Author's note: So, finally another chapter update! Thank you for the wonderful reviews in my absence, they really do fuel my confidence a lot.

I went to the office when there was no one there – when it was empty of people, closed. But I had been given a key so that I could let myself in, if I happened to be the first one to arrive or the last to leave.

I made sure to go there at night, when everyone else had gone home. It looked no different in the dark, but it was somehow omnious when I, instead of turning on my own computer, I went over to Helen's desk and started up hers.

Within seconds, blue light flooded the screen.

My breathing was suddenly loud to my ears, but it couldn't have been – it was just so empty and quiet. The password screen came up and I bit my lip, thinking. That it wasn't too late to stop what I was doing, not too late to switch it off and go home – to quietly pack up my things and disappear. Nobody had to know.

I thought about the bloody patch of fur by the balcony, thinking that maybe I'd end up like that, if I stayed.

But if I did leave, I would never know – for sure. It could all be a crazy mistake, somehow.

The computers all had the same password, so that bit didn't worry me. Once I was in, I started looking through Helen's files on her desktop – a picture of the bellvadere as the background. I had no clue what to look for, but I guessed I was searching for anything that looked strange or suspicious.

The files didn't look strange – they were all labeled neatly, "Reports", "income tax history", "daily chores" and so on. I decided to check her email inbox, moving the mouse down to the bottom corner of the screen. Everything looked normal, until I decided to look at what sort of emails she'd sent to others.

This section was completely blank. I blinked, and clicked the little icon again, thinking that it just needed time to load. But still nothing. Maybe she had erased it for some reason, maybe cleaned it up. But why would she do that?

Her inbox was filled with mostly spam and newsletters form local magazines and bills from cleaning services. Nothing personal or sent from any private clients at all was to be found there. On a hunch, I decided to go back to the desktop and open up each folder, just in case.

I opened up "Reports" and found it empty.

I opened up "Daily chores" and found it empty.

"I opened up "Tax income history" and found it empty.

But this couldn't be right. I know, because she talked about these things to me all day, all the time. Mentioned exact figures, specific details from reports. Why would she talk about something that did not exist?

I went over the the next desk and turned on that computer as well – same files on the desktop. They turned up empty as well. I could not understand it. Had a virus somehow deleted everything and nobody knew about it? What were they doing all day if not working in these files? What was their real purpose in this office, in this room?

The realization came with an odd sense of calm, as I looked over to my own desk, the only one with files filled up with information, dates, clients that probably did not even exist.

They are here to watch you.

I don't think he expected the call at all, since i had ignored every single one he had made to me for a month. But it didn't matter- all that mattered was that he was the only person now that I could trust.

I was a little surprised however at how awake he sounded, despite how late it must have been for him when I called.

"Rebecca? Oh thank goodness. I thought they had-" he started, sounding upset, but there wasn't enough time for that.

"Carlisle. Tell me why I should leave. I want to hear it." I said, and there was a pause before he replied.

"I fear that you will not believe me. "

"I will believe anything at this point. I think they've been pretending for me all along and I have no idea why. "

"But you believe me when I say that you are in trouble?" he asked and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Yes. But that's not the whole story, not even a glimpse. Am I right?"

"I see. You want proof. "

The line went completely silent for a moment, but was loud for all that was not said. I could hear him sigh, his voice tired and completely different – almost elderly.

"Check the quarry."

"What?"

"Go look. You'll find enough there to know what you have to do. I'm...I'm sorry for putting you through this."

He hung up on me after that, unexpectedly. The phone screen went dark, just like the sky outside that was darker, the cicadas singing in the grass. There was no stars that night.

I could not wait until morning. It had to be now or I'd try to forget. Try to pretend that everything was fine for the sake of keeping something. Trying to keep him.

I had been to the quarry many times this summer and never seen anything out of the ordinary. I doubted at first that what Carlisle had said was true, but it was the way he had said it that made me go. He had sounded so weary, so tired. Like telling me was aging him, revealing something that he'd try to forget himself. I had to bring a flashlight, since it was one of those nights when not even the moon was shining down.

Instead of jogging, I walked there. It took a long time – maybe longer than it should have. When I got there I lingered by the trees, taking my time. It's funny, but now that I am here – suddenly there is hesitation. I want to run back and never think about this again. I stand there and imagine – waiting for Aro to get back, maybe surprise him by making him dinner for the first time. I know he doesn't eat much, but I think he would eat what I cooked. And maybe, after some time has passed – I can move into his apartment. Give it a bit of life, personality.

He says he likes me, maybe even loves me. Well, he hasn't said it yet – but I know he does. It's carved into him, this love. It's so strong and constant that it scares me a little – but I think I might love him back.

But I don't want to be tricked. Not again.

With that in mind I approach the quarry, sliding down the side carefully, dry sand falling between my fingers. It leaves scuff marks on my palms that sting, but I don't pay it any mind. The quarry is filled with garbage from construction sites, huge piles of dug up dirt and rocks. I trek through it for awhile, my flashlight as a compass. I wonder what I could possibly find here that would give me answers.

Then I remember the cat, who was partly buried under one of those heavy rocks.

I swallow thickly and rub at my arms, even though its not cold at all. My flashlight keeps on looking, wildly flickering this way and that over the great expanse, over the mountains upon mountains of crap – abandoned and carelessly tossed. I won't find anything here. I look down and notice that my leg is scraped up now from coming in contact with some sharp metal bars to the right.

And it is then that I spot an old watch – still ticking. It's the kind of thing you buy from a street vendor – made to look like a rolex but obviously not. When I bend over to pick it up, I see something grey and pink-looking, shoved between two rocks. I shine my flashlight at it and realize that it is a human finger.

I lower my flashlight and pick up the rock there, and when I lift it, more is revealed. The finger is now a hand, then when I lift up yet another rock, a whole arm. I continue lifting rocks until I see a face. While I am doing this, nothing is happening inside me. I know that the person is dead, too much….skin is missing. And I don't know about the rest of her, the parts that I cannot see.

I dont start shaking until I see that her scalp has been singed off.