A/N: Quick note before you start reading. Nobody seemed to have picked up on it but just in case you were wondering, Starla the Starlet is a TV character I made up for the last chapter. Since this story takes place 9 years from now, I couldn't really use a popular character from today to put on that bedspread. lol Just one small thing I wanted to say, just in case some of you were confused.

Again thanks for your reviews. I'm glad I'm creeping some of you (I'm so mean!).

She hadn't thought a visit to the Robertson house would have led to much but when her husband had come back looking rather pale, with a new piece of information, Temperance couldn't argue with him. She wasn't sure how the stuffed rabbit could be considered evidence but she had to agree, as unimpressed as she had been of Clara's trip into the paranormal world that was now Mickey's bedrom, that the rabbit posed a problem. If it in fact didn't belong to Mickey, then how had it gotten there? Had Mickey's mother put it there? Booth had told her no. She told him it was the only logical explaination.

"It's not her, Bones." Booth said as they got ready to go to bed. "

"Then who put it there?"

"I don't know."

"Why don't you ask the psychic then?" Temperance had asked, irritated.

Booth had growled quietly.

The word psychic had sounded like venom to Booth's ears.

"I know you don't like her, Bones, but could you at least try to respect her? She's helped us a lot, you know."

"How has she helped us? All she did was describe the supposed crime scenes. She did nothing more."

"She guessed whom the pictures belong to."

"Exactly, Booth. She guessed. It was all just a string of luck."

Booth had rolled his eyes at that.

"I know you want to believe her, Booth. You want to believe that someone's spirit actually lives on after death because it's part of your belief. But it's impossible, Booth. Once someone dies, that person just stops existing. End of story."

She had watched in mild surprise as her husband had jumped out of bed and grabbed a pillow.

"Where are you going?"

"Trying explaining that to your daughter that her best friend just stopped existing." Booth had simply replied before walking out of the room.

Temperance remained silent.

"I'm sleeping on the couch tonight!" Came Booth's reply from her previous question.

Temperance had half-expected her husband to come back in their bed over the night. But when, at three thirty in the morning, sleep finally claimed her, she was still alone in the room. It was with a heavy heart and stinging red eyes that Temperance woke up three hours later, not even realizing she had cried in her sleep.

She sat watching her computer screen, reliving the previous night's argument. She was surprised. There were just so many of them that she was shocked they were still together after ten years. She had a hard time believing Booth hadn't left her for someone more like himself yet. They were so different; she had a hard time understanding their chemistry. Then again, maybe that was it. Maybe their clashing chemistry is what made their relationship exciting and not dull over the years. They had different fundamental beliefs but it was almost like they completed each other in that way.

Even their parenting styles were different. She was more intellectual; she motivated her children to learn new things, to broaden their horizons, to almost think scientifically. Lukas was pretty good at it. He excelled in everything, even sports (which surprised her but enthused his father). He always had the highest grades in his class.

Riley was different. She had gotten her father's intuitive side and Temperance sometimes wondered if maybe Riley was Angela's daughter instead of hers. She knew it was genetically and biologically impossible when she looked at her daughter, she could almost see her best friend. She loved drawing, she loved singing, and dancing. She made up complex stories for her age- and mental capacity- that made sense and flowed just like they should. She could spend days playing by herself with her dolls and stuffed animals. She was sweet, caring and quiet where Lukas was loud and adventurous.

Then there was Brina, her youngest. Only two years old but Temperance could already guess that Bryn would be halfway between her brother and her sister in personality. She was stubborn like Riley but loved exploring like Lukas. Just like her brother, she loved to talk but she could be as quiet as a mouse when the circumstances demanded it. She was independent, just like her mother, always doing her little thing but the second someone was showing emotional distress, she was there. She didn't understand but it was as though it was part of her instincts to protect her loved ones.

Temperance smiled as she thought of her children. She had never wanted any and now she couldn't imagine her life without them. They had become so important and she didn't even realize until now that her whole life now revolved around them, something she had never expected herself to do. She had been so self-sufficient, so in control of herself and her environment, so independent. She never would have guessed that this would have been her life today. She missed being carefree, working as long as she wished and doing as she pleased. But one look at one of her children filled her with so much love she thought her heart would explode. She thought of Booth and wondered if he felt the same about them.

She thought of Lucy, who had been so nice with them since they had arrived in Winchester close to three years ago. Mackenzie, or Mickey as she liked to be called, and Riley had become instant best friends. It hadn't mattered to the little girl that Riley had learning disabilities, that she was slower than other children her age. It hadn't mattered to Mickey that her friend's parents had a lot of money, that Riley's father was a cop and her mother did something so secret she couldn't tell her own children. Mickey had simply accepted Riley the way she was, unlike what Booth and her had done. Sending Riley to a normal school had been the best move they could have made for their daughter.

The sound of her cell phone ringing startled her. Picking it up, she glanced at the caller ID. Private number. Booth. Taking a deep breath, she flipped her phone open.

"Booth."

"Are you introducing yourself or saying my name?"

The tone of his voice brought out a small smile out of her. She sighed in relief.

"Both."

She heard her husband chuckle on the other side of the line. There was a small silence quickly filled by the agent.

"Emily Brown, 9 years old. Died eight years before Laura Joyce, killed by her father and lived at 53 Maple Street alone with him."

Temperance's heart skipped a beat.

"Much like Melanie Pharatt." Temperance replied.

"More than you think. Emily's father always claimed that he never killed his daughter, that he is innocent. He got life without parole."

"Huh. Well at least we got the E.B. figured out. Now all we need to find out is who put it there."

"Or what."

"Booth." Temperance warned.

"What? I'm just saying."

"Yeah right."

"I also have more good news."

"What?" Temperance asked, looking up to see Angela standing in the doorway.

The artist mouthed to her friend that she would wait until she hung up.

"We got the papers. Thursday, you'll be able to supervise the excavation of Melanie Pharatt's body and give it a thorough autopsy."

A smile tugged at Temperance's lips.

"Really?'

"Really. You'll finally get what you wanted: show the psychic who's the boss."

"Hey, that was actually a pretty good TV show."

Booth frowned on his side of the line.

"Who's the Boss… it was a TV show in the 1980s. I used to watch it."

Booth chuckled.

"I know what Who's The Boss is. My mom used to watch it all the time."

Another pause.

"Listen Bones, I gotta go. I'll search for more information on Emily Brown's father and I'll get back to you on that."

"Okay. Oh, don't be late tonight."

"Why is that?"

Temperance's smile turned mischievous.

"Let's just say I have some making up to do."

Booth groaned.

"That you do, Bones. That you do."

On that, they hung up.

"Hubby?" Angela asked as she walked inside the office.

"Yes. What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting."

Angela flunk herself on her friend's couch.

"Jack called."

Temperance's head snapped up.

"Really? What did he say?"

"I don't know." Angela replied. "I missed the call."

Letting out a cry of desperation, Angela fell into a fetal position on the couch. Unable to stop herself, Temperance let out a quiet laugh before shaking her head.

"Sssshhh. Don't make too much noise. They'll hear us." Julia said as she sat down on her bed, the heavy box holding her mother's old Ouija board in her hands. "I'm not supposed to use it."

"Why not?" Caroline replied, opening the lid.

"Because. My mom says it's dangerous."

"Wait. You mean to tell us that your mother is afraid of a plate of wood?"

The two other girls present in the room snickered.

"Stop it, you guys. It's my mother you're talking about."

"Sorry." Caroline apologized half-heartily. "But Ju, I think you're overreacting. It's only wood. Nothing bad is going to happen to us."

Julia nodded, unsure. She just had a bad feeling about this.

The four girls gathered around the wooden board. Julia looked up at her best friend.

"Come on." Caroline said. "We have to put our fingers on the triangle. Then we ask a question and whoever is present in the board is supposed to answer us."

Lana, the shortest one of the group, and also the most skeptical one, snorted.

"Quiet, you." Caroline warned.

Lana rolled her eyes.

"Okay." Caroline said before taking a deep breath. "Spirit, introduce you."

The room fell silent as the teenage girls waited for something to happen. Slowly, the triangle under their fingers began to shake and Caroline squealed excitedly.

"Sssshhh." The three other girls said.

They watched as the wooden triangle slowly slid across the board. The silence, which had fallen on the room, seemed to have spread throughout the house. Not a sound could be heard from inside nor outside. It was as though the world had simply shut down around them.

"Cameron Brown." Caroline whispered, her voice stuck in her throat. "His name is Cameron Brown."

The three other girls stayed quiet.

"Are you a good spirit?"

Slowly, the triangle slid to "no". The four girls gasped.

"I don't want to play this game anymore." Julia whined as she took her hands off the triangle.

Caroline simply rolled her eyes. She was about to ask another question when a small voice interrupted her.

"Let me ask a question."

Caroline's head snapped up in the direction of her quietest friend.

"You want to ask a question?"

"Just let her, okay?" Lana replied, obviously bored of the game.

"Fine." Caroline replied, sighing.

"Did you commit a crime?"

Yes.

Caroline's eyes widened.

"Did you steal?"

No.

"Did you kill someone?"

Yes.

Caroline and Quinn exchanged looks.

"Who did you kill?" Caroline asked in a small voice.

The four girls watched in terror as the plate moved from letters to letters to finally form an answer: My daughter.