Sorry for the delay. Hope you're still reading and that I'm not writing for nothing. I know I'm not, because I enjoy writing.


Quinn was driving below the authorized speed, firstly so they wouldn't get noticed, but also because she knew they weren't in any danger for the moment. She turned the radio on every half hour on the local and national news channel, to know if one had reported the disappearance — or the death — of the people she had killed, or a house which had mysteriously caught fire at sunrise.

There was nothing. Nobody on their heels. Nobody was even suspecting that they were on the run.

It reassured her a little, and it gave her time to think about their next stage.

They would have to find a place to sleep, to stay for a while.

They could rent a room in a motel for this night, maybe two nights, but no more; by then, the news of the fire and the quadruple crime would be widely spread, and the county and state polices would be looking for them without a doubt.

They had nonetheless an advantage : they couldn't be recognized, at least for now. As soon as the forensics would know that the blaze had been criminal, they would do everything to look for DNA, if that was possible. Quinn didn't know if they could then track then down, get their names and pictures, but she would rather not take any risk. She was giving herself three days to put as much distance as possible between the police and their car.

She sighed, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

She felt like a fugitive, but still didn't feel like she had done something wrong. Of course, Quinn had killed people; four people of a same family, without scruples, without feeling the least bit of emotion except relief every time she pulled the trigger. But she didn't do it because she wanted to, only to avenge herself. If there had been another way to do justice, less bloody, she would have chosen it without any hesitation.

But no matter the way she would have done it, Quinn could have never get back the childhood they had stolen and the family they had taken away. Nothing could ever change that.

On the other hand, she made sure that the Kanes would never do wrong again, that no other child would have to face what she had to go through during six months, and it appeased, only for an instant, her heart eaten away by the pain.

At least, she could go back to sleep without having any nightmare.


After a two-hour drive, the car stopped hurriedly on the roadside, and Rachel ran out of it to vomit.

It was almost eleven in the morning and they had just crossed the Illinois' border, toward the West.

Quinn also got out to come help her. She put a hand on her back and held back her hair with the other hand, while Rachel was emptying the contents of her stomach.

A few minutes passed, while Rachel was catching her breath, inhaling big breathes of air and accepting gratefully the bottle of water Quinn was handing her.

The two women took advantage of this improvised stop to take a break, ten minutes later, in a fast-food on one of the freeway exits to eat a little and stretch their legs.

The restaurant, large and empty, was perfect to remain incognito while eating something somewhat substantial.

Sitting in front of a salad and a glass of water, Rachel was eating slowly, casting a glance from time to time at the view and the highway which stretched as far as the eye can see. Quinn, as for herself, was looking at the half full room, trying to guess, at the expression of the other guests and the employees, if they knew they were sought, or could be at any moment.

Nobody was paying attention to them, however.

Apart from a man, with his elbows propped on the counter, who had continuously stared at them since they had entered the restaurant.

Quinn waited for Rachel to finish eating, then she slipped a few words in her ear which made her nod. They stood up, went out, and noticed that the man had also stood up and was now following them outside.

The young blonde woman did her best to not look in his direction, so she wouldn't see his obscene look toward them, and she hurriedly unlocked the car so they would continue their journey and drive as far as possible. She had barely taken the keys out of her pocket when rough voice, full of hidden meaning called out to them.

"Hey, beautiful! Where are you going like that?"

"Don't look back," Quinn slipped at Rachel, trying to hurry a bit more.

"No need to hurry, you know," the man continued. "I'm sure we would forgive two pretty girls like you if they're late."

The small brunette stopped herself from retching, and she saw Quinn clenching her fists to try to contain herself. The man, probably drunk and even high, from the sound of his voice and his approximate elocution, was still talking to them. She tried as best as she could to disregard his words, while Quinn had finally unlocked the doors. Rachel slipped inside the vehicle, but she hadn't noticed that he had come closer and was almost pressing the blonde against the car door.

"You know, we could have a lot of fun, the two of us," he mumbled while leering at her chest. Quinn could smell his breath full of alcohol and closed her eyes. She was going to scream, or hit, or maybe both if he touched her. She wouldn't hesitate a single second.

But he was still talking, and said something that chilled her to the bone.

"Besides, I'm sure that you're a whore."

She hadn't had the time to do a single movement because the man was suddenly thrown back, then violently fell on his back, losing his balance.

Rachel had heard everything and would not let him get away with it.

The dark-haired woman put her foot on the man's chest, pressing down just enough so that he couldn't get back on his feet, and she talked to him in a low but audible voice, sending shivers down his spine.

"You're going to take back what you just said."

The man looked like he didn't understand, then he burst out laughing.

"Why ?" he chuckled. "You think you scare me, kid? I'm also going to take care of you, babe, and when I'll be finished..."

He hadn't had the time to finish his sentence; Rachel had violently kicked him in the jaw. A bone cracked dully. She then went to the car truck, took Quinn's shotgun, and came back in front of him, pointing the barrel directly at his skull.

The man watched her with an incredulous look, still grinning, and Quinn began to get scared.

The parking lot being a little far from the restaurant, none of the customers could see the scene, and it suited quite well the two women.

"You're going to take back what you said," Rachel repeated. "I won't tell you a third time."

The man settled for a raucous, disrespectful laughter, and Rachel placed the barrel directly in his mouth.

This time, he wasn't laughing anymore.

"Apologize, right now," she said in a voice still as quiet as before, but terribly cold. "This is your last chance."

She applied more pressure on the weapon, pushing at the back of his throat, to make him understand she wasn't joking anymore; he probably felt it too because every mark of pleasure had vanished from his features. He went white, and his eyes filled with fear when he saw that a thin finger was ready to squeeze the trigger. Quinn was watching the scene with a frightened look. She was fearing what would happen next, not for the man — she could really not care less for the life of a stranger harassing her — but for Rachel.

She was scaring her. Her death stare was devoid of pity.

The man nimbly nodded against the barrel of the gun, and Quinn sighed when Rachel took it off so that he could speak.

Apologizing quickly and looking down, he got up at full speed and ran away in the opposite direction. Rachel waited for him to be out of side before putting the shotgun away, and finally check that Quinn was doing good.

The latter nodded feverishly. "It's going to be alright, it's okay," she said softly. "But... was it really worth it to do... this?"

"He hadn't had to talk to you like that," Rachel cut her off. "He only got what he deserved."

Quinn nodded again, silently, then, before Rachel would settle on the passenger side, held her back by the hand.

"Thank you."

She smiled at her, grateful, and the young brunette smiled back at her.


The two women took back their drive for a short instant, stopping less than one hour after in a small town near the border between Iowa and Illinois. This place wasn't much frequented, which decided them to leave their car for one hour and wander in the town center.

It was cold, but the wind was warm, foreshadowing the end of winter soon.

Rachel took advantage of this opportunity to visit some clothing shops, buying several of them for herself and for Quinn. She hadn't taken enough of clothes with her when she left her apartment, two days earlier — but she also hadn't predicted the turn the events would have taken, however.

The young blonde woman had, as for herself, spent her time in a bookstore away from the tumult of downtown, striding across the shelves and running a finger reverently on the spines of the books which caught her eye.

She sighed softly when she went out of the store. She and Rachel looked like they had a perfectly normal life, in the eyes of the world, and even in her own eyes. They strolled in town, and they would have to move on again any time now, running away.

The only thing preventing them from leading an ordinary life, was this family. Those people who had made her life hell, fifteen years earlier.

But it belonged in the past now — they weren't living persons anymore, but burnt out corpses. They couldn't hurt her anymore.

Perhaps if they managed to slip through the net of the police and justice, they could finally have a reasonable life, without torturer nor blood nor cadavers, without fleeing and without looking back on the past.

Quinn saw Rachel coming out of a store, carrying a bag in each of her hands, and she smiled absentmindedly.

A life with Rachel sounded like the most beautiful promise.

But for this to happen, they first had to be safe.


Quinn drove while Rachel was sleeping in the back of the car. She spent the afternoon behind the wheel, stopping only after five hours, when the fatigue became apparent and the luminosity was too weak for her to keep on driving.

She didn't have to wait much longer to see an illuminated sign coming up, indicating that a motel was less than two miles away.

She parked the car, less than five minutes later, on an almost empty parking lot, in front of a long and narrow building on one level. The motel looked like any other one; in white bricks, with windows every meter or so, a bright red roof and a sign displaying the name of the motel and the mention "Open" flickering in the dusk.

Quinn cut off the engine, then she turned around to see if Rachel was still sleeping.

She still was, curled up on herself, a coat by way of blanket on her legs. Quinn had a sad smile. The young woman had to suffer and endure more than she would have ever imagined; those last days had surely affected her more than she first thought.

Thinking about it, she found herself incredibly exhausted, too, having not really slept for some time, and she said to herself that they would surely be better inside, inside a warm bed with clean sheets.

Reluctantly, she reached out and gently shook Rachel's shoulder to wake her up. The young woman moaned softly, murmured some inconsistencies and sank back into her dreams.

Quinn smiled softly, and she settled for just watching her for long minutes.

Rachel looked so peaceful, her regular breathing soothing the blonde who was gently stroking her shoulder and her hair, enjoying the feeling of warmth and peace gradually filling her. She kept on doing the same movement until the small brunette stretched slowly, opening sleepy pupils on the two green eyes looking at her with affection.

Then, she seemed to recover her senses and noticed that the vehicle was idle.

"We're not driving anymore?"

Quinn shook her head. "We're going to take a break and spend the night in a real bed," she answered with a half-smile.

The two women took the belongings they needed in a bag and went to the motel entrance. A man welcomed them without looking at them more than a second, coming back to the newspaper he was skimming through carelessly.

"How can I help you?" he asked with a drawling voice.

The taller woman spoke. "We would like a double room, please."

"Single or double bed?"

"The less expensive possible."

The young boy finally lifted his eyes from his magazine, observed a bit more carefully the two customers and he turned toward the board holding the keys of the rooms. Rachel noted that no more than a dozen were actually occupied.

The hotelier put a key down with a room number on the counter.

"It's going to cost you fifty-seven dollars per night," the man said, raising his eyebrows slightly. "You have to pay now."

They paid with Rachel's debit card and took the key, then went to their room.

The room was of average size even though the two women felt a little squeezed — but it was still better than having to sleep in the car. A double bed occupied most of the space, framed by two nightstands each holding a bedside lamp. A small bathroom consisting of a shower and a sink was near the door. A TV was hung on the wall in the corner of the room and a small chest of drawers, two chairs and a wooden table completed the somewhat obsolete furniture.

Rachel put her bag down on one of the chairs and sat down on the bed, letting out a sigh of relief mixed with fatigue.

She touched with the tip of her finger the clean, smooth sheets on the bed, enjoying the sensation she had missed during those last two days. She wanted nothing more than slip under the duvet and sleep for days and days, until the beating of her heart would calm down and her throbbing headache would disappear.

Rachel splashed her face with water before changing clothes and going to bed, Quinn following her minutes after.

She frowned when she saw the blonde slipping under the sheets in her underwear, unveiling her back ribbed with red.

She had almost forgotten the scars inflicted by the women with the kitchen knife.

In the darkness, she noticed the large sinuous line marbling her shoulder blades and her ribs, the threads which tied up her flesh and held it in one piece.

Rachel swallowed, reached out shakily with her hand to graze with the tip of her finger the stitches she had done the day before. Quinn whined softly with pain and Rachel removed her hand to let it rest it a little lower, on her hip.

"I am sorry," she whispered. She kissed the nape of her neck and said the same words again, feeling Quinn shake her head against her lips, then the latter turned around.

"It's not your fault, Rachel."

They looked at each other for a long while, trying to guess their shapes and their features while the night was falling and the darkness was gradually engulfing them. Rachel wondered how much time their flight would last; if they would have to stay on the roads forever, if they would be arrested at the next state border, if they could ever have a normal life.

She asked Quinn the question, who kept silent for long minutes before smiling softly.

"I've always dreamed of seeing California."


I've known mornings white as diamonds
Silent from a night so cold
Such a stillness, calm as the owl glides
Our lives are buried in snow.

— White As Diamonds, Alela Diane.