I was going mad.

But I wasn't being driven mad because I was locked in a cell with no contact to the outside world. I wasn't being driven mad because I had been stabbed. The madness was not coming from the fact that I had been wearing the same dress for god knows how long and I smelled god knows how bad (not that Fenton smelled like a freshly bloomed rose either). I was being driven mad because of him; because of Fenton.

I couldn't control my emotions in his presence. A lot of the time, I felt the way I knew I should. That is, I felt a quiet, but intense, hatred for him and all that he'd done to me. Other times, these moments would sneak in and these little moments would cause me to forget myself. The relapses would make me feel something akin to friendship toward him; if not friends then, at the very least, we felt like sympathetic companions thrust into a terrifying situation together. Conversations accompanied these maddening moments and conversation was hard for me resist. I craved interaction. In the past several months, since I had gained friends, I had forgotten how to be alone. And, in the fuzzy moments when Fenton's atrocities had been forgotten by my wayward brain and empathetic heart, it was easy for me to see how – in another universe entirely – we might have been friends.

Of course, when the moments ended, I was right back to hating myself for falling for it and hating him for all that he's put me through.

It's not really hard to see, then, how I was losing my mind. Between Fenton, captivity, my stab wound, and my meagre medication, there wasn't much opportunity for sanity in my world.

I poked my hands out of the long sleeves of Fenton's suit jacket. Despite my personal feelings on the boy, I was keeping his jacket. I would be a fool to give up on something that would keep me warm.

I began to finger brush my hair, though the stands had turned greasy long ago, causing the knots to be easily parted by my fingers. Finger brushing was the only type of personal hygiene I could keep up with while in the cell and I was determined to follow through with it.

Bathroom business was done in a hole on Fenton's side of the cell. It never smelled and waste seemed to disappear on a nightly basis. There was toilet paper – which replenished itself – but there was nothing that could be used to wash my hands or face. Oh, how I wished I could feel entirely clean again! I didn't know what I would do when my period came, but based on how quickly I was losing weight, I didn't know if I would have to deal with that particular, embarrassing obstacle.

I was torn from my body's uncleanly state by footsteps approaching the cell. I glanced at Fenton warily, but he only shrugged at me. We hadn't had a visitor (that wasn't Maheen) since I'd been stabbed.

I wondered what Vlad could possibly want now.

It wasn't Vlad. It was Elliot.

"It has come to the attention of my 'uncle' and I that we've been neglecting our prisoners." Elliot laughed to himself, leaning forward to peer in the cell bars. "Do either of you feel neglected?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and pointedly looked at the wall instead of him.

"Oh, now, don't be like that, Sam. I have something for you."

Despite my intentions, my eyes slipped to his direction, just long enough for me to see him holding a peach. I forced myself to look away from the fruit.

"Aren't you hungry?" Elliot asked.

Yes; a thousand times yes! I was hungry. Maheen had been doing her best to smuggle food to us, though I had the feeling it was hard for her to do so, and we didn't see her on a regular basis. I wanted that peach, but I knew that it wouldn't be a gift. No, he'd want something in return, and I didn't know if I could bring myself to do whatever it was that he might want.

I was surprised when the peach sailed through the cell bars and landed on the ground beside me. Juice leaked onto the floor due to impact, but I snatched the fruit into my hands, rolling it between my fingers. It was still good.

"That's only the first part," Elliot warned me.

I looked up from my snack, seconds away from devouring it. Elliot was holding a bagged sandwich in his hands. My stomach began to grumble anew, as I thought of how delicious a sandwich would be. I was almost past the point of caring what was on the sandwich, so long as it was all edible.

"And it's veggie," Elliot mentioned, enticing me further. "All I need from you is another recording."

A recording? That sandwich could convince me to do another recording. Keeping my peach in hand, I inched forward, toward the recorder he had in his hand.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, though the voice didn't sound like it could possibly belong to me.

After I had been nearly strangled to death that last time I had attempted to deny making a recording, I wasn't about to put myself in the position of rejecting this one. And I desperately wanted that sandwich. Vlad had chosen his bribe well.

"Oh, just positive things," Elliot suggested. "If you want to name a place far away from Amity, I encourage it. You just need to be sure to mention that you are still with Danny."

I nodded. I could do all of that.

"Ready?" Elliot asked, and I nodded again.

"Hi Mother, hi Dad! I know it's been awhile since I last called, and I'm sorry for that, I just don't really know what to say. I'm not ready to come home yet. I know that's really disappointing, but it's the truth. And I'm sorry about that too. I'm still with Danny, so I'm not alone. I hope that brings you some comfort. I've been trying to get him to call home, but he's at a loss for words. Even more so than I am." I dropped my voice. "He's not ready to be found yet, and neither am I. But I feel like you have a right to know where we are, sort of. Anyway, we, um, we made it into Canada last week. That's all for now, I guess. I love you both!"

I fell silent and waited for Elliot to turn off the recorder. It shut down with a beeping noise and he smiled at me.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

I shook my head.

Elliot reached inside the cell bars and tossed the sandwich at me. I stretched for it, aggravating my wound but I didn't care. I had food. I even had a peach for dessert. But I was not going to eat with Elliot watching me. I retreated into my corner and waited for him to leave, but he didn't. Instead, he turned to Fenton.

"Danny," Elliot purred.

Fenton glared at him.

"You're going to be a hard nut to crack," Elliot sighed. "Food won't work for you as a bribe, but I know what will."

Elliot reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a stack of thick paper, cut quite large. As he fanned the sheets – about two dozen or so – I realized that they were photographs. Elliot kept the pictures pointed toward his chest, though, so that Fenton and I could only view the plain white background. It was anyone's guess what the actual photo was on the other side of the page.

"These are pictures from your sister's funeral," Elliot explained.

Fenton slowly closed his eyes.

"I want a recording from you, as well. If you make the recording, I will also tell you the condition of your friend Tucker."

I watched Fenton tense, his body threatening to collapse in on itself. Then, with a heavy voice, he asked a question of Elliot. "Don't I get something before I make the recording, like she did?"

"Oh no." Elliot denied his request. "Unlike Sam, I don't trust you to follow through with it once you have something. You will make the recording and then you will have everything."

It seemed as though it took him a great effort, but Fenton stood and walked to his boundary line, as close as he could get to Elliot. Elliot beamed at him.

"Remember, positive words. And make sure your story matches Sam's, all right?"

Fenton nodded and Elliot clicked the recording device on.

"Hi Mom, hi Dad," Fenton began. "Look, um, I don't know what to say, but Sam's been insisting I call. I'm sorry about leaving, especially with all that's happened with Jazz. But I … I just couldn't stay. I don't know if you understand that and I don't know if I can explain. But I love you all so much and, uh, I'll come home when I'm ready. I promise."

Fenton fell silent and Elliot turned off the device.

"Short and to the point, I like it." Elliot commented. "Now, would you like the information or the photographs first?"

"Doesn't matter," Fenton sighed.

Elliot cheerfully, almost, passed the photos into the cell to Fenton.

"Plot twist," Elliot cackled. "Only half of those photos are from dear Jasmine's funeral. The other half are from Tucker's. See how many lives you ruin, Danny?"

Fenton began to shake violently. I was afraid he would either turn to dust before my eyes or explode in anger. I didn't know what I would do in either situation.

"It's just a shame they couldn't be buried together, under the same headstone."

Fenton's intense emotions were immediately distracted by confusion. He might not know what Elliot's statement meant but I did. Elliot was about to reveal Jazz and Tucker's relationship to Fenton, and I wished there was some way that I could stop that from happening. I wished that I could stop all talk of Tucker and Jazz. I wanted to believe that they were out there, happy, alive, and in love, rather than any of the alternatives.

"What?" Fenton asked.

"Didn't you know?" Elliot cocked his head to the side. "Tucker was fucking your sister."

Fenton growled.

"Don't!" I yelped, trying to remind him that any loss of control on his part would cause pain on mine.

Fenton turned his head to look at me and immediately collapsed to his knees. He curled in on himself, trying to hide himself away.

"And so the hero falls," Elliot commented. "Oh well. Enjoy your sandwich, Sam."

As soon as he was out of sight, I went to Fenton's side. I felt tears wetting my cheeks as I coaxed him into a hug, using him for support as much as he was using me. It was unbearable to think of Jazz and Tucker, young and lifeless. I wanted to picture them like they were the last time I saw them; when they were vivacious and full of life. I didn't want to think of my friends in terms of coffins, headstones, and burials. I'd lived in a state of denial about Jazz, thinking that it was impossible for the redheaded girl to truly die, as she'd had far too much life in her yet. But Tucker … the news of Tucker's death was what reality needed to firmly crash over me. I felt cold and empty all over.

Death was sickeningly final.

If Fenton and I ever got out of here, I knew that we would both be looking past the living people there to greet us to see those who hadn't made it.

"They died because of me," Fenton choked out.

"No, no," I automatically assured him. "It wasn't you. They loved you."

"I didn't love them enough," Fenton sobbed. "I've never loved anyone properly."

I just cried.

I don't own anything recognizable. Thanks to my betas: Forever Sky.

~TLL~