Author's Note: Thanks for all the emails/reviews! I appreciate it immensely. I suppose I should apologize for the delay in updating…but please be patient. I go to a prep school that is merciless in its homework assignments. Thankfully, I have been sick these past couple of days so I've gotten to take a break from school, and can finish this chapter. It's a bit longer, so enjoy.


Detective Eric Finch was not a man who was easily perturbed. He could stare at gruesome crime scene photos without blinking an eye, never became nauseous while inspecting an autopsy, and had yet to be intimidated by any thug or criminal. Yet as he stared at the footage being played on his computer, of a robbery the night before, a strange feeling was settling into his stomach, and he was not sure as to why. His gut told him that something wasn't right about this. And it was this very same gut that had served him well in the past.

"Dominic...you say she had no idea he was wearing a mask?" Finch squinted as he stared at the screen. The masked man had clearly walked into the store, and his concealed face had been in perfect view of the camera for nearly thirty seconds.

"Yeah, it was really weird. She insisted she never knew he was wearing it. You think she's involved?"

Finch grunted a noncommittal reply, not willing to give an answer. Even though this was easily the fifteenth time he had observed this recording, he paid attention to every detail, freezing the frame often, and writing notes onto a pad. Dominic, his younger, somewhat rookie partner, wandered over to the other side of the table, and raised his eyebrows at the amount of handwriting spanning over several pages.

"Have you been in here the entire night?" He questioned, an eyebrow quirking.

When Finch did not even bother grunting this time, Dominic shook his head. "You need to get out of this office occasionally. See the sunlight."

Still no reply was given, and Dominic rolled his eyes. "It's just a robbery, Eric, we'll catch him."

Suddenly Finch's expression changed. He immediately rose out of his chair and pointed a finger at a nearby collection of DVDs.

"Gimmie the one from last week's"

"What?" Dominic asked, as he moved over to the pile of shiny disks. "Which one?" He hopelessly sifted through the heap and extracted a few badly scratched ones. They were labeled with permanent marker, the dates all ranging from precisely a week ago. Handing them to Finch, Dominic sighed and began to complain about the state of the office space they shared.

"You know, we really need to get this place clean again. I mean, look at this," he lifted up a box which at one point probably contained some sort of fast food "this has been sitting here since last month. And who knows what that god-awful smell is…"

"Shut up, Dominic." The command was muffled by Finch's hand pressed up against his mouth in a fist. He had inserted one of the disks into the computer and was now studying the footage carefully, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. His partner came up behind him and watched in silence.

The first few minutes went by, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. A few customers had walked into the gas station snack shop, some milled about, not sure what beverage they wanted, while others quickly paid for their gas and departed just as swiftly.

Finch stiffened in his chair a bit when he noticed a figure adorned in black entering the store. His head was facing away from the camera and he quickly disappeared into an area free from surveillance. Dominic noted the oddity as well.

"Wait…do you think…"

He didn't need to voice his answer because soon everyone in the store had dropped to the ground, and the cashier was opening the register with shaking hands.

"How did we miss this?" Dominic asked to no one in particular. Finch did not reply, he merely rewound the clip and paused it the moment the man entered the store. He pressed a button and soon the computer was pulling up a picture of the man's ducked face.

"Jesus…"

Though the man had quickly escaped the camera's eye, he had managed to be caught on tape for a few seconds. And within those seconds his face had been revealed.

He was wearing the exact mask that the thief from the previous night had worn.

"I want you to get every copy of robberies committed from the past month. Every division, you got that?" Finch ordered quietly, his eyes still trained onto the computer screen. Nodding his head and exiting, Dominic was soon down the hall, briskly walking and in search of more surveillance footage.


Evey hadn't bothered to set her alarm clock, and therefore wasn't surprised when she awoke sometime in the mid-afternoon. The sunlight streamed through her flimsy curtains and seemed to serve no purpose other than to annoy her. She groaned and turned over to her side, shoving her head under a pillow. If ever there existed a text-book example of 'waking up on the wrong side of the bed' Evey Hammond would have given it a run for its money.

But eventually her body rebelled against her mind, and she was upon her feet. Fueled by a need to stretch and to eat, she walked over to the kitchen. She found the remote control to her pathetically small television—which had been installed rather randomly on a counter--and out of habit, turned it on. The noise filled the otherwise abundant silence in her apartment.

She started searching her cabinets for something edible. It had been weeks since she's felt compelled to buy food. Everything was too damn expensive, anyway. Just as she had finally decided on something with an expiration date only a few days overdue, a news story caught her attention completely.

"…the fifth convenience store robbery of the month. Police are baffled by the mysterious robber, but are confident that they have discovered new leads which may aid them in the case."

Evey watched in fascination as the reporter continued talking. A picture of the criminal that she had met twice a little more than twelve hours ago appeared on screen.

"…attacked a group of Fingermen, killing two. It is believed that they were escorting the clerk home. Police have not confirmed if she is a suspect or not."

She dropped the remote, the compartment holding the batteries breaking open and sending the twin pair skittering across the wooden floor.

"What? Not yet a suspect…?"

As she reached to turn up the volume she lost her appetite completely. In fact, she felt rather sick. But the story was ending and was replaced by a much less relevant one.

"In other news, it appears as though dandruff may be a sign of impotence in men…"

Not at all interested, Evey pressed the power button on the television and stared blankly at the black screen.

A suspect? What do they mean, I'm not yet a suspect?

She nibbled on a hangnail and started to pace through her kitchen. There had to be some error in the report. She had done nothing wrong, nothing at all. In fact, those Fingermen deserved to die, for what they were about to do to her.

"But I can't just go tell the police that…" She thought aloud, mulling over what would happen if she arrived at the station to convince them of her innocence. Imagining their reaction if she explained anything resembling the truth. Evey shuddered; she'd be Black Bagged for even insinuating that she had been helped by the murderer.

No…can't go there. I've got to wait this out. Yes…just wait it out.

Still shaken up, Evey settled into a chair and stared out the window, mulling over all the possible scenarios she could find herself in. None comforted or calmed her.


"I don't get it…how did anyone not pick up on this?" Dominic frowned at the several frozen screens. Each had a magnified face of a man dressed in black. All wearing masks that were identical.

"And what's with that bloody mask, anyway? I mean, why's he wearing it? Where did he get it?" Finch rubbed his eyes tiredly, as if each subsequent question were giving him a headache. But Dominic took no notice of the man's suffering and continued musing aloud.

"…I mean sure the Petty Crimes Division couldn't be expected to know this sort of thing, but you'd think someone would have made the connection. Especially that one a few weeks ago…the face was right there, right on screen…who is this guy?"

"Whoever he is…he's very good," came the exhaustion laden reply. Finch grabbed his coat off of the counter and stood up from his chair. His legs nearly gave out; he had been sitting so long. Blood rushed to his head and he had to steady himself before being able to move.

"Where you off to, it's been nearly a day since you've left here. You finally going home?"

Shaking his head, Finch mumbled something unintelligible. Deciding it best to follow his elder partner, Dominic grabbed his coat as well, exiting the untidy office and closing the door behind him.


Evey Hammond flipped idly through an old newspaper. The same boring job and the same boring routine awaited her every single night. Tonight's only difference, so far, was that there had been no masked intruders barging into the store—for which she was immensely grateful for. Every time the door had opened, she had instantly panicked--her eyes were wide and her expression was one of intense fear and paranoia. In fact, she suspected that a few customers had been disturbed by her odd and erratic behavior. One poor woman nearly had a heart attack while paying for some chips and salsa. Evey had noticed a man in a black shirt coming into the store and had screamed before ducking down below the counter, sending the woman's change flying in the air. Turned out it was only a teenage boy with dark clothing and an even darker personality—he had bought a pack of matches and a few razorblades.

Finally, around nine, the store was nearly empty and Evey was left with her thoughts. They were not at all relaxing, all possibly pleasant daydreams were overshadowed by her predictions of impending doom.


"Name's Evey Hammond," Dominic looked up from the handheld device that showed a picture of the stunning young woman. His gaze lingered a bit longer than necessary over the portrait and Finch cleared his throat to gain the younger man's attention. "Sorry," he mumbled, pressing another button and pulling up a file on her.

"What's her story?" Finch inquired. He was driving the patrol car slowly, seeming to be heading in no particular direction, and not in any hurry to arrive at the unknown destination.

"Well, let's see…her parents were activists. Black Bagged by Fingerman when she was young. She was sent to a reform school of sorts. Little brother apparently…died in St. Mary's…real winning family this one comes from, yeah?"

When Finch replied with silence, Dominic angrily sighed and turned to gaze out the dark window.

"You know, you've been about as talkative as a house plant since we were assigned this case. Not like you're Mr. Chatty anyway, but this is getting ridiculous. I'm not a mind reader, you know. No news of ESP potential."

"With all your complaining and nagging, you'd make a wonderful housewife someday, Dominic."

"You're the one with the bloody mood swings," Dominic muttered a few curses before crossing his arms and becoming equally silent. Brooding, he didn't speak the entirety of the car ride. But when Finch parked the vehicle in front of a dingy looking flat, curiosity got the better of him.

"Where, exactly, are we?"

"Hammond girl's apartment," Finch replied, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. "You would know that if you hadn't been ogling her picture," he remarked dryly as he left the car. A light drizzle had begun so the two men scuttled inside the building as to avoid getting too wet. Though, it might have been dryer outside than within the dank and mold infested structure. The walls had probably been white at some point, but they were now dappled with suspicious looking stains and holes, making it impossible to decipher what the original coating of paint had been. Ahead of the two detectives was a spiral staircase that seemed ready to collapse at any moment. The alternative to reaching the higher floor was to their left; a tiny metal elevator that resembled a dumbwaiter, only less sturdy.

Dominic hesitated for a moment as Finch headed for the stairs, ignoring the protesting creaks of the rickety structure with each step up. Soon, though, the younger policeman was following his partner, doing his best not to look over the banister and see how far above the ground he was. Just when he was positive that he had heard something snap and they were about to plummet to their deaths, Dominic breathed a sigh of relief. The staircase had ended.

The top floor stretched out into a square shaped hallway, with the apartments on the right side; away from the edge. There were other floors below, which could only reached by the elevator. But the building's impracticality was the least of its worries.

Finch led the way, not paying attention to the motif of strange colors forever engrained into the carpet. Dominic, however, grimaced at the collection of disgusting patterns. The entire building, in his opinion, was a breeding ground for every disease imaginable.

"Number 115," Finch murmured in front of the wooden door with the corresponding number attached to it. He knocked, but there wasn't any response. The door was locked, but a light shove with his shoulder was enough to send it swinging open.

"Why are we doing this, anyway?" Dominic quipped, as he stepped over a pile of dirty clothing.

"Just wanna see if there's any evidence…whether or not she knew this guy before the robbery."

"Ah."

The apartment wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Small and messy, it obviously belonged to someone too young to care about cleanliness. Nothing struck Finch as odd or out of place. Pictures of family members were absent, and there wasn't much food, but other than that this could be anybody's home.

"She's at her shift at the store ain't she? We could always go talk to her again," suggested Dominic, calling out from Evey's bedroom.

Nodding his head, Finch agreed. "Yeah, good idea. Just put whatever you took out of her drawer back."

As Finch exited he heard his younger partner curse, and shuffle around the room for a bit.


By 10:30, Evey had finally relaxed enough to move out from behind the pretend safety of her counter, and could stock some food items. The store was empty, and she had no doubt that it would remain that way until it was time to lock up. She had been diligently placing random items in their appropriate locations; a task that was boring, but simple enough to stay fairly alert.

Which is why she heard the sound of a car engine stopping right outside of the mart--even though it was down pouring. The rain had been mercilessly pounding on the metallic roof, sounding like a troupe of dancers had been prancing nonstop above her. But even through the racket, she noticed the dim headlights, and the sound of a car being turned off.

Adrenaline began pumping through her body. Grabbing the nearest object she could find—a can of industrial sized vegetable soup—Evey crouched behind an aisle, and waited for the intruder. If it was a customer, than she would just appear to be restocking items. And if it happened to be another criminal, well, they would soon be coming into contact with a rather large and heavy metallic tub filled with broth, celery, and carrots.

She tried to control her breathing as she pressed her back up against a shelf of potato chips and other assorted junk foods. Her eyes darted over to the entrance, two dark figures were approaching. Scooting closer, she turned to completely face the people entering. The sliding glass doors opened, and Evey was face to face with two strangers, adorned in all black, their faces hidden by their upturned jacket collars.

Perhaps had she not been attacked the night before, she wouldn't have been so afraid of the pair. But the combination of their late night arrival, and their attire frightened her. She was convinced that she was being robbed again.

It took all of her self-control not to scream. The tub of soup was heavy, and difficult to carry. But she didn't need to go far. The trespassers were right in front of her; all she had to do was stand up and come out from behind the aisle in order to get a clean shot.

Their voices were muffled, and one was about to remove his black overcoat. Evey knew she had to move fast if she wanted to injure one, and make a break for the door. If she simply ran for the exit, the could catch her. But if she severely wounded one of them, the other would probably stay and attempt to help his accomplice, giving her plenty of time to make a getaway.

She stood up to her full height, and lifted the can over her head. The pair had their backs to her, so she was able to approach them without being detected. As she closed the distance she involuntarily held her breath. She only had one chance to hit her mark, and she couldn't afford to miss. Just as one of the figures had taken off his black coat Evey held the giant, metal container over her head and brought it down upon his head, hard.

"Auuuugh!" A cross between a grunt and a scream of pain erupted from the man she had hit. Before she could even inspect her handiwork, the other man had removed a weapon and had turned to face her. Evey screamed and darted away, hoping that she could get out before he fired.

"Don't…" mumbled the injured man. His hand was pressed against his bleeding head. "Call for backup, but don't shoot her."

That was the last thing Evey heard before she took off into the night.