Rain in Hell.

Brooke sat in her room, which, in this version of the Palace consisted of an empty room with defaced photos of herself covering the walls and a large, cracked, mirror. She was staring into it, voices running though her mind – Harrison, Sam, her mother and father – even Nicole. All of them were telling her she was worthless, a failure, a disappointment.

She knew that the Harrison doppelgänger was right about her treatment of the real Harrison. She'd used him to – to what? – prove that Sam was wrong, that she wasn't superficial? She'd used Josh to. He was the boyfriend she was supposed to have, he made her look good, like she was supposed to. Then, when her perfect life wasn't perfect enough, she turned to Harrison, poor, sweet little puppy-dog Harrison, to show everyone that she was a real person, not just a plastic, Barbie-doll bitch. "I hope he's not crying over me," she thought.

Harrison had, in fact, cried over Brooke, but – if he was being perfectly honest – he might have admitted that he was crying as much for his missed opportunity to be with as he was for the tragedy of his friend lying comatose in a hospital room, with only her so-called stepsister to keep her company. He visited her every day at first, bringing flowers and telling her he loved her and how much he wanted her to wake up, but it had tapered off a bit, as he became less certain that it would actually happen.

Brooke didn't know this, but wouldn't have been surprised. She spent days staring at the mirror in her room, wondering who she was looking at. Even the frequent visits from her tormentor in various guises weren't the distraction they should have been. She'd gone numb.

One day it was yelling at her, dressed as her father, telling her how disappointed he was, when it stopped, smiling to itself when it realized that she was almost completely broken. It was ready to finish it now. It was ready to be Sam.

"Hey Brooke, what's up?" Sam asked, sitting down next to the blond. Brooke stared at the mirror, as if trying to find something.

"Sam?" Brooke turned for a second, but then turned back to her reflection. "Nothing much," she answered, "just looking."

"For what?" Sam said, squinting.

"For me," Brooke answered.

"Ooo-kay" Sam said, rolling her eyes. "You know, I see you right there," she said, pointing at Brooke's reflection.

"But I don't know who she is," Brooke sighed.

"Well," ventured Sam, arching an eyebrow, "cheerleader, thin, A-student, boy-magnet..."

"That's not really me, Sam."

"Oh? It sounds like you."

"No, that's just a mask I had on. It's not me."

"Well, gee Brooke, I don't think there's much else, do you?"

"Actually, I do, and I'm don't care how much you try to tell me otherwise anymore. I'm not listening, and you can stop pretending to be Sam."

The demon's look of disdain rivalled one from Nicole on her worst day. "You think you're all that, do you? I think we all know what you really are."

"No, you don't, and neither do I really, but I'm not pretending to be someone else anymore."

"Then what good are you?"

"I'll find out." Brooke was smiling now.

In her hospital room, Sam was holding Brooke's hand, rambling about everyone's life, a life they all wanted to include Brooke again.

"You really think anyone gives a rat's ass about the 'real' you?" the demon wore no disguise now, it's black eyes glared at Brooke, who was still smiling.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said calmly, "I do – and I don't deserve to be here."

The beast screamed as Brooke felt a cool breeze on her face, like rain after a heat wave.

Then Brooke woke up.