Derek Chancer lay in his bed, tossing and turning. It was unlike him not to be asleep. He was +normally a heavy sleeper and an unapologetic snorer. It normally didn't matter because he slept alone. He never allowed any of the women he fucked to sleep the rest of the night with him and they usually ended up dead before sunrise as it was. They spent their last night alive locked in his basement tied to what he liked to call his operating table. He smirked to himself at that thought, then sighed. All he wanted was to get out of this nut house, Insane asylum, pick your phrase. But so far things were not working out his way. Not only was he locked in here with no chance of getting out any time soon as he was still deemed a danger to the female public, but now someone had hired his once friend Mark Sarcozi to come in and talk him in to some sort of crazy job for a damn rich guy.

Chancer stood up and walked to the bars. He could hardly see anything; it was pitch black and the small light in his cell set high in the ceiling only illuminated his bed. He couldn't see Danielle's cell at all from where he was. Maybe that was why she had moved, he thought with a brief flash of amusement. Because I snore.

This was crazy. Certainly more insane than the people he was currently occupying this hell hole with. Michael Myers was just across the way and was constantly protecting and watching the woman he'd been asked to eves drop on. It was suicide! Yet… Although Sarcozi hadn't specified an exact payment amount, Chancer guessed it would have to be pretty huge for an operation like this. Too bad he wasn't allowed to kill Danielle at the end of it. Myers aside, the biggest block on that plan, it also apparently was the last thing their Client wanted. He probably wants to fuck her when she gets out, he thought with a grin.

Chancer knew of Chris Leach, although he'd never met him. He knew how many people he had working for him in his criminal organisation, they weren't small that was for sure. So how had Sarcozi wound up there? Maybe he'd met someone while in prison for drugs. Chancer grinned to himself. Sarcozi really was an idiot. If you were going to get yourself arrested, there were way better and more fun ways to do it, not to mention more creative.

He walked slowly back to his bed, lying back down. He sighed softly again. What he wouldn't give for a kill. Just one, right now. He could feel the craving for it running through his very veins. He let out a long breath. On that at least, he and Myers were united. But Myers didn't care who he killed and was silent and without remorse just as he was when on the kill, but Chancer suspected Myers also had some kind of supernatural abilities. How else did he know where people were and could sneak up on them the way he did? Chancer envied that. What he wouldn't give to do that. The amount of women he could rape and kill…

He forced his mind back to here and now, the matter in hand. Sarcozi, Leach and their crazy job. Could he do it? Even if this eves dropping device was good, state of the art even, was he brave enough to risk it? He'd meant what he'd said to Sarcozi. If Myers cottoned on to this, he was done. No arguments. He didn't fancy dying just yet, there were more women to kill for one thing.

It was past eight in the morning by the time Joanne reached her house. She'd got off on time, but there had been an issue with the gates, the security staff being late on for the early shift. Joanne cursed. Why did they have to be so damn inconsiderate? She was tired, as she knew the other night staff were.

When she finally reached home she entered, making herself a hot strong coffee. Slumping in to her leather armchair, she sighed. She knew she wasn't supposed to take work home with her, but Danielle Hayward had become much more to her than just a patient. She genuinely liked and cared for the woman, who obviously trusted her. She'd stood right next to her in that court room while the man who'd abused her for years was released without a scratch. How was that fair? Not only that, but the man had then called her later that same night. Talk about selfish, heartless and cruel! She recalled her thoughts when she'd thought she'd help Michael get to and kill him. No denying it, she still meant that. Every word. She wanted to help Danielle even after she left Smith's Grove, but wasn't sure how she'd do it.

It was then the sympathy crashed over her again and she felt the tears start to slide down her cheeks. Little things did it. Like how Danielle loved the sound of whistling, or touching someone's ears. Or how she obviously trusted a masked serial killer with her life. Irony! How Myers seemed desperate to protect her and seemed to genuinely care about her. Joanne had grown very fond of Danielle in the time she'd worked as her guard, which she hadn't planned to do but didn't regret it. Danielle Hayward was as kind as according to her file people had always said she was. Of course she'd been bitter when she first arrived. She'd been saved from killing herself after Adam had done everything he had and now she was in a mental hospital, clearly and unsurprisingly thinking people thought she was insane. But Joanne was glad she'd managed to slowly but surely crack Danielle's hard shell and get to the real woman beneath it. She reached for a box of tissues and wiped her eyes. She would not stop protecting Danielle even after her release. No way. She would do whatever she could to help her. She was determined on that. Whatever it took. Even if…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock, then the gentle arms closing around her, pulling her close. It was Rick. Gently, he wiped her eyes on his soft shirt. "Hey babe," he soothed. "What's wrong?" He sat on the sofa and pulled her on to his lap. Joanne hugged him tighter. God she loved this man. Without fail, he came in to check on her at the end of every shift and after a night shift stayed to hold her while she slept. She wasn't ever letting him go. She'd found "the one" as she'd heard people say and before had rolled her eyes, but not anymore. Now she totally understood the meaning of the old, way overused expression.

"Nothing," she said quietly as Rick lent in to kiss her. Their lips connected and it was a long, lingering kiss. "Just everything with Danielle," Joanne said as they broke the kiss, but still held each other tightly. "That pour woman's been through so much and it breaks my heart. Not to mention I've had the displeasure of meeting Adam face to face and he really is a slimy little worm! He's horrible, Rick. I want to help Danielle even after she's released but I'm not sure how I can do that."

"That's just one of many reasons why I love you," Rick murmured, kissing her again. "You're kind, caring and utterly selfless, Joanne Turner."

She blushed, but couldn't help a small smile. "Oh shut up."

Rick sighed dramatically. "Can't a man even pay his woman a compliment anymore?"

Joanne laughed, she couldn't help it, hugging him close. "I love you too Rick." She said softly.

"He's agreed to do it," Mark said as he and Chris sat once again in their usual pub. They were drinking lagers, disguised in coke glasses. Mark wasn't sure if their being served alcohol at ten in the morning meant the Landlord didn't care about licence laws, or he was privately as terrified of Leach as he was. Mark secretly suspected the latter.

"Excellent," Leach said, rubbing his hands together in a highly self-satisfied way as he once again lounged back in his seat, his feet up on the old pub table. Mark recognised the casual, arrogant words said by this action alone. I'm untouchable, it said. I'm Chris Leach. I'm invincible. Mark privately hoped one day someone would prove him wrong. Someone like Michael Myers, perhaps? They were of course the only ones there apart from the Landlord and he appeared to have hidden in the back room. Mark didn't blame him. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him and all that.

What the hell am I doing here? He thought again. This could be suicide! How did I get pulled in to this? All because I know Chancer? I hardly know Leach! How did he get my number anyway? Probably some criminal passed it to him. How the fuck do these guys do that? Had they spoken to Chancer before contacting him who'd given them his name? But no that wasn't possible. Was it? How had a childhood friendship with a man who'd gone on to kill and rape countless women and who Mark had severed ties with for precisely that reason led to this moment? How was he now sitting here in this vile pub, talking to a top criminal about surveillance work? At least, he consoled himself. Chancer was the one near Michael Myers, not him. Once he gave over whatever Leach gave him, his part was done. He'd never have to see either of them again and that was just fine with him.

Leach reached across the table and handed him a small leather case. It contained what looked like an iPod but with Leach you never knew for sure, headphones and the charger, which looked just like any other.

"Then take this in for him," Leach said. "You've given him the brief I take it?"

Again, Mark had to resist the urge to punch him. Leach clearly thought he was stupid or incompetent. "Yes," he nodded.

"Good man. Tell him all his instructions are on said iPod and to gain access he needs a password. So tell him as he's a chancer," he smirked. "He'll have to play the game to get rich."

Mark stared at him; not sure he'd heard correctly. "Eh?"

"He'll have to play the game to get rich," Leach repeated slowly, again making Mark want to hit him. "You don't need to know Marky, safer that way. Derek will understand I'm sure. Fewer who know the better, would you not agree?"

Mark couldn't deny Leach spoke sense there and in truth did he really want to know? So he simply stood up, pocketing the case. He decided then and there he was not touching that iPod himself. Just for a second, he'd been tempted to warn Leach and by association his Client about Michael Myers. But something stopped him. He wasn't sure what, but that was one piece of information he decided he'd keep to himself. Maybe a slim hope Leach and Myers would meet? If Myers cottoned on to this like Chancer said, Leach would certainly be one of those to meet his death. He shook his head as he walked out of the pub, sincerely hoping he'd never have to enter it again.

"Derek, Mr. Sarcozi is here to see you."

Chancer looked up at the guard's voice. Not David this time another one. But he couldn't remember his name and in truth he didn't really care. He'd heard rumours that the guard he'd almost killed was returning to work in a couple of days. That made him smirk. He'd just been desperate to kill someone at that time and that bloke had just happened to be there. Bad luck for him. But he'd survived somehow. The last thing Chancer remembered was a sharp pain in his head then blackness. He'd woken up in his cell hours later. The guard hadn't come back in since. What the hell was his name? Ryan? Reece? Ray? Chancer shrugged. It began with an R. As far as he was concerned the idiot had acted like a woman anyway, so would be no loss. Maybe he'd have another shot at him when he returned to work.

Grinning to himself, he stood up and let the guard shackle him and lead him back in to the visitor's room. Yep there was Sarcozi, looking straight at him through the glass. Chancer nodded to the other man as his shackles were removed and he took his seat.

"Can you wait just a second?" Sarcozi asked the guard. "I need to pass him this."

The guard pressed a button and a small window between them opened. Sarcozi passed Chancer the leather case. The guards would know it was an iPod as it would've been checked on the gate and they were one thing patients were allowed, as they couldn't make calls on them. Chancer took it and waited until the guard had left before speaking.

"A fucking iPod?" He almost laughed. "Are you kidding Marky?"

"I don't know how it works," Mark said truthfully. "I just know what C.L. Told me. All instructions are on there and he said to access it you'll need a password. He said as you're a chancer, you'll need to play the game to get rich."

Chancer glared at him, clearly taking offence to the pun on his name. Serves you right, Mark thought. Stop calling me fucking Marky then.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"I'm just passing on the message. The password has something to do with as you're a chancer, you'll have to play the game to get rich. Even I questioned it and he said it was better I not know. Honestly Derek, I'm totally clueless. I don't know any more than what I've just told you."

Chancer sighed. "Fine. So what? Are you supposed to come back or something and take a report?"

I hope not… "Again, I have no idea. I was just told to give you the iPod and that message. Honestly Derek, I know nothing further."

"He actually said he's a chancer, so play the game to get rich?"

"He did."

He's got a fucking nerve. Thinks just because I'm stuck in this nuthouse he can talk about me like I'm an idiot. I don't often kill men you know. But in his case I seriously may consider changing that!"

Sarcozi said nothing. What could he say? It wasn't like he disagreed after all.

Derek sat on the bolted down desk chair in his cell, looking at the iPod. His mind was racing. He couldn't even unlock it without this fucking password. I need to play the game to get rich? He thought. What the fuck Leach? I'm a Chancer? Was that just a deliberate pun on his name? Or was it in fact another clue? I'm a chancer? But he's not a Rich, he's a Chris… Play the game…

"Jesus Christ!" Chancer said in frustration an hour later, slamming down the iPod. Fucking hell! He'd never work the damn thing out! He was giving himself a headache trying to do so. He stood up, walked to his bed and buzzed a guard to ask for a tea. God knew he needed it. Hot drinks were unlimited, but food was not. Tight bastards.

Returning to his desk with his hot tea, he again looked at the iPod in front of him. If Chancer was in fact a clue, then the game must be some kind of name one. But how did that make any sense? To get rich? Rich was another name, a short version of Richard. Ok, so if it was a name game, then what was, to quote the old Aba song, the name of the game? How did he play and crack the secret code?

Ok. So first things first. He'd established this game of Leach's involved names. Chancer and Rich proved that. So the question was, what kind of name games were out there? Or at least ones which could give one access to a secret iPod? He frowned in concentration. He took a long draft of tea once he was satisfied it had cooled enough, then sat back, deep in thought. It couldn't be a guess the name game, that made no sense. He had the names in front of him. So what else could one do with a name?

That was when it clicked. You could change it. The way it was spelt. Chancer had no doubt now, this password involved changing a name. So if the names he was supposed to change were already there, that meant changing the letters in said name. But he didn't think Rich or Chancer were the answers. This was better. He was getting somewhere. In which case, whose name did he have to change?

An anagram! Yes! That had to be it! That was the only way a name could be changed around. There were other names hidden in the name! "Got it!" He said out loud, his mind once again racing. It'd taken him over an hour to get to this point. The question was now, whose name did he have to make an anagram from? "Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Just think, then take well… Take a chance."

He sat once again at his small desk, feeling gradually more and more frustrated. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the damn iPod screen. He was getting a headache from it. Standing, he lay down on his bed for a while. He needed a rest before he went back to it, money be damned.