*Heads up guys, I changed the rating because this chapter has some (mild) violence in it. I wasn't sure whether it was a T or M, so I thought it's better to overestimate. Please review!*

Elena was stuck back in her bleak, grey cell. It was very small, with only one bunk bed, but she had it all to herself that night. Her cellmate had escaped the night before- thank god. She was a jewelry thief and in deep with some pretty nasty people. The entire three days she had spent with her she had only heard the girl speak once: when she told Elena to take the bottom bunk.

She was sleeping on the top bunk tonight.

Kicking off her Tory Burch flats, she climbed up onto the bed and pulled her blonde hair out of its ponytail. When it wasn't tied up, her hair fell in soft waves a few inches below her shoulders. Staring in the shattered mirror on the wall, she attempted to clean herself up. Her mascara had smeared beneath her eyes, and her hair looked like it was preparing for spring, it was in such a bird's nest. She yawned and washed her face in the sink before carefully retrieving her shank from under her mattress. Her cell block was pretty much unsupervised, so the day she arrived she broke her mirror and took the sharpest piece for herself. She had torn some cloth from her bed sheets and wrapped it around the bottom for a handle, and now felt marginally safer.

Elena was used to sleeping with a knife in her hand, but the shiv would have to do for now. Lying in bed, waiting for sleep, she couldn't help but worry. The DA Carl Finch had promised her he'd help her disappear if she gave him enough information to lock Falcone away, but he wasn't exactly reliable. Out of all the charges (manslaughter, armed robbery, and possession with the intent to distribute) last year they only got him on drug charges. But that was enough to give Elena the time she needed, anyways. Finch had told her once she was in the system, he had contacts that would help her fake her death and get them of Gotham. Falcone would never stop looking for her unless she was dead. Nearly there, Elena she told herself firmly, pushing all of the doubts from her mind.

She eventually fell asleep, but didn't remain that way for long.

"Wake up, dove," a low voice whispered.

You're dreaming, you're only dreaming. But the voice was so real, and she was paralyzed with fear. Please be a dream, please be a dream.

"C'mon girl, I know you're awake!" he shouted, and strong, burly arms yanked her from her bed and hurled her on the cell floor. She landed on her stomach and hit her forehead on the hard concrete. Dazed, and her head spinning, she saw a ghastly face come into view. His once black hair now had streaks of grey in it, and his nose recently broken, but it was him.

"Falcone," she muttered, as blood began to trickle down her temple, and she pushed herself up to a sitting position.

"You didn't think I had forgotten about you, did ya darling?" he mocked. He was kneeling in front of her and his face was now so close to hers that she could smell his awful cologne that smelled vaguely of cinnamon.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want back the year of my life tha' I spent in jail, but we both know that's not possible." He reached his hand out, and Elena forced herself not to flinch away as he lightly stroked her cheek. "I was so disappointed, you know, when I found out you were the one that snitched on me… If it had been anyone else, they woulda been dead by now."

"Then kill me already."

"Kill you? Do you really think I'm that unimaginative? No, I won't kill you. But when I'm done with you" he whispered in her ear softly, while stroking her hair, "You'll wish you were."

Elena was staring out the cell door as he spoke, and saw two of his henchman and another man, probably a prison guard, standing watch outside. No one would help her. To her right a sliver of light caught her eye. At the base of the bunk beds was her homemade knife- she must have dropped it during her fall.

"And you look so much like your mother…" he sighed. She suddenly wrenched herself free from him and dove for the shiv. But as she turned to stab him, but his bodyguards were on her in half a second.

His laugh filled the cell and echoed eerily off the stone walls. "You didn't really think that would work now, did you? Like your plan with that DA to uh, fake your own death and escape me?"

He knows. How does he know?

"You can't hide anything from me Elena, I thought you would have learned by now." He said, guessing what she was thinking. He stalked over to her, now holding her makeshift knife. With her arms pinned behind her back, she felt utterly powerless. "I guess you got your mother's looks but your father's spirit. That's why you always insist on making things so difficult. Like defending yourself during your trial. Now, it would have been just as easy for me to drive over to that old Judge's house and threaten him into declaring you mentally insane. But this is going to be so much more entertaining."

His bodyguard yanked her arms out in front of her while the other held her still. "You never learn, do you?" he asked, holding her chin, almost gently, in his hand. He waited for her to respond, perhaps apologize and beg him to forgive her, but she refused to give him that. A stormy silence filled the room: Falcone was not pleased.

"This is going to hurt, dove. Feel free to scream." And he slowly began to slit her wrists, right through the arterial vein, all the while grinning sadistically. She gasped, but then bit her lip to keep herself from crying out again. The edge of the mirror was jagged and he cut so hard she thought he was trying to cut off her hands. Pain overwhelmed her, and she was dimly aware that her blood was gushing all over the floor in time with her pulse.

"The Judge won't have any choice now but send you to Arkham. I mean, you just tried to kill yourself after all." She saw his face contort again into a twisted smile.

"Why do you even want me to go there?" she asked numbly.

"Then I can see you whenever I want," he answered simply, a sinister smile still plastered on his face. He had the head of the mental asylum in his pocket, being the only one who could smuggle the drugs the doctor needed in. And ever since serving his time, he had hated jails. .

"Make sure she doesn't die, Crane. I'm not done with her yet," he said to the figure outside the door. "I'd spend more time with you dove, but I got to fly."

Her head was pounding, but even in her dazed state she knew she had to keep her arms up until she could find some way to stop the bleeding. But her arms felt like lead, and she was hit by the overwhelming desire to sleep. Stay awake, Elena, stay awake.

The third figure that had been standing outside her cell was approaching her now. God, she was tired. He knelt next to her on the hard concrete and the last thing she saw before she passed out was his clear, blue eyes.