It was past 08:00 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 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 some strong coffee. Slumping into 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 trusted her as well. She'd stood right next to her in that courtroom while the man who'd abused her was released without a scratch. How was that fair? Not only that, but the man had called her later that night. Talk about selfish, heartless and cruel! She recalled how 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.

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 said she was. Of course she'd been bitter when she first arrived. She'd been saved from killing herself after Adam had done what he had. 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 underneath. 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 gentle arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. It was Rick, he wiped her eyes on his soft shirt. "Hey babe," he soothed. "What's wrong?" He sat on the sofa and pulled her onto his lap. Joanne hugged him tighter. God she loved this man. Without fail, he came 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, she used to roll her eyes at that, but not anymore. Now she totally understood the meaning of the old, overused expression.

"Nothing," she said quietly as Rick lent in to kiss her. Their lips connected which turned into a long, lingering kiss. "Just everything with Danielle," Joanne said as they broke the kiss, but still held each other tightly. "That poor 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 bastard! 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 absolutely 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 in their usual spot at the pub. They were drinking lagers, disguised in coke glasses. Mark wasn't sure if their being served alcohol at 10:00 meant the owner 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 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 except for the owner and he was hiding 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 into 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 and he'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 crime boss about surveillance work? He consoled himself knowing that Chancer was the one near Michael Myers, and 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 like any other.

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

Mark had to resist the urge to punch the guy. Leach clearly thought he was stupid or something. "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. "What?"

"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, wouldn't you agree?"

Mark couldn't deny that Leach made sense, and in truth, did he really want to know? So he simply stood up, and pocketed the case. He decided then and there that 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'd keep to himself. Maybe there was a slim chance Leach and Myers would meet? If Myers caught 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 guy had just happened to be there. Bad luck for him. But he'd survived. 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 he 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 into the visiting 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 this to him."

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 was checked at the gate and it is one thing patients are allowed to have because 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 in order 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 offense to the pun on his name. Serves you right, Mark thought. Stop calling me fucking Marky then.

"What the fuck are you talking 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 that 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 anything else"

"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. But in his case I might seriously 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 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 asking for a cup of coffee. Fuck he could use a shot of whiskey. God knew he needed it.

Returning to his desk with his coffee, he again looked at the iPod in front of him. If Chancer was 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 ABBA song, the name of the game? How did he play and crack the secret code?

Ok. So first things first. He'd established that 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 swig of coffee 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 racing. It'd taken him over an hour to get to this point. Now, the question is, 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, getting 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 minute before he went back to it, money be damned.

Suddenly he heard what sounded like a struggle, the loud clanking of chains then the cell door right next to his slamming shut. He went to the bars and saw 3 guards standing against the wall, wiping sweat from their faces and gasping for breath. "Good work gentlemen," he heard Dr Loomis say. "Are you all ok?" He didn't have to think too hard about who'd just been escorted in by 3 guards. They hadn't even removed his chains!

Chancer found himself yet again thinking. His mother had taught him a way to think about something before he did it. She'd brought him up alone since his father had left them when he was 3, of course chasing another woman. Chancer wondered if that was partly why he hated them so much. Women. They were cunts who'd taken his father away from him. He'd never kept in contact with him or his mother. He didn't blame his father; he blamed the bitch who'd stolen him from them. The only woman safe from him was his mother.

It was known by her and now him as C.S.W. could, should, would. Could he do this, should he, would he? Right then, the loudest one was the one in the middle. Should. This was a fucking suicide mission! This absolutely was insane! They'd just locked the damn killer next door to him and he was still in chains! Something had clearly happened just now, an attempt or success on the life of a guard or patient by the silent killer. Chancer shivered a little. Should he do this?

Even if he thought of the other 2, could and would, should was still the one shouting loudest. Michael Myers was only protecting the damn woman he'd been asked to eavesdrop on. The guy who'd almost killed someone just then it seemed. As for would, well yes he would do it for the money if nothing else, plus possibly a chance to get out of here to kill and rape more women, sadly not Danielle Hayward, but… Could he do it? That was the final question. Was he up for it? That went well with should in this scenario. He knew the risks, his death. Standing, he walked slowly back to his desk. If he was honest with himself, he knew he had to get the damn thing to work first so he'd know what he was being asked to do and how to do it before he considered fully whether he could or should.

Sitting down again, he once more picked up the iPod. Play the game to get rich, he thought. It seemed to him that Rich was a clue. Was it the first line of this password he needed? He picked up a piece of paper from the pile and the ridiculously blunt pencil he was given. He understood why they didn't give him a sharp pencil, so he couldn't plunge it into someone's eye, or neck.

He wrote down R.I.C.H and looked at it intently. Looking at the 4 letters in front of him, he considered. If this was an anagram, how could you turn them around? He only had one vowel, so it couldn't be that difficult. Slowly, he wrote C.H.R.I and felt a jolt of excitement. Of course! He was pretty sure he almost had it. Play the game to get rich. RICH. He'd turned R.I.C.H around and got the beginnings of what?

Chris, of course! Who was in charge of this? C.L! Chris Leach! So was the anagram a turnaround of Chris Leach's name? Judging by what he'd just found, it was possible. He hadn't used the S of Chris yet, so he turned his attention to the name Leach. L.E.A.C.H, he wrote, then looked carefully at it. Bearing in mind he still had an S to play with that had to be part of the second word, assuming of course RICH was the first. H.C.E.A.L. He wrote then, again thinking hard. He didn't think it was CHEALS, he'd never heard of anyone with that Surname, but what the hell? This was Chris Leach after all. His hand shaking a little, he typed RICH Chelas into the password box.

PASSWORD INCORRECT! Flashed up on the iPod screen. Chancer cursed under his breath. Ok, but he was close, he was sure he was. He couldn't be that far wrong surely. So what next to do? Simple. Swap the places of the A and the E. This time, he typed in RICH CHALES. He could hardly believe it when the iPod unlocked and a welcome screen appeared. By God he'd fucking done it! He now wondered if even Chancer had been a clue after all, considering C.H.A. Were the first 3 letters of the second half of the word.

Ripping his piece of paper into unreadable pieces, he tossed them in the toilet and flushed. Ok, so he was in. Now what? He glanced down at the welcome screen and started to read the text moving across it.