Please, do listen to the song at the end of the chapter. This is the original soundtrack for Martyrs, a beautifully sad song, incredibly moving. I'm sorry for the eventual mistakes and for the delay, I have been caught up by exams and work. There's only the epilogue after this chapter, then you won't hear about me for some time ;) I will go back to writing in french since I'm better at it.


The night had been more restful than the last one, almost restorative. Rachel woke up at dawn to the sound of birds chirping.

She looked around her, disoriented, before remembering the events of the previous day, and sighed with relief when she noticed that she and Quinn were still alive, still in this bedroom, and not kicked out or surrounded by men in uniform pointing their guns toward her. They still had a little respite.

Quinn was still asleep, curled up against her side. Her peaceful features and the slight smile adorning her lips would have almost made Rachel think that they were not running any risk, that everything was alright for now.

She decided not to think about it for the moment; then she reached across the bed, stroking Quinn's hair, her strands tickling her neck and her forehead.

Rachel couldn't have said exactly when she became infatuated with the young woman. Since the first time she met her, fifteen years ago, Quinn had changed a lot. She was only a little girl, and Rachel was too, but Quinn had seen more than any other human being should ever see.

The nurses had brought in the orphanage, one day, a child with shifty eyes who hadn't uttered a single word since her arrival.

She had talked neither to the doctors, nor to the police officers — even though the latter had quickly understood the story behind her muteness when they discovered the torture chamber into which she had been locked up for six months, and when they saw, horrified, the numerous cuts and bruises on her body.

At this moment, nobody had made the connection yet between this child found in the nature and the murder of a whole family six months before, followed by the abduction of their younger daughter.

Rachel didn't know it either, at first. A seven years old girl wasn't supposed to know that the world was full of criminals and violence and bad people.

She had been intrigued by this young blonde girl who didn't talk to anyone — Rachel being very talkative, she had right away got close to her to try to make her talk.

She had found in Quinn only a mute girl, becoming over time an attentive listener, a confidante, then her only friend.

It was only when the police officers came back to the orphanage to unveil the dark truth to Quinn — the assassination of her parents and her sister — that she began to talk.

But only to Rachel.

Quinn sometimes told her about her parents, her family, but mostly about insignificant little things that caught the attention of seven or eight years old little girls for hours, and from time to time, Rachel kept silent and listened to her for as long as she wanted to talk.

Neither of them was adopted — Quinn, for obvious although dreadful reasons, and Rachel (like her friend) was already too to old to caught the attention of potential parents looking for another member of their family. It didn't bother her, on the contrary, because more than anything she wanted to stay by Quinn's side. Except her, Quinn had nothing. Everything she had had already been taken away from her.

Rachel would make sure that blonde could always count on her, whatever would happen.

And despite the four murders she had committed, Rachel would never go back on her word.

She was brought back to reality when she felt Quinn stretching, tightening her grip on her and opening two sleepy eyes. Rachel smiled at her, keeping on playing with the thin hair on the nape of her neck.

Her hair was still the same blond, even after fifteen years.

However, the two women couldn't enjoy longer this rare moment of carefreeness and delight, because they heard footsteps coming closer to their temporary bedroom. Someone knocked three times on the door, then Mercedes' head appeared through the half-open door to announce them that the breakfast was ready.

They nodded and got ready within a few minutes. The next step of their plan was encrusted in their mind, embroiling their thoughts, and didn't leave them for the rest of the morning.

Mercedes and Sam had cooked what seemed like a real feast for the two young women; homemade jam and bread, eggs and cold meats were spread on the whole table. To see all this food made Rachel's mouth water. She was already regretting the moment when they would have to leave and must eat tasteless sandwiches and cold meals barely reheated again, coming from the last supermarket or fast-food they went.

"Please, sit down," Mercedes said when she saw that the girls hadn't moved, still standing up and watching the table and its numerous plates. "Make yourself at home!"

A little embarrassed and with the unpleasant feeling that she was fooling these honest people, Quinn sat at the corner of the table, followed by Rachel.

The meal was delicious, with a warm, almost convivial atmosphere. There was no pressure on the two women's shoulders, their hosts didn't ask them for anything; if she could have done it, Quinn would have asked if they could stay a bit longer, and her heart clenched at the thought that Mercedes and Sam would have probably been glad to house them a few more days, without asking for anything in return.

Ultimately, staying in a motel would have been less painful.

"It was succulent," Quinn said once their plates were empty. "Unfortunately, we can't stay much longer, our families are probably worried about us at the moment."

Another lie — but this one hurt more than the others. Quinn felt sick but tried to swallow back her guilt by thinking about the police that would soon be on their heels.

Mercedes looked a bit aggrieved, almost sad. "Already? You didn't even had the time to digest or to rest! Wait at least one hour or two before taking the wheel, your stomachs will thank you, believe me."

Quinn articulated a shy "thank you", a bit clumsy before their hostess' enthusiasm and maternal comfort.

It was almost with relief that Rachel and Quinn retreated in their bedroom to rest for the last hour they would spent here. They took advantage of the opportunity to take a warm shower, put on some clean clothes and try to empty their minds, not to think about the long hours of driving waiting for them, about what they would do once people would know that they were on the site of the fire.

Unable to stay in this reassuring place away from the world without feeling overwhelmed by remorse, immobility and guilt, the two women decided to leave while it was still early. They each took their bag and went to bid farewell to the owners.

They found Sam in the living room, sitting in an armchair, watching the news channel on the television. The young man turned around when he heard the parquet cracking.

"You're leaving already?" he said with a surprised look. "You can stay, you know. You're not bothering us at all."

"We'd rather leave now," Rachel replied softly. "We have a lot of road ahead of us."

"I understand. It was a pleasure to meet you. Mercedes is outside, if you want to say her goodbye."

Sam hugged the briefly, then went back to the contemplation of his screen.

Quinn and Rachel were heading for the front door when a word said by the journalist caught the attention of the shorter girl. She turned toward the television, frowning upon reading the title of the topic. Her mouth opened slightly when she understood what it was about.

Fatal fire near Greenwood, Indiana. No survivor. Two suspects on the run are actively actively sought.

The screen briefly showed a police chief giving a press conference, saying that the police was currently gathering enough information to track down the culprits. No other information would be divulged to the media for now.

Rachel swallowed with difficulty, turned her head toward Quinn to check that they had just read the same thing.

Sam's voice startled her and took her out of her torpor.

"Did you see that? They're only talking about that since yesterday night. It appears that the Kanes held a real empire between her hands and they were respected in the whole state. I've never heard of them before, but it sends shivers down my spine to know that the killers are still out there."

Quinn didn't want to hear more. She caught Rachel's hand and without saying a word, quickly came out of the house to go toward the car parked a little down the way.

A strange feeling assailed her when she saw a familiar figure leaning over the trunk of the car. They quickened their pace, almost running, when they finally arrived near the vehicle.

Mercedes looked up slowly when they were. Her eyes were filled with incomprehension and fear, and were looking both at Rachel and Quinn. She began to slowly shake her head from side to side, incredulous.

"Tell me that it's not you."

Rachel knew what she had seen, what she had heard. She had probably saw the news channel this morning, discovered that two suspects were sought and, out of curiosity, she had looked into the trunk of their car.

She had seen the shotgun, and the few clothes with some blood on them which they couldn't make disappear.

Quinn didn't say a single thing and closed the trunk. Rachel tried to get closer to Mercedes, but the latter instinctively moved back.

"Mercedes," she called softly. "This is not what you think."

"Really?" she replied with a shaky voice that she was trying to get under control. "And how can you prove that it's not you that have killed those poor people?"

"You don't know what happened. You know nothing."

"Why should I believe you? You already lied yesterday, and you can very well do it again."

Silence engulfed them while Rachel looked for Quinn's eyes; the latter imperceptibly shook her head, making her remember that they had to leave quickly.

"We didn't do anything wrong," the small brunette repeated. "I promise you it's true, Mercedes."

Mercedes looked like she was on the verge of tears. They could see the fright in her eyes. Perhaps she was already regretting to have offered hospitality to these two strangers, to have fed and accommodated two possible criminals.

"I... I don't believe you."

Rachel stayed immobile for a moment, then she sighed. She nodded absent-mindedly and looked at Mercedes one last time. "I am sorry," she said before turning around and getting in the car. Quinn was already behind the steering wheel, and she started up as soon as her friend was by her side.

In the rear-view mirror, they saw Mercedes put her hands on her mouth and beginning to cry.


Like the day before, the two women drove for the most part of the day.

Regularly, Rachel or Quinn would turn the radio on to know the last news about the inquiry on the fire and the quadruple homicide. The investigators were inclined to think that the fire and the murders were voluntary and premeditated — gas residues had been found. However, no information was given about the suspects.

The forensics could analyze the DNA, if they would ever find some on the crime scene, but since neither women was registered on the police files, it wouldn't lead them to nothing.

They still were safe and sound, for the moment.

There was no roadblock in place, at none of the borders they crossed, and they got inexorably closer to their destination, whichever it was.

Quinn took the decision, after having crossed Colorado's dry and sunny plains in a few hours, to get rid of her shotgun. She parked the car near a ravine through which was peacefully flowing a small river, got out of the car and opened the trunk. The barrel and the butt were still bloodstained. Fortunately, nobody had apprehended them, or they would have gotten into serious trouble with this weapon in their possession and no license to authorize them to use one, or even to have one.

The tall blonde took the weapon, removed the cartridges that were inside, walked until she was at the edge of the precipice and threw it as far as she could. She saw the gun falling heavily at the bottom of the canyon and didn't hear the sound of it falling into the water.

She then got back into the car, answered to Rachel's interrogative gaze with a smile that she hoped was reassuring and comforting, and started the engine.

A dozen of kilometers farther, after the border between Colorado and Utah, Quinn drove by another crevasse similar to the first — but with no river, this time — to throw away the box of cartridges that hadn't left her during those last ten days. It was almost still full.

Quinn didn't feel nothing upon seeing the small pieces of lethal metal whirling in the empty space and crashing on the rocks below.

The two women did the same ritual again further away, tying up a bag with their bloody belongings with which they had entered the Kanes' house — including their shoes.

They reached the bigger city of the state, Salt Lake City, some time later, and they could buy what they needed. They paid with Rachel's credit card, not feeling neither the fear to be followed or tracked, nor the need to hide their slightest movements.

Nobody knew who they were, and nobody knew what they had done. To blend in with the crowd and to look natural were still the best ways to not draw attention to themselves.

So Quinn and Rachel spent a part of the afternoon wandering in town, looking up toward the big, imposing monuments, roaming around the Temple and the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. The night fell without them noticing it, and they decided together to eat in a small restaurant in town before setting off again.

They only drove for one hour or two before they stopped and, exhausted, they fell asleep in the car in the blink of an eye.

Having parked the car on the heights of the city, they had been woken up at dawn when the sun rose and hit the vehicle with his beams. The light went through the windshield and in a few minutes, fell on Rachel and Quinn's motionless bodies, sleeping in the front of the car. They grimaced when they felt a sharp light attacking their eyelids, warming up their skin, and slowly emerged from sleep.

The view was splendid.

They saw the sun rising slowly behind the mountains, lighting up Salt Lake City with a thousand colors and the metal buildings reflecting each of its rays.

Quinn and Rachel got out of their vehicle to enjoy the sunrise, laying a blanket on the ground and placing another on their knees. They had the fleeting impression that nothing could ever reach them, not now, not ever. Another day was coming, wiping away the remains of the day before and the bad moments; they could start again everything. They had nothing to fear anymore.

Even if they weren't still totally out of danger, they could finally breathe again.

Her gaze lost in the distance, Quinn had a slight smile at the corner of her lips. Rachel turned her head toward her and noticed the serene, almost carefree look on her features. She grinned; never the blonde had seemed to her as relaxed.

Unconsciously, she came closer and put her forehead against her temple, without stopping watching her. She moistened her lips nervously, took a deep breath, smelling Quinn's scent mingle with the odor of the conifers surrounding them.

"Quinn."

She had whispered her name so quietly that Quinn had barely felt her breath on her ear. Quinn looked at her in her turn, saw the expression in her eyes, and filled the gap between them by putting her lips on hers.

Rachel felt the adrenaline pulse through her veins at her touch, just as light as thunderous. She had waited for this moment for years, forever, and had been patient until Quinn felt capable of loving, of living again.

Until she was certain she wouldn't break. Until she was healed.

Rachel put her hand on Quinn's cheek, stroking her jawbone with her fingers, feeling her thin hair tickling her skin. She moved her lips, put more pressure, more insistence in the kiss. The blonde moaned softly, kissing her even more.

One second later, Rachel found herself lying down under Quinn's body, at the mercy of her lips and her hands.

During long minutes — or perhaps hours, they couldn't have told — they kept on kissing, warmed up by the scorching sun and by the fervor driving their gestures, by the sensation of freedom that had taken them over. Then, Quinn finally pulled away from the small brunette, her lips swollen and red to have shared so many kisses, and she smiled to Rachel. She murmured against her mouth words that filled Rachel's heart with joy and hope.

"We're going to make up for lost time, I promise you."

They had plenty of time ahead of them.


Your bruises and cuts, they're ghosts from the past
There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide
The will pain will go away, I slowly realise
I miss you so deeply, I wanna be where you are.

— Your Witness, Seppuku Paradigm.