Steve paced the living room. His headache had increased and a steady pounding beat out its rhythm against the inside of his skull. He didn't mention anything to his dad or Amanda, partly to avoid being the cause of any further worry, but also as he felt an irrational need to prove himself as useful. Amanda and Mark had been tending to Jesse for hours and after his father's harsh words had confirmed the nagging doubts which always played on his conscience he felt somewhat dispensable, and though he was loathe to admit it, it was hurtful.

Don't be so stupid. Steve scolded himself silently. Stop thinking about yourself and start thinking of Jesse.

Steve turned his eyes to Jesse, and his feelings of self-loathing increased ten-fold. He had never seen someone he cared about so much in such poor condition. Jesse was a mere shadow of his former self. Gaunt and pale, with a disturbingly haunted expression tormenting his face.

Steve wondered in passing what, if anything, was going on in Jesse's unconscious thoughts, but pulled his mind away from the appalling images his own mind cast up, shuddering at the evanescent imagery.

Steve absent-mindedly ran one hand over his face and dropped down into the armchair. His eyes felt gritty with tiredness and his whole body seemed to flush with fatigue. He stretched out his weary muscles but felt little relief from doing so.

"Steve?" Amanda, perceptible as always, had been watching Steve since Mark's decision to leave, "Are you ok?" It was an empty question really. None of them were ok and Amanda knew it.

Steve smiled wearily at Amanda, thankful for her concern but at the same time trying to alleviate any disquiet she might feel for him. There was too much to worry about already.

"I'm not doing too bad. Just… worried, you know?"

She knew.

"We'd better get moving." Mark had returned to the room clutching his medical bag in one hand and a large torch in the other. It cast a heavy fluorescent radiance which after the hours of comparative darkness was dazzling to the eyes.

Steve threw one hand up to shield his eyes from the glare, a ghost of the light remaining in his vision.

"Steve, are you able to carry Jesse outside?"

"Yes" Without hesitation Steve responded. He hadn't really even given the question any thought but  he was determined not to create any obstacles. In truth he was fairly certain he shouldn't be entrusted with carrying Jesse out to the car. His wrist, despite the heavy bandaging throbbed hotly, and his head pulsed with pain. Neither of the others were strong enough however, and the movement had to be as smooth as possible. Steve knew he was the obvious choice, but his injuries did shed some doubt in his mind about his abilities.

Steve stood, perturbed to find his legs shook ever so slightly, but he ignored it, trying to reassure himself that it was insignificant. Dropping into a crouching position next to Jesse he paused, taking in the sight of his friend who only that afternoon had bounded around so cheerfully and full of life, boasting the health benefits of some obscure salad he intended to install as a regular feature on the menu of Barbecue Bob's.

Oh God.

Steve felt ill. No matter how long he worked with the police he couldn't even begin to understand how someone could act so violently and inhumanely. And Jesse was so innocent – he spent his life trying to help people. It was incomprehensible that anyone could want to hurt him.

"Hey Jess," he whispered, gently sliding one hand underneath Jesse's head, "We're gonna get you out of here, ok?" There was no response, not that he had truly been expecting one.

"Dad, can you help me?" Steve slipped his arm underneath Jesse's legs, positioning his hand so that it extended far enough so that no pressure would be placed on his injured wrist. Mark set his bag down and rested the torch onto the coffee table. He moved around the couch to help.

With a grunt of effort Steve pulled Jesse up off the floor, his legs shook with the exertion and he thought for one terrible moment that he was going to fall. Jutting one leg out to maintain his balance Steve felt his whole body tremble as his muscles were forced to work both to hold Jesse and sustain his own equilibrium. Breathing heavily Steve felt beads of perspiration pooling on his temples.

Mark's face was one of concern as he watched Steve struggle, he jerked his arm out to steady Steve but found that he had managed to restore his balance enough to take a first tentative step.

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief Steve continued onwards heading into the dark away from the gloom of the candlelight, Amanda following close by, a taut expression on her face. She looked on dismayed at Jesse's arms and legs hanging limply in Steve's arms, his state such that he remained unconscious and insensate throughout.

Mark paused for a moment, taking a heavy breath. He felt tired beyond belief yet knew he couldn't relax, his worry now divided between both Jesse and Steve.

Jesse's condition is deteriorating. Steve is hurt…

Mark rubbed at his eyes wondering to himself how things could get much worse, completely unaware of the man who had just climbed in through one of the bedroom windows. Sighing, Mark picked up the torch and made his way through the hall and out into the continuing storm.

**************

The open window had pleased him greatly. He hadn't expected it to be that easy, but there, plain as day, the window stood open. He had climbed in with only minimal difficulty; the window was not particularly high and he was fairly tall.

Inside the house was dark and he was thankful to be sheltered from the rain. He found himself in a bedroom, it was comfortably furnished and he sat down onto the corner of the double bed to take the weight off his feet. They were aching after the prolonged period he had spent standing and his toes were numb with cold.

He didn't stay sitting for long, the anticipation of what was to come was such that he couldn't conceive of wasting precious time in such a way.

He had decided – he would kill the others if necessary.

If I have to do it, I'll do it… I'll kill them all.

A crooked smiled twisted his face. Nothing could stop him now.

Opening the door the slightest of gaps he poked his head out and listened for any noises. There was nothing. Whilst this pleased him, he also found it confusing.

Perhaps they're asleep. They won't know what's hit them…

He grinned malevolently.

But what if they're not asleep? Why are they being so quiet?

He frowned and pulled open the door a little wider, paranoid as to what was going on in the rest of the house. He listened intently, but again heard nothing.

Deciding that there was nothing for it he pulled the door open fully and stepped out into the hallway. For a moment he didn't dare breathe, certain that he would be heard and that the group of people would find him before he had a chance to find them. Patiently he stood, listening, waiting. No sounds emanated from within other than his own shallow breathing.

After finally deciding that it was safe he began to creep forwards, edging through the house, sliding his fingers along the wall feeling his sense of power increasing with every step until he felt it oozing from every pore. He passed several doors, his heart almost stopping as he passed each, half expecting someone from within to pounce on him at any moment. But as he passed the final door his breathing became heavier as he felt adrenaline surging through his veins.

This is it.

He stopped at the corner, only the wall hiding his presence from the group of people. Clutching the knife in his hand he braced himself, and taking a deep breath he leapt forwards, knife held high, ready to strike.

The room was empty.

"NO!" It wasn't until he heard his voice that he realised he had spoken aloud.

"God damn it!"

How can they not be here? I saw them, I heard them! Where are they?

He turned on the spot, searching the room for signs of life even though he knew that he was the only one there.

Maybe… maybe they're in another room... Yes, that's it.

But then they must have heard me!

Gripping the knife in his hand he stalked through the living room to the one adjacent. It was the kitchen, and it was empty.

"No!" he threw the knife to the floor and slammed his fist into the wall and felt pain flare through his hand.

"God damn it, NO!"

He dropped to his knees, breathing heavily. Fists clenched.

How dare they spoil my plans!

A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind, although none of them registered. It was as though his ability to understand had been paralysed and he stared numbly ahead at the tiled floor. The knife he had dropped littered the otherwise tidy floor and he reached forwards, taking the blade into his palm. The sharp metal pierced his skin, cutting through his flesh with ease. A small trail of blood trickled through his clenched fingers and he gazed at it as though spellbound.

It should be his blood, not mine.

He has to die…

They all do