TW: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE! Not Misty or Delia tho so don't worry about it

Cordelia opened her eyes, feeling dazed. It felt as though the world had stopped spinning and had come to a sudden, jolting stop. For a moment, she was confused, unable to remember where she was and what she was doing – and then it all came flooding back.

The creak of the floorboard. Misty's yelp as she was thrown against the wall, the thud her body had made when she hit the floor. The clang as the frypan smashed into the side of Cordelia's face, the pain from the bruise that remained. Hank clasping something over her nose and mouth, his strong hands pinning her still as she struggled… and the darkness that followed.

She took a deep shuddering breath, and allowed herself ten seconds to breathe and get her bearings before having to think. Pushing all thoughts of Misty's crumpled body out of her mind, she closed her eyes and focused on drawing fresh air into her lungs. When her ten seconds was up, she opened her eyes and looked around. She was in a car. There was no-one in the driver's seat. Her wrists were zip-tied. They were parked. She wondered where Hank was, but his voice from outside the car answered her question. Peeking out the window, Cordelia tried not to move too much, not wanting Hank to know she was awake. If he thought she was still unconscious, he'd be far less careful around her and might even give her some clue as to where she was. Who knows, she thought, maybe he talks to himself when he drives.

They were parked next to a pay phone, in a shoddy little street. From the weak light peeking over the horizon, Cordelia guessed it was early in the morning, maybe four or five am. The rush of cars in the distance told her that they were near to a highway. Hank put some quarters in the machine, and leaned against the booth as it rung. Whoever he was trying to call picked up after only a few rings, and she leaned towards Hank's window, which was open a crack, trying to pick up on any words.

"….halfway there…. Still unconscious. No, she's not…. Absolutely fine." Cordelia waited to hear more, but the phone was then slammed down. Hank swore loudly. There were some crunching footsteps as Hank walked back over to the car. She closed her eyes again, feeling almost too scared to breathe – what if he could tell that she was awake? He opened the door and began rustling around, leaning over her to reach into the glove compartment on the passenger's side.

She opened her eyes a crack, and watched through her eyelashes as Hank went through the glove compartment for change. His time must have run out on the phone. There was one terrifying moment as his sleeve brushed against her leg, and she inhaled quickly in fright, but he didn't appear to have heard her. A handful of quarters in his fist, Hank closed his door, and Cordelia listened as his footsteps crunched away.

Heart in her chest, Cordelia opened her eyes again. She had to work quickly. Her hands were still tied, but her feet were bare, and she pulled the glove compartment open with her toes. There wasn't anything useful in it – maps and candy bars and a half-empty box of cigarettes – but she did find a lighter. She carefully picked it up with her toes, and dropped it on the driver's seat, where she was able to lean across and pick it up in her hands. She quickly shoved it in the waistband of her underpants, where she hoped it wouldn't show through her baggy pyjama top. Reaching back across to go through the middle compartment, she had just managed to get it open when there was a sharp knock on the window.

Startled, she let out a shriek, and turned to see Hank watching her through the grimy glass. He walked around the car, opened his door and climbed in. "So," he said. "You're awake."

Cordelia remained stubbornly quiet.

"You know, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't go through my stuff when I'm not around."

"And I'd appreciate not being drugged, tied-up, and stuffed into a car without my consent," she snapped.

"I doubt you found anything, anyway," he said, still frowning, and appearing to ignore her outburst. He leaned across her again to the glove compartment, which she'd forgotten to close.

Heart beating, Cordelia waited for him to ask about the lighter, but he didn't appear to notice it was gone, despite having been through that same compartment not minutes before. It was so full of trash that he probably hadn't even seen it. Fancy car on the outside, trash everywhere on the inside. Just like the man himself.

He slammed it shut and sat back in his seat, turning back to her. "I didn't want to drug you, you know," he said quietly. "But you didn't give me a choice. You were panicking too much. It was for your own good. I was scared you'd injure yourself." He put the key in the ignition and turned it, the car roaring to life.

I wasn't panicking, Cordelia thought. I was fighting you, and I was winning. But something told her to keep quiet. She didn't want to piss him off. As much as she hated it, he was the one with all the power right now, and it was her best interest to stay on his good side and go from there. The lighter, its plasticky body rubbing uncomfortably on her hipbone, dug into her as she moved, but she found it reassuring. He didn't know it was there. She did. That's one point to me.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked instead, watching him as they turned onto the highway. "Is it my mother? Did she put you up to this?"

"Got it in one. Aren't you clever?" He grinned at her, and she stared back in revulsion at that shark's mouth. "Yes, she put me up to it. We were both very concerned when you disappeared with that dyke – "

"Don't call her that!" Cordelia said angrily.

"Ah. See, this is what I was worried about. I've seen it before, you know, Stockholm Syndrome. Terrifying condition. But you know what, you don't have to be scared anymore, I'll look after you."

Cordelia dug her fingernails painfully into her fists, and stared out the window. She wanted so desperately to scream at him, to tear her wrists free from their restraints and slam his face into the steering wheel until he stopped moving. Instead, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to your mother. We're to be wed as soon as we arrive. After you look presentable, of course," he said, eying her pyjamas.

Cordelia closed her eyes. So she had only hours – days, if she was lucky – to get away. Now was not the time to panic. "How long was I out?"

Hank shrugged. "A couple hours."

"Can I have something to drink?" she asked, hoping that if he untied her she would be able to get the upper hand.

"No," he said, glancing at her. "I'm driving, and I'm not untying your wrists. Good try though."

"Please? I'm really thirsty – "

"Enough!" Hank shouted, slamming his hand down on the car horn.

Cordelia jumped, concerned at how quickly he'd gotten angry. She was in the car with a lunatic. "I'm sorry," she said, choking down the anger in her voice. "I'll let you drive. Darling."

He glanced at her, and smiled. "I like it much better when you're polite. Like a good, well-raised girl should be. It won't do to have you be blatantly rude to me in public – or at home, for that matter. You really should consider that."

Oh, how she hated him. Not only had he kidnapped her, tied her up – he now had the gall to tell her how he wanted her to act. She realised that she wasn't a person to him at all. She was just something pretty for him to own, and wear on his arm like a fancy handbag. It was probably the same with Fiona – except she just wanted people to know that she had successfully made the fancy handbag. It was like Cordelia didn't even exist to these people. Misty had been the first person since her father who reminded her that she was a person too.

I have to get back to her. If she'd been out for a couple of hours, what was Misty like? She hadn't seen her move before Cordelia herself had slipped into unconsciousness – and Hank had hit her pretty hard with that frypan. An overwhelming sense of terror flooded through Cordelia's blood – what if she was dead? What if he'd hit her so hard she was dead? Or slit her throat or something once Cordelia had stopped fighting? She closed her eyes, shaking. No, she decided, Misty wasn't dead. She couldn't be. Cordelia knew somehow that if Misty was dead, the world would feel colder, greyer. And Cordelia felt in her bones that Misty was still alive. Injured, maybe, but alive. She had to be.

Cordelia didn't know what to do, how to escape, but she knew she had to get back to Misty. And soon. Noticing a sign on the side of the road, Cordelia got an idea.

"Hank?" she said tentatively, not wanting to piss him off again.

"Yes, Cordelia?" he said, his eyes not leaving the road.

"I need to go to the bathroom. Can we please stop?" she said sweetly, hoping that maybe if she asked nicely and acted like the nice upper-class object he wanted her to be, he'd do what she wanted.

"Not a chance," Hank said, frowning. "We need to get you back as soon as possible."

"But I really need to go," she said.

"No! Shut up! You'll just have to hold on."

Okay, enough of this, Cordelia thought. "Pity. This is such a nice car. It's a shame I'll have to piss all over it."

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Hank reached across and slapped her. Hard. Blinking stars from her eyes, Cordelia tried not to make a sound. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"You need to stop with all this lower-class talk," he said angrily. "I'll let you use the bathroom, but I don't want to hear you swearing again."

She was tempted to swear at him again just to piss him off, but she'd seen what he was capable of. She didn't want to push him past his limits – not again, not when Misty could be lying in pain on the floor. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll behave."

He frowned at her. "I hope so. I don't want you to disappoint me again. You've let me down enough… running off like that…"

He continued muttering to himself as they pulled off the highway to a dingy little gas station. There didn't seem to be anyone around, she noted in disappointment. There was the gas station attendant, but he hadn't even looked up when their car pulled in. So there wouldn't be any screaming, or waving down help. No one was going to help her. It was up to her now, to get out of this. She was the only one who could save her life right now.

He parked the car neatly in front of the bathroom and turned to her. They were now out of view of the attendant, not that he'd looked at them anyway. "How are we going to do this?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the window.

"I mean, I'm not wiping your ass for you. I won't even do that for when you're old and incontinent."

Biting down her revulsion at the idea of still being stuck with Hank when she was old, Cordelia shrugged. "You'll have to untie me, then."

"Yes, I suppose that's the only option we have." He glanced outside, and seemed satisfied, seemingly noticing what she had – that they were alone, save for the man inside the gas station who hadn't looked outside the whole time they'd been there. "Listen here," he said, grabbing her arm tightly. "You can't escape from me again. I swear to god, if you try to run, or get attention, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Cordelia didn't doubt it. "Okay," she said shakily. "I promise, I'm not going to do anything." She wanted to up the ante a bit – if she could appeal to his chivalry, the ideals he obviously had that women were something to be owned and protected, maybe then she'd have him wrapped around her little finger enough to save her. "I just want to go home," she said, and sniffled pathetically, looking away. He grabbed her cheek gently, forcing her to look at him. In her mind's eye, she saw Misty, lying in pain on the floor, crying out for Cordelia as Hank dragged her from the room. Tears sprung to her eyes effortlessly, and dribbled down her cheeks.

"I'll get you home, I promise. You'll be with your mother soon," he promised. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. She allowed him to hold her for a moment, despite wanting to squirm out of his reach. If it made her seem helpless, maybe he'd continue to underestimate her. And if he underestimated her, maybe she'd be able to take him by surprise and get away. "Alright. Let's get you to the bathroom."

He opened his door and got out, before walking around to Cordelia's side. She frowned. "But I thought we agreed you would untie me? So I can go to the bathroom?"

"I'll untie you when we get there," Hank said. "Can't have you running off."

They walked around the station to the bathroom, which was, predictably, disgusting. Of course, Cordelia didn't actually plan on using it. She just needed to buy herself some time – and get herself untied. Hank pulled out a knife from his pants, and Cordelia gasped and stepped back. Maybe he wasn't taking her to Fiona at all – maybe his plan all along was to murder her and dump her on the side of the road. "Relax," he said. Noticing her discomfort, he smirked and grabbed her wrists. In one swift motion, he sliced away the zip ties. They fell to the ground and Cordelia rubbed her wrists.

"Thanks," she said. She wanted nothing more than to grab the knife out of his stupid hand and plunge it into his throat.

"I'll be waiting right outside," he said. "Remember. No running. Not that there's anywhere for you to go."

"Okay."

He led her over the door, and nearly tripped on an abandoned set of tools. It opened and spilled everywhere with a loud clatter. "Goddamn filthy place," he muttered. "Alright, go."

She walked inside the bathroom, glad for the lock on the door. Looking around quickly, Cordelia was disappointed. It was nothing more than a concrete room – there wasn't a window she could climb out of, nothing she could use as a weapon or a knife. Well, she could technically break the mirror, or tear one of the leaky pipes from the sink, but that would make far too much noise and notify Hank of what she was trying to do.

After using the toilet and washing her hands, Cordelia still hadn't thought of anything. Staring at herself in the mirror, she saw that there was a red mark already showing on her cheekbone from where he'd hit her.

There was a loud knock on the door. "You nearly done? I want to get back on the road," Hank called.

"I'll be out in a minute!" Cordelia yelled back. All things considered, she wasn't doing too bad. She had no idea how she might be ten minutes from now – she knew she couldn't wait. She had to act now, before he tied her up and had control again. She didn't have a weapon, but she did have a lighter. And the element of surprise.

She crept over to the door and slowly – quietly – turned the lock. It didn't make a noise, and Cordelia thanked whatever god might be up there for at least one thing that had gone right. The door was next. She pushed it open slowly, expecting it to creak – but it didn't make a noise, and she noticed for the first time that the hinges were brand new. They didn't look like they'd even been there a day. Remembering the toolbox outside that Hank had tripped on, Cordelia grinned.

And then she jumped into action. Hank's back was to the door, giving her a few extra precious seconds. She leapt onto his back, and clicked the lighter on, holding it to the side of his neck before he could throw her off.

The sickly-sweet scent of burning human flesh filled the air, and Hank shrieked in pain. Thrashing around as he tried in vain to loosen her hold, he didn't feel her hand slip into his pocket and pull out his car keys. He managed to get her off him and threw her to the ground. Cordelia felt all the breath go out of her, and the lighter clattered out of her reach.

"Fucking bitch!" he hissed.

Cordelia jumped to her feet and made a desperate leap for the car. He pulled her back by the pyjama shirt, tearing off a long strip of fabric. Cordelia twisted around and kicked him as hard as she could in the balls. He yelled in pain and bent over. "Asshole!" she shrieked.

His face, which was now a mottled red colour, turned purple. He grabbed her arm and twisted it, and Cordelia heard a small snap and felt a searing pain – she'd thought that being slapped hurt, but this was a hundred times worse.

Still gripping her arm, Hank threw her to the ground again, and put a knee on her chest in an attempt to pin her down. He fumbled with a packet of zip ties he must have had in his pocket. Panting with exertion and pain, Cordelia struggled, trying to throw him off. He didn't budge, and she stretched her arms out, desperate for something that might help her, let her escape… her fingers found something small. Plastic. The lighter. She clicked it on and held it to his pantleg, which quickly caught the flame. It burned for a moment before he realised, and by then it was up to his knee. He shrieked in pain and rolled off her onto the ground, trying to smother it.

While he was distracted, Cordelia leaped back up to her feet and ran over to the toolbox, which still had tools strewn all about. Of course he didn't clean them up, Cordelia thought idly. Picking up the heaviest tool she could find – a large wrench – Cordelia crept back over to him, where he was still rolling around on the ground. The pain in her arm had ebbed away, whether from adrenaline or not she didn't know.

He got back up to his feet, sensing her there. His leg was still smouldering. "Those pants were ugly anyway," she said.

He growled in rage. "I told you that you'd be sorry." He reached into his pocket, and clicked open his knife.

For the first time, Cordelia realised what this had become. It was no longer a desperate escape attempt. It had become a death match. She looked him in the eyes and saw that he had realised the same thing. Maybe once upon a time he wouldn't have killed her, but objects were replaceable.

Hank moved first. He made a slicing motion with his knife – she stepped back, avoiding the worst of the blow but receiving a stinging cut on her hand. Cordelia swung the wrench towards him, realising that maybe she shouldn't have picked the heaviest one, because it was too heavy for her to control. Her swing went wide, and she stumbled, thrown off balance with the momentum of it. He took advantage of the moment and lunged at her, sinking his knife deep into her thigh. Cordelia screamed and smacked him in the jaw with the wrench before he could pull the knife out of her leg and stab her again. Dazed, he stumbled backwards, and Cordelia ignored the pain in the leg and rushed forwards, using his loss of balance to push him over.

He fell hard on his back, and Cordelia sat on his chest, straddling him before he could throw her again. She slammed the wrench down on his forehead again and again, and he was screaming but she didn't care, and then he was groaning but she didn't care, and then he wasn't making any noise at all and she still didn't care because all she could see was him hurting Misty, her beautiful Misty, and he had to pay for that he had to –

It was a strange feeling, at first. She felt almost as if she'd left her body, and was drifting above the scene as though she'd just died and was observing her final moments. She saw herself beating Hank's skull in, and she saw Hank's limbs go still as the fight and life went out of him. She saw his blood and brains splatter her face – she saw the knife, still sticking out of her thigh, her blood mixing with his.

And then it was as though she suddenly slammed back into her body. The wrench clattered to the ground as her hands went limp. There was a strange ringing in her ears, and standing up slowly, she observed the scene before her.

Hank's head was a mangled mess. She could see where his skull had split open like an egg, the strange pink brain mashed to pulp and mixed with blood. And oh, the blood. Cordelia tried not to gag when she realised she was covered in it – Hank's blood, all down the front of her shirt. Hank's blood, splattering outwards on the cold hard concrete for metres.

Panic enveloped her. She had just killed someone, and sure he'd deserved it, but she'd just killed him and oh my god what if someone saw I have to clean this up RIGHT NOW –

Cordelia took a deep breath. Her hands were shaking. She wondered what Misty would do, if she were here. First, she'd probably clean up. Nodding to herself, Cordelia grabbed took the car keys out of her pocket, glad for the first time that he'd parked over here, out of sight of the highway and the station. She walked over to the car and unlocked the trunk. There wasn't much in it – a small leather suitcase and a six pack of beer. Numbly, Cordelia picked them both up and put them in the backseat. She was getting blood everywhere, but that was the least of her concerns.

When the trunk was clear, she walked over to where Hank was still lying. She had to do this now, while the adrenaline was still flowing and she didn't hurt too much to move. She grabbed him by the ankles and began to drag him over to the car, ignoring the grisly trail his mangled head left as his blood smeared across the concrete. Her arm had started hurting again, and Hank was heavy. She had no idea how she was meant to get him into the car when she could barely drag him three feet.

After five minutes, several breaks, and a lot of swearing, Cordelia had managed to drag Hank – no, she had to stop thinking of him as a human being with a name and a family – the body over to the car. Putting her hands on her hips, she considered how on earth she was meant to get him in. She took a deep breath and grabbed his arms, gripping his armpits. His head lolled to the side, and blood splashed onto her hand. Gagging, Cordelia let go, and the body slumped back to the ground.

Breathing heavily, Cordelia fought back tears. Hank had, of course, been a deplorable human being. He had basically bought her and would have easily slit her throat had she not killed him first. But still, she had killed someone. He'd had a family, and friends, and people who cared about him. And Cordelia had beaten his head in.

She leaned over to the side and threw up. Vomit splattered, and mixed with Hank's blood on the concrete. She wiped her mouth and straightened up. You have to do this, she told herself firmly, for Misty.

Cordelia leaned over and grabbed him again, holding him firm this time. Groaning, she hauled his body up. Go, go, go, she told herself, before somebody sees. He was slipping out of her grasp, ad Cordelia knew that if she dropped him again, she'd be too exhausted to get him in the trunk. She pushed as hard as she could and in some miraculous feat, she managed to heave his torso into the car. She then leaned over and swung his legs in, ignoring the agonising pain in her left arm. She slammed the trunk closed. Breathing heavily, Cordelia sat down.

The knife was still sticking out of her thigh. She remembered learning in biology that there was an artery in the thigh, and she panicked. What if he got me in the femoral artery and I bleed out and die? She ripped the material of her pants to get a better look at the wound, and saw with relief that it was more to the side, and probably would have missed the artery. She hoped, anyway. Still, she would leave the knife in until she could get help. She avoided looking at her arm – she knew that when she saw it, it would no doubt hurt even more than it did now. Dragging the body to the car had been her only choice, but her poor arm had paid the price.

She limped around to the side of the car, where she had put the suitcase. Opening it, she found it was full of clothes, as well as a toiletries kit and a box of ammo. Cordelia gulped, thankful that Hank hadn't had a gun on him when she attacked, because she knew that if he had, she would be the body in the trunk instead of him. Don't bring a wrench to a gun fight. Don't bring a knife to a wrench fight. Cordelia let out a hysterical giggle.

She closed the suitcase and picked it up, and made her way back to the bathroom.

The lighter was still lying on the ground near where she'd beat Hank's head in. She picked it up, feeling like it was sort of a good luck charm. It had helped her escape, helped her take control of her life again when she'd felt it slipping out of her grasp.

She locked the door behind her and set down the clothes and toiletries on the toilet lid. She walked over to the sink, and stared at herself numbly for a moment. Blood splattered her face, like little scarlet freckles. She saw a chunk of what she hoped was flesh and not brain in her hair and fought not to throw up again. Failing, she swept the clothes onto the floor and slammed open the lid of the toilet, and retched until nothing but bile came up.

Trembling, Cordelia forced herself to stand, and went back over to the sink. She couldn't bring herself to look in the mirror again. She took off the ruined pyjama top and used it to scrub her face, arms and hands as best she could. When she looked relatively clean, she dumped the top on the floor and turned her attention to her leg. How was she going to do this? It wasn't like she had many options, but the bathroom was filthy and the knife was in quite deep. She wouldn't be able to go to the hospital – at least not for a while – and so she knew she had to be really, really careful about infection.

She had hit the jackpot with the toiletries bag, though. It had the basics – toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss – but it also had a basic first aid kid. She used another shirt from the case to clean the blood from around the wound, and disinfected the area as best she could. She'd read somewhere that it was bad to remove the knife, because it was stopping her from using too much blood. She was already bleeding quite heavily, and so she tied a pair of pants around her upper thigh as tightly as she could as a makeshift tourniquet, though she couldn't remember how to tie them properly. Hopefully she'd get back to Misty soon, and would be able to take better care of her injuries.

There weren't any clothes in the case that fit properly, and since she still had the knife sticking out of her leg, she couldn't exactly wear pants. She settled on wearing a button-up shirt, and tied another shirt around her waist so that she wouldn't accidentally flash anyone her underpants. She didn't need any more attention today.

Glancing at herself in the mirror, Cordelia was satisfied. She'd managed to get most of the blood off. She collected all the ruined, bloodstained clothes and stuffed them in the case. It wouldn't do to leave them there, although in a gas station bathroom they probably wouldn't be too out of place.

She walked back to the car, hoping that he had money here somewhere. Turns out homicide makes you hungry, Cordelia thought grimly, and let out another hysterical giggle that she quickly choked down. She found his wallet, stuffed full of cash, in a small satchel in the backseat. If Cordelia was to drive back to New Orleans before the day was out – which she fully intended to do – she would need food, and coffee. She couldn't run on adrenaline forever. Her arm and leg still didn't hurt too much, but she knew that would change, and when that happened she'd need painkillers and a lot of them.

She looked around. She'd done a mostly okay job of cleaning up. There was still blood everywhere, of course, but that couldn't be helped. At least she didn't have to worry about the corpse – swamps were great for hiding things in.

The gas station attendant didn't even look up when she walked in, and for a moment Cordelia was reminded strongly of the desk lady at that awful motel she'd stayed at with Misty. She couldn't blame him though – he looked only a couple of years older than her, and had worked the night shift, judging by the shadows under his eyes and the candy wrappers strewn around the counter.

There wasn't a lot on the shelves, but Cordelia found another first-aid kid, a bottle of aspirin, and a self-serve coffee machine from which she filled up the biggest cup she could find. She also got a bag of trail mix and a wrinkly, spotted banana. She set it all on the counter, and the kid there looked at her. "Did you get gas?"

"No," Cordelia said. "Just these, please." For the first time, she realised that she didn't actually know where she was. She hoped she was still in Louisiana – but Hank had only said she'd been out for a few hours, so she didn't have any idea. He'd taken her around midnight, and it was six am now. So they'd probably been driving for four hours before she woke up. "Where are we?"

"Huh?"

"Where are we? Where is this? Is it still Louisiana?"

"Yeah, it's… we're just near Monroe. Route 165."

"Oh. Cool. Thanks," Cordelia said gratefully, glad to know where she was. It was something she could be certain of, at least. She looked at the attendant's name tag, which said Charles. "Hey, do you have any maps here I could buy?"

Charles nodded, and rummaged around the desk. "Uh, yeah, you can have this one for free." He picked up a somewhat crumpled map and showed her.

"Thanks," Cordelia said, taking it from him. She was pretty sure she'd seen some maps in the glove compartment, but she thought it was best to be prepared, just in case. She hadn't been prepared for Hank bursting through their front door, and who knows where she'd be if she'd had been? Maybe Hank wouldn't have even found them at all.

"Are you alright, miss?" asked Charles.

"Oh," Cordelia said, strangely touched. "Yeah, I'll be okay. Thank you."

Charles shrugged. "Have a nice day."

"You too."

She took her things and was about to leave, before she noticed she had gotten blood on the floor. "Oh. Charles, I'm very sorry, but I've gotten blood on your floor. I'd clean it myself, but I've got to go."

"Oh. Don't worry," he said, glancing at the droplets of blood she was pointing at. His gaze went to the knife in her leg and his eyes widened. "Uh, do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"No, no, I'll be fine," Cordelia said, adjusting the shirt around her waist so it concealed the knife. She couldn't go to the hospital, not when the whole world knew who she was, and certainly not while Misty was alone, and injured. "But thank you very much for your help."

"Yeah, uh, no problem."

"Better clean it quick," Cordelia said, when she was at the door. "That stuff stains."

She got back in the car, which she was now realising reeked of BO. Hopefully not hers. She took a sip of coffee, wincing when it burnt her tongue, turned the car on, and tried not to think of the body stuffed in the trunk. She had a long drive, after all.

I looked at Google Maps for awhile trying to figure out where they could be. Well, not awhile, like 5 mins but that's as good as you're gonna get. I hope it's accurate? I don't know. I have not been to Louisiana or anywhere other than Australia, so please correct me if it's wrong.

I had a lot of fun with this chapter. Cordelia, quite obviously, did not, but she'll be right. I love writing action murder stabby stab scenes, I'm predominantly a Hunger Games fic writer so they just feel comforting to me in some sick twisted way. Don't worry I'm not a serial killer hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahhahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahhahahahahhahahaha

and no she did not get stabbed in the femoral artery she will be fine

Title from 'Crying in the Night' by Coach Steve