make any sense whatsoever. Mr. O'Connell tried to get him out of prison; why would he go after him?"

I shrugged, reaching out to pat his hand in a comforting gesture. "Maybe because he failed to get the charges dismissed? We'll never be able to understand what goes on in the minds of those people."

"But we're safe, right? We don't have anything to worry about. Everyone else thinks that we're…"

Dead.

"Yeah," I said, not sounding as reassured as I would have hoped. "We're all completely safe here."

oOo

Thank you again for all the wonderful reviews! Keep them coming - also, let me know some things you would like to see happen in the future!

IMPORTANT: As of now, Paul does not know anything that's going on with Audrey. He's suspicious - as we all are - but he doesn't know the basic details. No, that will come around... maybe four more chapters or so? That's basically when all hell breaks loose for Audrey and Paul when he (and Sam and Jared) overhear some rather... pertinent information.

Next Time: a notice from the Illinois State Penitentiary, reminiscing about pregnancy blues, a half-hearted invitation to the zoo, and a playful death threat to a family member.