Erica woke up in an unfamiliar room, seemingly white-washed and devoid of any clutter. She had no idea where she was, or where she had been, but the room had an all too familiar feeling.

A familiar looking girl that Erica may had met before, she vaguely thought to herself. Had she been at Jen's on any given Friday night?

"Erica-" she whispered quietly. "I don't know if you remember me.."

She tried to introduce herself, but the general thought of the idea trailed away in her state of mind.

"Who are you?" Erica exclaimed. "Where am I?"

"Erica," the girl said softly, grazing her arm slightly. "I'm Miranda Sanchez, and I'm Gordo's friend."

Erica tried to sit up in her bed, but her throbbing heartache prevented her from doing so. She tried to hold her hand to her head, but with a seizing realization, she knew why her arm was in such an uncomfortable position. Her right arm was handcuffed to the post of her bed.

"Gordo? Where is he?"

Miranda's eyes clouded with uncertainty, and she glanced to the side as if to avoid the question.

"There was a little suspicion with his...disappearance," she answered. "You really don't remember?"

"I remember select pieces. I just want to know how I got here, and why am I in handcuffs."

Miranda released a heavy sigh, as a nurse accompanied by a police officer entered the room.

"She just woke up. She doesn't remember much," Miranda explained.

"You're not supposed to be in here," the officer retorted. "Didn't we just question you back at the station?"

Erica pulled the covers on her bed up to her chin with her free hand, weighed down with a sinking feeling that something was terribly amiss.

"I wanted to see how she was doing," Miranda replied quietly. "I'll wait outside."

The officer didn't reply, but rolled his eyes as she exited to the waiting room.

"Erica McKenzie. David Gordon has disappeared," he explained bluntly. "I would like to question you about his disappearance."

"I know probably about as much as you," Erica shot back, suddenly annoyed by the nature of his demeanor.

"Let me inform you," he said, retrieving a binder from a table in the room. "Yesterday, around ten at night, a man walking his dog stumbled across David Gordon's abandoned car. You were laying in the backseat, and with a medical investigation, traces of five different drugs were found in your system."

"Drugs?" Erica asked with incredulity. She could not remember what she did and did not do that night, the party at Jen's with Erica. She thought that she only had drank, but she couldn't recall.

"Yes, drugs," he replied shortly. "With your history of mental behavior-"

"What history? What mental behavior?" Erica yelled, apalled at the apparent accusation.

"May I bring up the allegations of child abuse?" he said, browsing through his files. "Munchausen by Proxy syndrome?"

"Its the truth. There is no way you don't believe what I'm saying."

The police officer opened his mouth, but a nearby nurse protectively put her hand on Erica's forehead.

"Can I ask you leave, please?" You're upsetting her," she said gently, attempting to loosen the handcuff.

The officer rolled his eyes, mumbled incoherently, and opened the door.

"Your mother and stepfather will be in here shortly," he said, before exiting the room.

Mother and stepfather? Erica began to panic, as the idea of being with her mom in a hospital jarred her sense of reality. Then again, she was the leading suspect in Gordo's disappearance.

The nurse continued to talk to her gently, probably assuming that Erica was a teen of weak mental health.

Slowly the door opened, and Erica's mom confidently strode to her bedside.

"Can I have a moment alone with her?" she said quietly to the nurse.

The nurse smiled, and quickly exited the room.

For a moment, Erica thought she was a middle-schooler again. This scene had been replayed in her life so many times. Her mom would give her a small white pill ("for your sinuses," she would say) with her breakfast, and within a hour, Erica would be crouched in front of a toilet, violently throwing up her stomach's contents. Sometimes her mother would hand her tissue, if she sneezed. After blowing her nose in the strangely sweet smelling cloth, she would feel light-headed, and her surroundings would slowly fade to black. Then would come the emergency room, and the much dreaded hospital stays. This was such an alive part of her conscious...why didn't they believe what her mother did to her?

How her mother abused her was so hard to prove, though. After Erica's aunt and uncle demanded that Erica stay with them, she had heard the term casually passed around the household in everyday conversations. She carefully researched it medical dictionaries on the internet, astonished at its symptoms. They were, most commonly, what she had been through several times.

And now, she was laying in a hospital bed, with her mother at her bedside, a scene that she had once vowed never to relive.

"Honey," her mother said, brushing a few strands of hair away from her forehead. "How could you do this to yourself, or to that poor boy?"

Her mother's tone was so sympathetic, yet so accusing. If Erica wasn't chained to a bed with a throbbing headache, she would have snapped. Not that it would have helped her case.

"Please don't touch me. Now or ever again," Erica stated calmly, with a strong feeling of detachment.

However, it seemed that her mother didn't hear, or was carefully choosing to ignore her directions.

"You'll just need to come back to me," she said. "This is what happened with your mother's absence."

The door opened again, and another figure walked in, taking the side of Erica's mother.

Erica realized with a painful discovery that it was the man from the parking lot. She knew that he was familiar in some way. Oddly enough, her own stepfather possibly killed her boyfriend, and framed her for the murder.

The man smiled slyly, knowing that he probably committed the perfect crime.

"You've met Sam Mcguire before?" Erica's mother continued. "My husband?"

Erica had the irrestible urge to jump out of her bed screaming, "IT WAS HIM! HE KILLED DAVID GORDON!" but she was able to restrain herself.

"Are you...Matt and Lizzie's dad?" she said calmly. She wanted to make it clear to him that she knew how to play "his game."

"I'd rather not talk about my children, but yes...Matt and Lizzie were the names of my kids," he said, rather coldly.

"Matt Mcguire is not dead," Erica retorted.

Erica's mother sensed the obvious tension between the two, and intervened to prevent further conflict.

"Erica, please do not use that term," she exclaimed. "I'm sorry, dear, she's always been a sort of a problem child."

Erica, during this apology, stared at Sam Mcguire. The best she could do to illicit any sort of guilty reaction would grant her freedom.


Miranda, meanwhile, sat in the waiting room downstairs. She wanted another chance to talk to Erica, but mostly she was avoiding returning to her house. She and Danny had gotten into a horrendous argument before she left.

It started simply enough. Miranda had gotten a call from a police station, wanting her to come down to the station for questioning on David Gordon. It was late the night before, and Danny still wasn't home from hanging out with his friends. Lizzie was sleeping in her lap, and she was anxiously drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair.

Danny opened the front door, smiling and laughing still from his time with friends. His smile disappeared when he saw Miranda's angry glare.

"What's the matter?" he asked, almost jokingly.

"David Gordon has disappeared, and they want to question me at the station," she stated, adding a icy edge to her words.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, grabbing a soda from the refrigerator.

"I was waiting-counting-on you to come home."

"What about Victoria?" he asked, picking up and glancing over the sports section from the newspaper.

"Her parents are home, so she went back to her house."

"Couldn't you take Lizzie with you?"

"Take my INFANT daughter to the POLICE STATION?"

She stood up from her chair, looking at Danny eye to eye.

"Sorry, then I guess. I didn't mean to hinder you AT ALL," Danny replied sarcastically.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, I know I'm your husband and everything, but don't use me as anything. An excuse, scapegoat, whatever. I've sacrificed JUST as much as you, and you're the one that made the mistake," he replied, angrily.

"I wasn't accusing you of anything! I just wanted you to be home to take care of Lizzie!"

"Whatever. I found the acceptance letter from that art school in New York, the one you applied for after you got pregnant. What did you expect? Someone magically would just come along and take care of your baby? I don't want to be your permanent babysitter while you're off to bigger and better things. I love you."

Miranda was shocked into silence. The only sound in their immediate surroundings was the cry of Lizzie, awoken by their yelling.

"I'll take her tonight. Go get interrogated or whatever. But before you come back here, remember...I gave up a full basketball scholarship to UCLA for you."

A tear ran down Miranda's cheek as she relived the events of the fight. Both of them had said ugly, mean words to each other, words that could not be taken back. She had not returned since their fight; after being questioned the night before, she immediately went to the hospital,where she slept in her car.

She glanced at her wedding ring on her finger, as she remembered their quick wedding at the courthouse. Lizzie was in her arms, wrapped in a pale pink blanket. Danny quickly and surely signed his life away, never looking back on anything he would sacrifice.

"Ahem."

Miranda looked up at an extremely good-looking young man, with gently curling dark-brown hair covering one of his dark eyes.

"I was wondering if you had the time," he said.

"I don't have a watch on me, actually, but there's a clock right behind you," Miranda answered smiling politely.

He turned around, and saw the clock on the table.

"Oh, so there is."

He looked at the clock much longer than he needed to, finally turning around to face Miranda again.

"Okay, so I didn't actually want the time."

"What did you want?" Miranda asked curiously.

"I guess I just wanted an excuse to talk to you."

"Oh," Miranda said, looking at the floor almost sheepishly. This guy was obviously gorgeous, and while she was flattered at his attraction, she felt extremely guilty.

"You see, I was sitting in that chair over there, and I saw you. Almost instantly, I had this feeling that we needed to talk...that we would be HUGE in each others' lives."

She couldn't help but laugh nervously. Now she was extremely flattered.

"I'm Aidan," he finished.

"I'm sorry, Aidan, but I'm married," she said, holding up her left hand. His gorgeous face fell with obvious disappointment.

"I'm extremely sorry that I bothered-"

"But I'll go to lunch with you," she interrupted. "I'm Miranda"


Matt awoke the next morning to see a new familiar face sitting across from him. He was still groggy from his sleep on the rocky ground, but the familiar dark brown curly hair caught his attention.

"Gordo?" he said, disbelievingly.

"I thought you were never going to wake up," Gordo replied.

Matt rubbed his eyes, and got a better look at Gordo. He had a black eye, and several bruises and scratches scattered throughout his features.

"You look like crap," Matt said.

"As do you," Gordo responded.

The two sat in silence for a few moments, as Matt glanced around to see where his father was.

"Your dad's not here," Gordo quickly stated.

"How did you get here?"

"Text message from you, actually. I was with Erica, and didn't know that you disappeared. You, or your dad I must say, asked me to come to HHS, where I was attacked. The next thing I remember is waking up here, and your dad hasn't been back since. Oh-by the was-your boss is pissed that you missed Friday. So, what happened to you?" Gordo explained quickly, and almost cheerily.

"Well, my house blew up right after I was there getting stuff, I called Victoria and told her I needed to tell her something. When I got to her house, my dad pulled a gun on me outside my car, made me get in and follow him. He made me call Victoria and "break up," so I slipped in a few hints. Then he shot me in the foot."

"I have a question," Gordo declared.

"Shoot."

"Why did you follow him? It would have been really easy just to not follow him, and go to the police."

Gordo looked at him expectantly, searching for an easy answer.

"He said he would kill Victoria if I didn't follow him, and he's..." Matt began to say, before his voice trailed away.

"He's what?"

"He's my dad. I would like to believe that he wouldn't hurt me. Ever," he continued. "But now I know that he's going to kill us."

"Kill?" Gordo asked disbelievingly.

"Why would he gather you and I here? To kill us, that's why. I wonder who's next? Miranda?" Matt supposed. "I just hope that nothing has happened to Victoria."

"Erica, either," Gordo said. "She was with me, and I don't know what happened to her. I wouldn't put it past your dad to do something to her."

"Yeah, knowing him he'll do something clever and trapping. Oh, I almost forget," Matt said, pulling a picture out of his pocket. The picture was well-worn and creased, and had a couple of tick marks lining the top edge.

"What's that?" Gordo asked.

Matt flashed the picture, a picture of him and Victoria, at him quickly, and went back to writing something on the back.

"What are you doing?"

"Penning a memoir," Matt responded sarcastically. "No, I'm actually writing a note to Victoria. Just to have on me for when they find my body."

"Morbid much?"

"I want to stay alive, just so that I can see her again. She's keeping me living at this moment."

Gordo patted him on the back, and slumped against the wall again.

"I hate your dad"
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