A/N: I'm finally updating this story! Between a new semester starting and not having my laptop for a month (thank you, Dell) I haven't been able to get to it. But anyway, here's the last chapter and epilogue. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The characters still aren't mine, even though I did put them on my wish list to Santa for Christmas.

Aftermath

The first couple of days she was home seemed surreal to Joan. Part of her thought she might be dreaming, still unconscious from the drugs, and still locked in that horrible little room. She kept expecting to wake up and find herself there, with Graves looming over her. Still feeling tired and weak, she slept much of the time. Adam spent his days at the house, and Grace drifted in and out. Joan felt as though she was drifting as well. She'd only been out of the house to go to doctors visits, either to have blood drawn to make sure all the drugs were out of her system, or to the plastic surgeon to see about getting the knife wounds repaired, but she hadn't seen God. For a change, she wanted to see Him. She was confused, wondering why this had happened. Had she screwed up something somewhere along the way? Was there some instruction that she had missed or misinterpreted? While Joan was waiting for her blood draw one afternoon she asked herself how much longer until God decided to put in an appearance. No sooner than she completed that thought, Old Lady God, as a nurse, came in.

"There you are. I've been wondering when you'd pop up again."

"I don't 'pop', Joan."

"Yeah, whatever. You said you would explain why this stuff happened. I don't remember messing up any of your assignments, so I don't get it. You've never put me in danger before."

"I know. And I know you're confused. I normally wouldn't put you in harm's way like this, but it was necessary this time."

"But why?"

God sighed. "I told you earlier that you faced evil. That's the truth. I doubt you'll be surprised to know Graves was a serial killer. He would have gone on a killing spree after he escaped, but his fixation on you and getting back at your father prevented that. If he hadn't taken you and kept you for so long, 35 people would have been murdered before he'd been caught. One of them would have been your father."

Joan sat there, stunned. "But what if he had killed me? Would it have been my life for theirs or something?"

"You weren't going to die, Joan. You're purpose here isn't over. Not for a long time yet."

"Well, couldn't you have told me that in a dream or something? You had Judith show up and tell me to wake up. You could have had her tell me earlier I wasn't going to die."

"What makes you so sure your hearing Judith was a dream?

"Don't tell me I'm hallucinating again."

"You don't hallucinate. Well, just that one time when you thought Price was the devil. But that was your fever talking."

"So if it wasn't a dream, or a hallucination, what was it?"

"Joan, you really need to learn to listen better. Do you remember Grace's Bat Mitzvah when I asked you if you could still feel Judith?" God waited for Joan to nod before continuing. "When people die, they are only gone from the earth physically. A part of them always remains with the people that they loved. Judith loved you, very much. She will always be with you, and you will always be able to hear her voice."

Joan stared at God, not knowing what to say to this. God gave her a small smile, placed a gentle hand on her cheek, and left the room carrying two vials of blood Joan hadn't even noticed had been drawn.

School resumed the following week, but things were hardly back to normal for Joan or her family. She was barely sleeping, and the family was awakened regularly when she screamed from the nightmares that tormented her whenever she closed her eyes. Helen wound up spending half the nights in Joan's room with her since sometimes that was the only way her she would get any sleep at all. Will wasn't getting much sleep either. As he stood in the doorway to Joan's bedroom one night listening to his wife try to comfort their daughter from yet another nightmare, he was once again overcome with guilt. This was his fault. He had told Joan once that he wouldn't lose her, for any reason. Well, he had, and she had gone through a hell she was still in. He had let her down.

The days went by, and Joan wouldn't discuss what had happened or the nightmares with anyone, including the psychologist the doctor in the emergency room had recommended. She refused to go see her, not wanting another Dr. Dan experience. Helen and Will were hesitant to push her, despite their worry, and hoped she'd be ready to talk if they gave her a little more time.

School wasn't going much better. Joan felt like everyone was staring at her constantly. The bandages covering the knife wounds didn't help with that either. Everyone knew she had been kidnapped, and speculation about what may have happened to her abounded. The whispers were as bad as the stares, as was the sudden silence that took over whenever Joan came around a corner or entered a classroom. Of course, some of this was due to Grace shooting death glares at anyone who she thought was staring at or talking about her friend. Despite her friends trying to help, as the week wore on, Joan couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't stand the way people looked at her. Her lack of sleep just added to it and made her even more ill tempered. The more agitated she got, the more she blew up at her friends, even though they were only trying to help. Grace, not knowing what else to do, decided to give Joan some space. Adam had already started keeping more distance than he normally would, because he didn't know what to do to help anymore. Unfortunately, this approach didn't sit well with Joan either. She knew she was being something of a bitch, but she couldn't seem to help herself as she lit into her brother, Grace, and Adam one afternoon both for hovering over her and for backing off. When they just stared at her after her outburst, she took off down the hall, shoving Adam roughly as he tried to stop her from leaving. In an uncharacteristically bold move, he followed her down the hall and pulled her into an empty classroom to confront her.

"Jane, what's wrong? Why are you acting like this?"
"What's wrong? Look at me!"

"I am."
Joan ripped off the gauze over the wound on her cheek. "No. Look at me! Everyone else does! Look at this! I'm hideous, damaged, a freak-"

"Jane, stop! I am looking at you. I see you. And you are beautiful. The most beautiful person I know. You think a mark on your cheek can change that? Besides, it's not forever. It's something they can fix. And even if they couldn't, it wouldn't change how I feel about you or how I see you." He approached her and placed his hands on her shoulders before going on. "I love you, Jane, and nothing can change that."

Joan looked at him and saw the look in his eyes, the earnestness in his face, and knew he was telling her the truth.

Adam pulled her into his arms and continued. "You know, someday we'll be old and wrinkly and have liver spots, but I'll look at you and still think you are as beautiful as I thought you were the very first day I saw you."

Joan hugged him tight as tears slipped down her cheeks. Adam pulled away after a couple of minutes and wiped those tears away. As he took her hand to lead her to class, he could only hope he'd gotten through to her somehow.

The next day Joan went to the plastic surgeon for the final consult before the procedure they had planned to repair the external damage done by Graves and his knife. Joan looked up as the doctor entered the exam room. He looked at a poster of a seemingly satisfied patient and sighed.

"Amazing how people think appearance is so all-important and that changing it will change them. But any change done to the outside isn't necessarily reflected on the inside." the doctor replied as he looked at her in a way she was so familiar with.

"Oh God. You're into plastic surgery now?

"I'm into everything, Joan."

"Great. So are you going to fix this so I can stop being the object of everyone's attention at school? I'm sick of everyone staring at me like I'm broken."

"There's no quick and easy fix. And everyone has scars and wounds that need to heal. But it's how you react to them that's important. You can not treat them, or keep picking at them and let them keep you a victim, or you can let them heal and, eventually, make you stronger."

"Are you telling me to not get these fixed? To just live with these scars so people can stare at me to prove a point?"

"I didn't say that at all. There's a bigger point here. And not all wounds are where others can see. You need to treat the ones on the inside too."

"What?"
"Go see the doctor, Joan."
"I thought that's what I was doing."
"The other one. The one you refuse to see."

"Oh no. I'm not going to relive Dr. Dan."
"I'm not asking you to go see him. Joan, look. You need to talk about this to someone in order to move past it."
"Wouldn't that just be "picking at" the wounds?"

"No. What you're doing now, bottling everything up, is just letting them fester. You'll never heal that way. Things will just get worse."

"Well, those nightmares you're sending my way certainly are."

"I'm not sending you nightmares. The subconscious is a funny thing. You are refusing to let your feelings and fears out, so they are coming out the only way they can – in your dreams. Go to the doctor, Joan."

Joan ignored God's advice about going to the psychologist. She didn't want to talk about what had happened. She just wanted to forget it all. God, however, had been correct about her letting her wounds fester. Things were getting worse, including the nightmares. It was now the week after her plastic surgery, and Joan, as well as her family and friends, didn't know how much more they could take.

After one particularly vicious nightmare during which Joan had bloodied Luke's nose as he'd tried to wake her, Helen knew she had to have a talk with her daughter about going to the psychologist. She wasn't giving her a choice about this anymore. "Joan, this has to stop. You're not getting any sleep, you have nightmares all the time, and today I got called into Price's office to discuss you not paying attention in class and your grades. You need to talk to someone about what happened, otherwise it's going to keep getting worse. I'm making you an appointment with that psychologist, and you are going to go." Joan just nodded at her mother. She knew Helen was right. She was so tired of all of this and just wanted it to stop too.