"We are not going to visit her step-dad," Dan Espinoza warns.

"Why not?" Chloe challenges.

"Did you miss the part where Peeping Tom said her step-dad could be the killer?" His voice dramatically hitches, sounding out like a squeak instead.

Chloe rolls her eyes. "No, I didn't."

Dan jams the heel of his hand against his eye socket. "Then why take the risk to visit a potential murderer?"

"Why are you so worried? I got a Taser gun and pepper spray in case he tries to attack us. And I got my dad on the Police Department on speed dial."

"Yeah and we have Luce—" Lucifer's lips are flat, and his forehead wrinkling that Ella hastily adds, "—cifer and Maze."

Lucifer's smile returns. Mazikeen's eyebrow twitches at the word 'Maze'. "I rather not be called after a labyrinth."

"O-okay. Not Maze. How about Maz without the 'e'?" Ella corrects herself, laughing nervously.

"No."

Ella changes her tune, with Mazikeen glaring at her from the backseat. "Okay, got it. Mazikeen. Not Maze. Not Maz."

"We should let your dad handle this," Dan tries once more. Objecting from the backseat, sticks his chin out beside Chloe's seat.

"And risk getting my ass grounded for eternity?"

Dan suggests, "Lie to him, then."

Chloe snorts. "My dad isn't going to believe me. He know I'd lie before I even say a word. So, no."

"Leave an anonymous tip then," Dan grumbles, "why are you stopping the car, Ella?"

Ella lets out a nervous laugh. "Oops, we're here."

"Where's here?" Dan questions, tossing a side glance at Ella.

Ella sighs. "Gilbert's residence. Mister Michael Gilbert."

"Who?"

"Delilah McCord's step-father," Chloe says, in excitement.

Her brows furrowed. "I thought we all agree to visit Mister Gilbert," Ella explains, sticks her lower lip in a pout.

"No, we didn't," counters Dan. "This is a bad idea."

"Let's take a vote. All in favour for Daniel to shut up?" Chloe announces, looking straight into Dan's eyes.

Chloe raises her hand high, smirking. Ella matches her gesture. Mazikeen holds a finger up that everyone can see. Lucifer throws his vote of 'yes' with his arm hand sticking in the air. Dan huffs, folding his arms across his chess in defiance.

A huge smile splits her face. Chloe lifts a victorious brow at Dan. "See? So, shut up, Daniel."

Before Chloe could devise a cover, Lucifer opens the door and gets out from the car. If he tells the truth, it defeats the purpose of the reconnaissance. Lucifer might be a suit-wearing, well-groomed boy, but he's still a boy. Mister Gilbert could have a gun for all Chloe know. A tailored suit is not a bulletproof vest.

[And Chloe just dragged four other kids along to imminent deaths, if Lady Luck decides to bail on her today. Her dad won't be able to kill her for being stupid, seeing how she might be too dead for that.]

Chloe jumps out from the car. Literally. Sprints towards Lucifer, one outstretched hand waiting to slap Lucifer's hand. Lucifer's hand is inches away from the doorbell. Alas the bell rings before she could swat his hand.

"Hello, Mister Gilbert. I'm," she pauses to take a deep breath, struggling to maintain her smile, "Chloe Decker from Vertigo High." She shoots a glare at Lucifer for a second, then flashing a smile back at Mister Gilbert. "This is Lucifer Morningstar. We're writing a tribute to Delilah for the school's paper."

When Peeping Tom—err, Tom Brandt—mentioned about the step-dad's peeping activities, Chloe assumed he'd be one creepy dude. A bad case of halitosis. Stringy hair, shabby beard and clothes taken from a hunter's catalogue. That kind.

He isn't. Mister Gilbert wears a turquoise turtleneck vest. His brown hair thinning on the back. No beard, just a pencil-thin moustache. He smiles, his brown eyes glazing at the mere mention of Delilah's name. "And you're here for?"

"We're hoping to get a few pictures of Delilah," Chloe replies.

Just as the other three reach the front porch, the weather decides to take a different turn. Downpour. Just great. The house's porch isn't spacious, forcing them to cramp together in the porch. Chloe's right shoulder is pressed against Lucifer's forearm. Squashed between the wall and Chloe is Ella tiptoeing on her heels. Mazikeen's breath is hot on Chloe's neck. Dan's trying to hold himself from falling off the porch with the little space left.

"Come in," Gilbert says, waving all five of them to enter his home.

The air inside the home is stale and hot. Like there hasn't been any fresh air since two weeks ago. The house's neat. Organised. The furniture comprises of two-seater couch, an armchair and a coffee table. Thick drapes hanging over the windows, blocking viewers from peeking into the home. Pictures of Delilah decorating the walls, almost like an evolutionary chart from her being a baby to sixteen. Hardly any pictures of his wife though. About two to three, compared to Delilah's twenty-ish pictures.

"Have a seat," Gilbert motions around the couch. Then dabs his forehead with the end of his sleeve.

"O-okay, Mister Gilbert," Chloe answers, flashing him a quick smile. The couch's only meant for two, not three. While Chloe, Ella and Dan squeeze themselves into the couch, Lucifer makes the wisest choice to occupy the armchair. Mazikeen sitting on the chair's forearm, her shapely legs crossed.

"Is it me or someone has a fetish for uniforms?" Dan murmurs. Chloe nudges her elbow at Dan's rib, shutting him up.

If Gilbert heard Dan's comment, he doesn't show it. His lips part to reveal uneven teeth, a nervous smile adorning his features. He produces several thick albums from underneath the coffee table, passes them around.

"I'll bring you kids some sodas," Gilbert says softly, walking towards the kitchen.

Dan's 'uniform' comment isn't out of place. Nearly half of Delilah's pictures are her wearing uniforms. One of those Catholic school uniforms. Not too recent, judging from the style.

"She's smart," Ella points a finger at another wall. The wall's the only one in the entire house that isn't fitted with pictures of Delilah, but her awards. Accomplishments in AP courses. Like wow. "She's not smart. She's a genius," says Dan, studying each framed award closely.

"Not a genius. But a hard-worker," Mazikeen informs. Chloe can't argue with Mazikeen. She'd seen how Delilah handled her bookkeeping duties. The girl's detailed and you don't get that way on talent alone.

"Keep him busy," Chloe whispers to Ella and excuses herself to the toilet.

Along the way, more pictures hung on the walls. These are small size with faux-gold photo frames. Only these photos are not solo shoots of Delilah.

It's Delilah and Michael Gilbert. Locked in each other's embrace—not the kind Chloe and her dad has, you know, loving and familial. Chloe can only describe the photos as "intimate". Judging from the expressions on Delilah's face, this intimate affair is fairly one-sided on Gilbert's part.

Chloe locks the toilet door. Slips a pair of gloves on. Yes, she brought her own gloves wherever she goes. Might never know when she'd stumble into evidence of any crime. In this case, the thrash can of murder suspects. No way would she want to leave her fingerprints on the items and contaminate them.

She upends the bin, sifts through the thrash. Chloe whips her phone and snaps several pictures of the bin's contents. Two untorn ticket stubs for the movie Gilbert claimed he watched on the day of Delilah's overdose. Empty prescription bottles, all under Gilbert's name. There's something familiar about the drugs on the bottles' labels. She consults her notepad. Sees the drugs' scientific names in Delilah's toxic screen test. It's the same. She found the drugs that killed Delilah.

[Holy shit, Michael Gilbert killed Delilah. For what reason, Chloe isn't too sure now. But holy fucking shit, she did it. She finally found Delilah's killer. Holy shit—there are four teenagers flipping through photo albums in the living room.]

Think, Chloe. She needs to get them out from the home immediately. But first, she has to keep her cool. She needs to put the thrash back into the bin. Sends a short SOS message to Ella, and Chloe quickly gets out from the toilet. Just in time to catch Gilbert to ask questions about Chloe.

Gilbert's voice floats down to the corridor leading to the toilet. "Where's your friend, the blonde?"

Dan answers, "Oh, she went to the toilet."

"T-the toilet?" Gilbert questions, and his tone abruptly deepens.

"Yeah, and here she is," Ella replies, waving at Chloe.

"Any problems, Miss Decker?"

"I must have got something from the tacos I had yesterday, Mister Gilbert," Chloe lies, making a show out of wiping the corners of her mouth with her thumb.

"Ah, yes."

"So," Chloe says, lifting her both brows at Ella. Tipping her head at the door. Legs and her entire body facing the door. That's as subtle as Chloe could think of, to remind Ella they need to get out from here.

"So," Ella echoes. Her face working that expression which Chloe assumes is one massive confusion. Then it dawns to her what Chloe's trying to hint. "We got good pics of Delilah for the paper," Ella replies, in that awkward and stilted tone—she's a terrible liar.

"Oh, we do? Then, we're done here. It's getting late, Mister Gilbert," Chloe says, tapping against her empty wrist. Oops. Chloe doesn't allow Mister Gilbert to reply, instead she herds all of them out from the house like they're a bunch of lost sheep.

"Do you mind explaining?" Dan hisses as they stride towards Ella's car.

"Let's just get into the car and I'll explain," says Chloe, tosses a look over her shoulder. She catches Mister Gilbert reaching for his keys and heading for his garage.

When Ella drives away from the Gilbert's residence, Chloe shares her discoveries. Dan's not impressed, countering with what ifs. Lucifer and Mazikeen engaged in a conversation disconnected from theirs. Chloe can't tell what they're talking about—seeing both of them are speaking in a language she could describe as musically pleasing and highly sophisticated.

"Everyone buckle up," Ella announces, "we got company." She steps on the gas, increasing the speed. Manoeuvring expertly on the road as she swerves to left. 'Company' tries to ram into the car's bumper. Dan goes into backseat-driving mode. Chloe tries to get a better look—it's Michael Gilbert driving like a maniac.

The station wagon gets a hit. Ella manages to bring the car into control. Another slam at the bumper. Ella moves out from Gilbert's lane. Zig-zagging to lose him.

Who knew Ella's an excellent driver, Chloe files that information for later use. Lucifer's completely unfettered, looking at his watch—like he's bored. Mazikeen? For some reason, she's supporting a slasher smile on her face.

"Where do you want me to drive?"

"Somewhere safe," Dan replies.

"To the nearest police station."

"Ok—"

She could feel the sudden impact of metal meeting metal at high speed. Hears tempered glass cracks and shatters. Little pieces of glass cuts through her skin. The car spins away from the road. Slides down the grassy slopes. Rams into a tree. Chloe's vision goes black.


Her first breath stings. Her tongue tastes acrid coppery tang of blood. Shattered glasses embed on her forehead—she must have smashed her forehead at the windows. The last droplets of rain splashing on her face, washing blood away from her forehead. Mazikeen tries to stand up, but can't. She's pinned to her seat. She opens her eyes, sees a steel rod impaling her chest. That explains her pained breath. And the reason she's stuck to the seat. Otherwise, she still retains her faculties.

She hears Lucifer's voice, unaffected and mild annoyance creeping out from his tone, "Mazikeen, sustain any life-threatening injuries?

Mazikeen glances down at the steel sticking out from her chest, her fingers coiling around the steel. "A mortal flesh wound," Mazikeen murmurs, yanking the steel out with one forceful jerk. "Nothing I can't heal from," she groans, chucking the twisted rail over her shoulder with ease. Her healing ability kicks in, mending her ripped lungs and gashed muscles into the smooth skin and functional lungs. Like she never had a hole in her chest in the first place.

She brushes the dirt off her wet hair and swipes the fragmented glasses from her forehead. "How about you, My Lord?"

"Just the suit took a beating," Lucifer answers, pushing his damp golden hair away from his eyes. He removes his blazer, ties around his waist and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.

Mazikeen notes the tattered condition his suit in. Mud and oil tarnish his unblemished face. His hair flat from the rain. Her lips curling into a smirk she can't help to display.

"I never really like the colour anyway," Lucifer retorts, returning her smirk with his own. He bends over Ella and Chloe, checking their wrists for a pulse. "They're unconscious but alive."

"So as Dan," Mazikeen utters. He isn't pinned down to his seat, like she was. Mazikeen checks him for any serious injuries. No torn skin, except for the cuts on his hands and neck. Cracked ribs most likely. One lucky kid. She carries him in her arms, bridal-style—not that he'll ever know. Places him on a grassless ground, before returning to the site of car crash.

Mazikeen releases Ella from the seatbelt strapped across her body. Slices the seatbelt with her dagger. Mazikeen moves the girl from the wrecked car to the ground—next to Dan's. She spares a glance at Lucifer's direction.

Lucifer grabs the front bummer, tearing it away from Chloe without a fuss. Lucifer slips one arm underneath her legs and the other supporting her back. "Do you think she'll escape from her father's wrath now that she has acquired this broken leg?" He lifts a brow at her, grinning.

"Break another and I think daddy would be relieved that she can't leave the house for a couple of months," Mazikeen snorts. She catches a gun's barrel glinting in the dark coast. The shooter aims the gun at their direction. He shoots. And misses.

Lucifer doesn't flinch. Mazikeen's skin itches for a payback.

"It seems like our driver wants to confirm we're dead for himself," Lucifer remarks, face set in a calm expression.

"How would you like me to proceed?"

"I'd say, go forth and unleash hell," Lucifer says, "And Mazikeen?"

Mazikeen doesn't avert her sight from their shooter. A predatory smile snaking her lips crookedly—the perfect symmetry of her face is gone. Only half of a beautiful face, she proudly exhibits. Gripping her dagger tightly, and says, "Yes, My Lord?"

"He doesn't deserve our pity."