Author's Note: Back with an even more miserable, heart-rending chapter. Gawd can I get any more depressing...Dante's identity crisis is taking on a more sinister tone, things are really getting out of hand this time.

I hope you guys enjoy. That's all I care.

Morwen: Thanks verry muchly indeed! It's an honour to be reviewed by one of my favourite authors:)

sessmaruspunk: Many thanks, hope you enjoy.

Please review guys!

It had been a whole week since she'd been gone.

Hours and days were spent in complete solitude, sometimes; Dante wouldn't even pick up the phone, -which rang persistently- but just move through the house, -which was suddenly all too empty and quiet- like a ghost, isolated in his private world of misery.

This afternoon, however, Dante was set on making amends by calling Trish to see how she was holding up.

He dialled her number, but her cell was turned off.

He looked around the empty shop, slamming the phone down and tossing the empty bottle of Jack Daniels onto the desk, after draining the remainder.

He rubbed his face, and then raked his hair back with a sigh. His face was taut with anger, and he kicked a chair out of his way in violent, impotent rage.

There was the creaking of a door opening, and Dante immediately fixed his gaze on the shop's entrance.

The woman who just entered was gracefully slender, of medium height, dressed casually in faded jeans, a white tank top and a hooded black jacket. Although he couldn't see her face, his guess was that she had to be in her early thirties.

Very few people ventured into this part of town, let alone visit his shop; and his business was always conducted over the phone.

Dante was intrigued by his unexpected visitor.

"Welcome to Devil Never Cry. Can I help you with something?" Dante offered with little enthusiasm, looking her over. She seemed unarmed.

Blue-brown eyes peered out from under the black hood curiously, glancing about, and then settled on Dante, her face turning an ashen shade at the sight, which was a vision sprung from her deepest, nightmarish memories. Thanks to his demon blood, Dante seemed to have aged little over the years. But the lines on his brow gave away his long suffering.

"Even a devil may cry, when he loses a loved one…" She whispered, pulling her hood back.

"Mary?" Dante stared at his old friend in complete astonishment. It had been so long…

The first thing he noticed was her lustrous raven hair, cropped closely around her gentle face. Mary had aged gracefully; it appeared, her delicate beauty matured and refined into porcelain loveliness, with little lines creasing the smooth skin. Her fiery aura had mellowed a little over the years too it seemed. Only her exotic eyes reflected a secret sorrow he could not fathom.

"Hello, Dante. I've been trying to call you, but you never pick up." She said, the beginning of a smile curving her lips, surprised even more at his sombre quietness. Dante had always been a wise guy and was known for his easy attitude, but now he just looked at her with an uncomfortable smile as though she was a stranger.

"What are you doing here..?"

She has come to me…It must be fate…

Mary glanced at her friend, then to the grisly demonic trophies decorating the walls, slowly moving across to him.

"I was in the area, I thought I'd drop by and catch up."

"Funny, I've never heard you lie before, Mary." Dante said lowly.

The demon huntress gave him a thoughtful glance.

"Actually, your friend Trish…She rang me…" Mary chewed on her lip with a frown.

"Trish? How the hell do you guys know each other? What in the bloody hell is going on here?" Dante interrupted with a snarl.

"You didn't let me finish. She's worried about you, Dante. And so am I." Mary said with a firm, genuine concern. She saw his eyes flare a dangerous shade of arctic blue.

"Now you've crossed the line there! This is getting so annoying! Don't you guys have anything better to do? Besides, I thought you hated demons, Mary, or have you forgotten?" His silvery white brows knitted in a frown.

"Dante, I don't believe I'm hearing this. I never thought you to be a quitter, but look at you! Trish was right! You're miserable!" Mary sighed. "You have to accept the reality of the situation and move on. That's why I'm here…I don't want to see you like this."

"What the hell does that supposed to mean?" He asked darkly, his eyes were a shadowy blue.

"Stop it, Dante. Vergil's dead! I understand your grief, but yours is a morbid obsession! And…it's scaring me. Please Dante, come back to me, to us, to the people who love you and want to see you happy…"

"No…" He whispered brokenly.

I am not dead.

Not dead.

Dante leaned against his desk, suddenly feeling ill, bile churning in his throat. He covered his face with his hands for a moment, his head spinning…Her voice seemed to come from far away…

Time seemed to stand still…

All of a sudden he felt her cool touch on his fingers, and he dropped his hands, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Mary was looking at him strangely, pressing against him with a sultry demand, cupping his smooth cheek and leaning in to flick her tongue lightly over his ear as she whispered.

"Enough of old times…You've always wanted me, haven't you, Dante?" She whispered lustily. "Tell me you want me. Do you want me? Answer me!" Her whisper grew fiercer as she placed her hand on his crotch stroking him slowly through his leather pants.

Dante threw his head back, groaning quietly with the whirlwind of sensations assaulting his mind. What the hell was happening?

She crushed her firm breasts into his chest, fingers beginning to unbuckle his belt. Her lips continued to move over his with a teasing softness.

Dante opened his eyes, breathing heavily with years of suppressed desire.

He stared into her face.

He stared into the white, featureless white mask of cold porcelain…

Her eyes were empty pools of blackness.

The mask let out a low chuckle, which sounded like nails being scraped across a chalkboard.

Eyes widening in sick disgust, Dante pushed the thing away, knocking her backwards to the ground.

Force Edge appeared in his hand a moment later, and was pointed at the hissing demonic creature.

"Stay back, demon! How dare you take her visage, you scum!" Dante growled, and rammed the blade through the monster's chest, piercing into the ribs.

There was a moment's absolute silence.

First, the beautiful, bi-coloured light of her eyes, wide in disbelief and agony, dimmed.

Blood flowed forth from the soft mouth, leaking out rapidly, dripping onto her white top and staining it with crimson specks.

Then she crumpled over, falling onto her back, her head hitting the floor with a dull, awful thud.

Panic gripped Dante with icy claws, and he staggered back, his hands trembled, dropping the blade.

The sword fell onto the wooden floor with a loud clang.

The unholy fog of the delirium faded from his troubled mind…

Dante stared in shock, realizing his mistake, transfixed by the horrible sight.

There was a steady dripping sound.

Drip…

Drip…

The ghastly sound of blood…

With a loud sob, Dante sank to his knees, lifting her head up and frantically checking her pulse, his fingers shaking.

Death forever froze her in eternal stillness.

Wrapping his arms tightly around Mary, Dante buried his face into the wound he had inflicted; sobbing into her chest, letting her blood stain his face, purify him in guilty flames…

He rocked back and forth, with her dead body in his arms; his eyes squeezed shut, teeth chattering.

Now you have the final key, brother.

It is time.