Elena struggled under Tom's weight. He was considerably large (from his muscles), and though she tried to hold his dropping arms and chest, she fell over too. She could feel the coldness spill over her. She didn't know what to do. Her purse smashed beside her, torn and worn. Its contents poured out – lipstick, phone, coupons.

The man, donned in a black fedora and black suit, approached her and Tom. The smoke still rising from his gun, he fired another shot a few inches from Elena's face. Blood splattered. She could feel it streaming and spraying across her face.

But the paralyzing fear kept her still. She couldn't move. Her heart had managed to disappear. Her throat was clogged by pockets of utter terror. The man moved on slowly and cautiously, walking away. Nobody had seen him or heard him. The street was deserted. The alleyway they were in was secluded.

Then she heard the man speak something. "It's done, sir. They're done." The conversation faded away as the distance between the man and her grew.

Finally, until she couldn't handle it any longer, she lunged for her cell phone and dialed the first person on her contact list – Drake. She didn't know why his number was still there, but it was. She needed him. Only him.

Each time the cellphone rang near her ears, it felt like an eternity had passed. The terror was enveloping her, consuming her like a firestorm, until–

"Elena?"

"Nate."

He immediately noticed the immeasurable pain indicated in her shaky, soft voice.

"Elena, what's wrong? Where the hell are you–"

"Nate." She couldn't stop her tears. "He's dead." She turned to her right and saw only blood splattered everywhere. Even if she had been in Satan's presence herself she could not have felt more sorrow or pain.

"Who's dead? What's going on? Jesus, Elena, where are you?" Drake was panicking. He could not let anything happen to her. Not again.

She started to cry. He could hear her. Each time she heard her, it was as if a knife sliced through his own heart. He couldn't bear it.

"I dunno. I don't know. I don't–"

Drake hung up. He ran down the hallway, expertly dodging wheelchairs and doctors, and entered an elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor exactly forty two times.

After waiting an entire eon, he jumped out and barged through the glass doors. Using his smartphone's Find Your Friends application, he traced Elena's location quite quickly. (Months on the West Coast had made him tech savvy).

"Jazz club? An alley behind the jazz club? What the hell were they doin'?" Drake asked himself.

He dashed into a yellow taxicab and had the driver floor it.

Drake shoved some cash into the driver's hands and jumped out of the cab. He cautiously walked near the club, which was closed. He turned to his right and found a side alleyway. It was ominous. He walked in wearily. He couldn't find anything, until–

"Nate!"

He could hear Elena's desperate plea. He turned immediately and saw the most horrid thing he'd ever seen. Tom's bloodied corpse lying over hers. Instantly, the horrible memories of Elena's wound in Shambhala flooded his mind. He rushed over to her.

Drake gently touched her cheek. "Elena, baby, everything's gonna be fine–" He thought she was shot. He touched her closely. Drake heaved Tom's body off her. The blood was everywhere.

Noticing that she wasn't shot, he was relieved. His heart returned to its place. He picked her up, and with her shoulder around his neck, he walked forward slowly, trudging along.

Elena was quiet. They had walked almost three blocks until Drake heard her say something.

"Nate," she cried quietly. She stopped. And started to cry. She dug her face into Drake's chest, and wrapped her fragile, white arms around him in solemn desperation. Drake, for a moment, didn't know what to do–

"Hug me back, you idiot," she said, tears flowing down her beautiful eyes. Drake took his arms and held them tightly around her.

In spite of Elena's crying, it was the first time they had embraced – or had any emotional connection, for that matter – in a very long time. Drake's eyes became watery, too.

He had almost lost her.

They stood there, on the sidewalk of the dark Boston street, for a very long time.