A/N - Hey guys...Sorry about the delay. Work has been going nuts and between overtime, the need to sleep and occasionally eat, I kind of got distracted.

But I'm back on track..

So read, enjoy and review.

Chapter Seventeen – The Girl With Half A Heart

Olivia couldn't sleep. Despite Peter's protests, she knew that he was lying beside her, his ears straining for every sound coming from the baby monitor, just like she was. Olivia eventually gave up the charade and went and sat in Etta's nursery, pulling the rocking chair close to the crib. She watched the steady rise and fall of Etta's tiny chest, punctuated by the occasional sniffle and wheeze.

"It's no good, is it?"

Olivia turned to find Peter in the door way, two mugs in his hands. Olivia shook her head, her eyes finding Etta again.

"I couldn't sleep. I just kept picturing her being limp and I just…."

She couldn't even finish the sentence. Etta's arrival had been unexpected but it didn't matter. She was their little girl and nothing would change that. Not time, not age, nothing. She would always be their little girl.

"Liv, she's fine."

"Stop doing that. I saw your face. You were just as scared as I was."

Peter moved closer in the darkness and handed her the hot mug, fruit from the herbal tea making Olivia's nose tickle.

"I was. Get up for a second."

Olivia did as Peter requested, feeling him slip behind her, settling himself in the seat before gently pulling Olivia onto his lap. The chair wasn't made for two but Olivia swung her legs over the arm rest, leaning into Peter, finding herself oddly comfortable.

"I hated seeing Etta with an I.V in her arm. I hate seeing her in pain just as much as you do. Seeing her like that makes me feel as if I failed her. I'm her Daddy, I'm meant to protect her from the stuff that makes her hurt."

"I think that only counts if it's a boy, not a virus,"

Peter chuckled, the sound soft, vibrating through Olivia's body.

"I know. . I just hate seeing her like this. And your face. When I saw your face at the hospital, it felt like someone had ripped my heart out."

"I was so scared."

"I was too. But you know something?"

"What?"

"She's tougher than both of us. She came about during the worse time in our lives, when the rest of the world was falling apart, she was tucked inside of you growing away. She made it through all that bumping, running and falling that we were doing. And she's got the Dunham/Bishop stubbornness. Our girl could survive a zombie holocaust with a smile."

Olivia smiled.

"Zombies? Really?"

Peter pressed a kiss to her temple and she could smell the fruit on his breath.

"You know it."

Olivia sipped at her tea, watching her tiny daughter shift in her sleep, murmuring before starting to suck on her thumb. It still caught Olivia off guard about how amazing it all was. She knew the biology of it all, the sperm and the egg, the growth and development but the fact that Etta was here, that she was perfect split of her and Peter still flabbergasted her.

"So what's on the board for tomorrow?"

Olivia sighed, shifting deeper into Peter.

"Rachel's coming here tomorrow. I don't want Etta going anywhere."

"Liv, you could stay home."

"I can't. And neither can you. We are talking to Rayne Jeremy tomorrow. And you have to keep processing those bodies."

"So what time is Rachel coming over?"

"At ten, once she dropped Ella off at school and Eddie at day care."

Peter finished off his tea and dipped the chair low to place his mug on the ground, one arm keeping Olivia firmly in place on his lap. He kissed her jaw, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.

"We should get some sleep. We are going to need it."

"Let's just sit here a bit longer ok? Just a few more minutes."

She felt his smile against her face.

"I'm not going to argue. I could watch my girl all night."

It took a little bit for her to leave the house the house the next morning. Etta was in another mood, grizzly, clingy and feeling sorry for herself but Olivia knew she had to leave. And Etta wasn't far away. She pressed a kiss to Etta's warm forehead and headed out the door ignoring Etta's howls. When she arrived at the FBI building, she headed straight to Heather's office, knocking lightly before entering. Heather gave her a smile and coffee before pointing to the paperwork strewn over her desk.

"I'm been going over the case."

Olivia took a seat.

"And?"

"Rayne said she heard two voices. She always claimed that there were two men, they both raped her."

"Really?"

"Yup. And the M.O matches the bodies that Peter's going over. All except for the dumping ground the victims themselves."

"So Culter is the fall guy?"

"Possibly. But I don't want to say that completely until I see those bodies and the dumping ground. But I made a rough profile and it fits perfectly to Cutler."

"Shit."

"My thoughts exactly. I called the Jeremy's and arranged to go and see Rayne today. But we need to be careful. She still has a lot of issues."

"She was beaten, raped and dumped. If she didn't have issues, I would be concerned."

The house was small and neat and when they knocked on the door, a small woman, her hair neatly tied back answered the door. As soon as it opened, Olivia could hear the distance thump of music, loud enough to feel the vibrations through the floor.

"How may I help you?"

"Mrs Jeremy, I'm Agent Olivia Dunham and this is Heather Fogleigh."

"You're the ones who wanted to talk to Rayne."

"Yes."

"Come in."

The followed Mrs Jeremy into the house. She led them into the living room, which was just as neat as the outside. Olivia didn't take a seat, still curious about the thumping coming from under her feet. Mrs Jeremy caught her glancing at the floor and offered her a tight smile.

"That's Rayne's music. She's in the basement painting. It's all she does since….since she was hurt."

Heather offered Mrs Jeremy a small smile.

"At least it's something creative."

Mrs Jeremy glanced between them.

"Which one of you is talking to Rayne?"

"Agent Dunham is."

Mrs Jeremy turned her eyes to Olivia, her face serious.

"You need to be careful."

"I will."

Mrs Jeremy nodded.

"Good. She's not as strong as she appears. The basement door is at the end of the hallway."

Olivia slid away from Heather and Mrs Jeremy, heading down the hallway, pausing to look at the pictures that decorated the path. Rayne was a cute kid, all blonde curls and wide smiles. Olivia followed the sound of the music until she hit the basement door. She didn't bother knocking, the blaring music making it impossible. She pulled open the door and slowly made her way down the stairs that lead into the bowls of the basement. The paintings started near the top of the stairs, swirls of colours and darkness that made Olivia frown. The one that caught her attention was right near the bottom. It was a faceless girl in a bathtub, slim wrists exposed, blood dripping onto the floor. Olivia wasn't sure what disturbed her more, the fact that the girl was faceless or that it was a depiction of suicide. The music suddenly stopped, the silence ringing in Olivia's ears as her foot finally touched the basement floor. Rayne stood near the corner, her arms over her chest.

"You're the one who wanted to talk to me."

"Yes. My name is Olivia."

At the same time that Rayne was running her eyes over Olivia, Olivia was doing the same to her. Rayne was narrow and thin, her bones making her a model of sharp edges. Her jeans, clearly meant to be tight, hung off her hips, her top loose around her slim frame. She had tattoos as well, weaving up and down her arms, ending at her neck. Her face was a map of the attack, scars marring her cheeks and chin, decorated by multiple piercings in her nose, eyebrow and lips. The soft blonde hair was gone, her scalp almost completely bald. But it was her eyes, wide, bottomless and empty. And suddenly, Olivia knew what Heather meant by her having ghosts in her eyes. She could see them in Rayne's, dancing in her shadow of her long eyelashes. Red, blue and black paint covered her pale skin.

"You need to sit."

Rayne moved away and Olivia followed, allowing herself to become immersed in Rayne's world. There was no space along the walls, paintings lined the floor and Olivia stood in front of a large mural that Rayne had clearly been working on. Despite the dark theme that ran through her works, Rayne was talented. Olivia had never considered herself much of an art lover, but these were beautiful and breath taking. Olivia took the hard seat that Rayne nodded towards, watching as the young woman pulled out a large sketch pad.

"What do you want to know?"

"You heard two voices."

Rayne nodded, her pencil working furiously across the paper, her eyes remaining focused on her work.

"But my lawyer said that it wouldn't hold up in court because of my head injury."

"But you're sure."

"You don't forget. You can't forget."

"Rayne, would you mind telling me what happened?"

She saw Rayne stiffen but she kept drawing, her words slow and precise, as if she practised the story a thousand times before.

"I was at the library. I was doing a paper for my art history paper. It was about 5pm and it was still light, so I decided to walk. I took the path behind the library, it was always nice to walk through there. I had my iPod on so I never heard them. I just felt a hand over my mouth and then I was being pulled into some bushes. They covered my head with a sack, it smelt like corn. I kicked, I fought, I screamed but no one came. They always say to fight and scream, but it didn't work."

Rayne paused, the only sound being of pencil scratching paper. Even Olivia held her breath, wondering if Rayne would keep going.

"They dragged me deep into the bush and it hurt. I could feel roots hitting my spine, sharp edges tearing up my skin. I could hear a river. There were two voices."

"What did they say?"

"Something about getting rid of me after they were done. Then they raped me. One of them used a condom, the other one didn't. Then they started hitting me. I woke up in hospital a week later."

The pencil was moving furiously.

"The only thing I could do was draw. I couldn't speak because of my broken jaw and the bruising on my throat. So I simply drew. Why are you here now?"

Olivia licked her dry lips.

"Because we don't think the right man is in prison."

"So now they believe me about the two voices?"

"I do. Something isn't right."

Rayne nodded slightly finally, raising her eyes to meet Olivia's.

"He's still out there, the other one?"

"I don't know. But I intend to find out."

"How?"

"With your help."

"I told you everything I know."

"But not everything you remember."

Rayne nodded slightly.

"My therapist said something about my brain blocking things. I have nightmares, flashbacks, things that don't make sense. I hate water now. And corn. And I can't speak to people without drawing. I count too, everything has to be in even numbers. I can't be normal. I've tried but I can't. I should have died. Because this isn't living. This is existing."

There was no trace of tears in Rayne's voice or face, just cold reality itching at her skin. Olivia hurt for the young girl.

"I tried to stop it. I tried to die like I was meant too out there in the bushes. But my Mom stopped me. She found me. I saw it in her eyes then, that if I died, she would too. She believes that God saved me for a reason and that He will give me the strength to keep going. I hear her praying at night and on the phone to her church group. But I don't even think God can keep the dark from getting me."

Olivia swallowed. She could feel Rayne's shadows, felt her fear and pain, it weighed down the room.

"I was like that too once."

Rayne cocked her eyebrow, her eyes back on her drawing, her pencil moving furiously again.

"How so?"

"My step-father use beat me, my sister and my mother."

"What did you do?"

"When I was nine, I shot him."

For the first time, Rayne reacted to her words. She looked at Olivia, mouth slightly open in surprise.

"You shot him?"

"Yes."

"Did he die?"

"No. But I wish he did. You can't expect a perfect shot from a child."

Rayne offered Olivia a small smile.

"Good point."

Rayne flipped over the sketch pad, showing Olivia what she had been drawing while they were talking. It was a portrait of Olivia, a small smile on her face, an invisible wind lifting her hair off her shoulders. Despite the smile, there was seriousness in her eyes, the secrets that she always carried around captured on the paper.

"So, what was your plan?"