Fuming, I stormed away while my mind spun; still trying to process the collective previous events as real. In an attempt to maintain my sanity, I let myself fall face down on my bed. I threw the pillow over my head, trying to block out Mark's last to me.

If John asked you to marry him…

would you really turn him down for me?

In all honesty, no. But it's always been that way, never faltered; I have never changed my mind even the slightest. So I was using him. Running to him when dissatisfied with John's limits on physicality. Of course this was unfair, of course I was being selfish and juvenile. Still, I couldn't help myself. It was foolish to believe that I could have the best of both men, but that never meant I didn't want it any less.

"Hey. Get up." I felt a tap on my shoulder. I lifted my head up from under the pillow and left the darker recesses inside of my mind. Amanda was standing by my bed, looking down at me expectantly.

I stared up at her groggily. "Yes?"

"Well?" She asked, gesturing to me.

"Well what?" I sat up, holding my hand palm up to signify my waiting for her answer.

"You honestly expect me to believe that you wont say anything to John…"

"I don't expect anything of you." My tired eyes focused on her sourly.

"Right."

"You know, this may come as a shock to you, but I'm not a bitch. Besides, I've decided I won't force help on you. If it's one thing I learned here, it's that people have to help themselves." I laid down again, turning my back to her.

I heard her mumble some bitter remark about me being a liar, and as her footsteps faded, I found myself falling into my long awaited nap.

-

My internal clock woke me approximately two or three hours later. There was complete silence as usual. It held the eerie stillness of a haunted house or the typically empty prayer chapel in a hospice. All the foreboding and dread of such places. Rising up, I slipped into the worn brown moccasin sandals that were waiting patiently beside my bed. The smooth texture against my soles and ankles was exceedingly comfortable, and pleasantly familiar. I strode back over to the now empty bathroom, which by the way, was now clear of blood and self-mutilation related articles. Sighing with stress, I turned on the sink and washed first my hands, then my face. Combing my neglected hair, I contemplated doing something. Something rare, something I didn't like doing. I was going to ask John for a weighty bit of information.

He appeared to be sleeping when I entered the room through the plastic strip curtains. Folding my arms, I walked around aimlessly, wondering if he would even entertain my request, let alone allow me to go ahead with it.

"Are you awake?" I queried.

"Subsequently, yes."

I moved closer to him, helping him sit up and giving him water. "Normally I wouldn't ask, but I think I deserve a little leverage, a bit of involvement…" I leaned over him, checking the heart rate monitors. "Other than running errands…" I moved back, taking his cool hand to warm it.

"I understand your…dissatisfaction."

"Then you would be happy to answer my question?"

"If the answer lies within my abilities."

I paused, nodding seriously. "Where is Eric Matthews?"

John was very silent. I shifted my weight nervously as I stood, waiting for him to speak. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.

"I know you know…" I whispered pryingly.

"I advise you not to abuse information, Rivielle. Things confided in you, are not for personal gain."

I nodded fiercely, squeezing his hand slightly. "I would never-"

"Eric Matthews is being contained not far from our last game site. I wonder if Detective Hoffman would be interested in showing you the way."

There was a way that he said the words…it was almost snide, somehow knowingly. But how could he have?

I scoffed, "Not likely…" I let go of his hand and begun to pace. "Mark and I…look I don't know how to say this…but I think Mark and I have irrevocably fallen out."

"And what has been lost?"

I had to stop and seriously consider the answer. Not that there wasn't anything to be lost from the rift between Mark and I, but the for the simple fact that I still wasn't supposed to let emotions take precedent in my life. I was always mindful of the curriculum. And despite wanting to say:

"Everything! My one chance at a normal life!"

Instead I said:

"It isn't…the end of the world."

He sensed my cover. "Its become clear that you don't actually believe so."

Falling into the chair behind me, I exhaled. "I'm trying here."

He considered; "Describe your relationship to me."

I froze. I could never picture myself explaining it out loud, let alone to John. That was some stubborn part in me, which ironically lived right next to the mushy part of me that couldn't wait to spill my uncomfortable, jumbled feelings for Mark.

"Uh…" I laughed nervously. "I don't know.."

He closed his eyes, "Take your time."

I held my lips together. I'm damned if I don't speak, yet if I say too much, I'm still at fault for feeling more that I should. A trap. I forced myself, though I saw his test.

"It's odd. I don't mean to say…peculiar, just unorthodox. When I see him…I feel like, who knows when I'll see him again? Will we be able to see each other tomorrow? Will I even be alive tomorrow? I know that isn't healthy." I looked down at my hands in my lap, there were little droplets on my finger. I reached upwards to wipe my face and sniffled. "It's too urgent, it's too much like…a game. Excuse me for saying. All the time. We wont ever get to just walk in the park, there's never any time to just…be."

He studied me, and then as if he were dismissing my last; he said, "I'm permitting you to do what you will with the information on the whereabouts of Eric Matthews…" He paused for breath. "I can only trust that you will be responsible, and never careless…" He began to wheeze, and then cough violently. I hurried to him, and handed him his oxygen mask. As I watched over him protectively, I promptly resolved not to leave him again tonight, and so I scurried off to get ready for sleep beside him once more.

-

However, in the morning, I silently slipped away to dress for the coming experience. I packed a bag with water bottles, a bag of trail mix and a pen light I found on John's forsaken work table. I was quick, anxious to be relieved of the rare guilt I was now feeling. I knew for sure that the next game, was going to be big. We had never kept anyone before, and it was imperative to me that our subject be well cared for. I couldn't have him dying on us, and therefore spoiling our efforts. If Amanda despised Eric, and Mark was negligent, then I was left to see to it. I would take it upon myself, and confirm for myself as well as John, that I was useful, and needed. Irreplaceable, even?

I had only a guess as to where Eric Matthews would be. I would have liked to have my suspicions confirmed, but it seemed I would have to settle for John's nonexistent specification and my own hazy intuition.

"Wait."

Amanda stopped me in the hall. I turned to see her eyes were wet and distinctly reddened. Her skin blanched. My mind blanked for a moment, and she shook her head, scoffing.

"I knew you were going to stand there with that stupid look on your face."

I opened my mouth, trying to bring sound forth. Finally, "What's…happening?"

She breathed deeply. "John's getting worse. If I can't find someone to ease his pain soon…I can't say what will happen." She folded her arms, blinking too much to hide her tears. As I watched her, I couldn't deny feeling all the same helplessness, indecision and fear. It was radiating from her and soaking into me. I pitied us both.

So suddenly, and without much actual thought on my part, I reached out and embraced her.

Immediately, she reacted with revulsion and hostility. I knew it would come, so I held fast, "Calm down, everything will work out. We're just going to have to work together to see this through. We have to…for him."

She stopped struggling and I let her go. It was terribly awkward, but much needed.

-

When we decided we still weren't warmed up to each other enough to go on consoling, I rushed out, away, and back to the basement of the game house. I wandered blindly for possibly a half hour, stopping only at the bathroom to note it as a landmark, and then continuing on around corners in the maze of halls. Then, I came to a dead end. At the very extent of the corridor which I likened to a dungeon passageway, was a chamber which I took to be a prisoner's cell. The way it was bolted, with only a small metal sliding window in the center to push food and other items through.

I approached it.

"Anyone in there?" I called, knocking on the door cautiously at first, then progressively louder until I heard a shuffle and an agonized moan.

"Eric Matthews?" I pressed my ear to the door, "If you can, say something." There was a long silence, then heavy breathing and coughing.

"Eric, can you hear me?" I tapped on the door several times. There came an 'urg' noise, and I could hear him dragging himself across the floor. He was hurt, possibly dying. I knelt down, shutting one eye and looking through the small aperture in the door to see him. Clicking my…John's pen light on, I directed the light into the space, moving it around to have a better view of the captive's chamber.

He looked wretched. He was slumped against one wall, dirty and perspiring. His eyes were closed, though I know he heard me.

"Eriiiiiiic." I called in a disturbingly sing-song voice. I rapped on the door again, and again. My knocks growing more impatient as he continued ignoring me. "I have some things for you."

His throat was evidently too dry to speak, so I explained myself.

"You don't know me, but I'm here to help." I pulled open the sliding window and rolled the two water bottles inside.

I listened for a while, and then heard him dragging his foot across the floor. Peaking in the room with the penlight, I could see he had broken his foot somewhere in the ankle area, and was yet to receive adequate medical attention. However, someone had set his foot in place with a brace, allowing it to heal correctly. Albeit, painfully and slowly. At that moment, I resolved to start bringing him food laced with antibiotics, and painkillers. While I considered, I absently heard him twisting open one water bottle and drinking savagely. Once he had finished the second, which was rather fast, he wheezed-

"You can't help me unless you're getting me out of here and to my son."

I rolled my eyes, "Quite the contrary." I stood, turning to lean against the chamber door. "I'm sure it'll benefit you much more to stay in there."

This caused him to snap. "Let me out of here, you psycho bitch!" His voice broke, I cringed with aggravation as I heard him shudder in agony and begin to sob.

"Not so tough now huh, you piece of shit." I murmured as I pounded on the door, all the memory of John sitting in pain came flooding back. I remembered him covered in blood, the head trauma, broken bones. "I could slit your fucking throat for what you did to him!" I roared with bitter and uncommon austerity.

I hurriedly departed from the door; my skin searing hot with rage, and knowing that if I did not leave now, I would open the door and finish Amanda's job. Suddenly I turned to say, "But I'm better than that! I am better than a person who beats the helpless. Abuses his own son! Do you hear me Matthews?!"

I heard him sputtering and clearing his throat, he answered me with unexpected humility. "Please. Tell me where Daniel is..." It was barely a whisper, but I caught it. I relaxed my tense shoulders and brow. Slowly I came back, kneeling down to tell him.

"Your son is completely fine." I paused for thought. "If I were you though, I would be much more worried about myself. Daniel's not the one we need..." I smiled smugly from the other side of the door. I left him with the trail mix and the last water bottle I had brought, reminding myself once more to prepare the medicine for next time.

-

When I returned exactly two days later, (beginning my ritual) I slipped two water bottles, and a wrapped sandwich through the opening in the door. When there was no response, I pounded on the door with the bottom of my foot, slightly worried. A small, immensely weakened voice requested, "Please….stop…."

I did, reminding him once again that if he did not drink the water, he would die of dehydration.

Meeting with Eric proved to be a much more satisfying incident than I had previously tried to fathom. I was completely in control every time, no matter what he threatened me with. He could do nothing to me, and I had never felt that before. To be able to dominate over the man for once. It was wondrous and maddening to think that this man's well being depended on whether or not I could find mercy within myself. Of course, I was no sadist; and I wanted desperately, and more than any 'victim' I was aware of, to help him. Still, the feelings I was having were amazingly new and addictive, and I had begun to habitually visit Eric Matthews every two or three days.

However, when I would arrive, I would find tell-tale signs that someone else had been visiting Eric as well. I suspected it was Mark, because he still didn't know I was coming around as well. Also, the rat population had significantly risen, though I didn't truly mind them, it was a tad horrible to have one climb up your pant leg.

He was neither open-minded nor compassionate. He spent nearly all of our time together, either swearing at me, or begging me to free him. And if I could not attempt to do so, at least dial 911 on his behalf. When he said these things I usually ignored him, and I didn't mean to come off rude, but I laughed freely when he offered me a 'deal'. Because apparently, John, Amanda and I (he still never suspected his old pal, Detective Hoffman) were certainly 'going to trial' for 'this sick shit'. And if I helped him now, I could get off with ten to fifteen years.

"But don't you see?" I responded from the other side of the door, I had crouched down to speak to him through the small sliding opening. "You've pretty much blown your first shot at help, Eric. Honestly, you've got it all wrong. Help won't come from a SWAT team busting you out of here."

I waited patiently; only to hear,

"You're a fucking lunatic…just like him…" He groaned, defeated. I heard his voice crack.

"THINK!" I shouted back. "He was doing all he could for you, and you took your deep-rooted…misplaced…unbridled anger out on the one person who could actually save you from yourself! I'm not usually so judgmental, but you could really stand to clean up your act before your next chance at life. You have no fucking idea how lucky you are right now."

And then I left him there to stew upon my words, forcibly ignoring his enraged cries and fist pounding.

-