Come on guys, one review for the last chapter? Give me something to go on. The more reviews I get, the quicker I'll update. Special thanks to Lax for your review last chapter, and thanks everyone who's reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. :) This is possibly my favorite chapter, so please review and let me know what you think!

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February 14th

Detective McDonald stands outside the interrogation room, holding a cup of coffee he'd managed to convince one of the interns to get from the place across the street.

"Has she said anything else?" the man beside him asks.

The detective shakes his head. "She knows who she is, and she thinks she killed someone - the body we found her with… but to be honest, I'm not sure she knows what's going on."

"She confessed, though," his partner reminds him. "What more evidence do we need?"

McDonald watches Spencer through the one-way glass. She's slumped in her chair, wordlessly mouthing something that's probably either a confession or a prayer. After she'd confessed she'd shrunk back into herself and refused to look at him. With the way they'd found her, there was little doubt in his mind that she'd done it. But what was getting to him was why. She was a bright girl. Studying journalism at college, one of the top-ranked field hockey players in the state. What could have possessed her to do something so horrible?

He claps his partner, Delaney, on the shoulder, and goes back into the interrogation room. To his surprise Spencer glances up at him, but then her eyes cloud over and she resumes staring at the floor.

"Miss Hastings," he says gently, closing the door and leaning against it, "do you mind if I ask you a few more questions?"

He doesn't want to alarm her. She's got that look in her eyes, like a wild animal you've got cornered, and you never know if it's going to turn on you or start tearing itself apart in its desperate bid to escape. He waits by the door for her response, not wanting to go any closer in case she starts feeling really trapped.

She shrugs. It's not exactly a warm invitation, but it's not an outright refusal. He cautiously goes over to her, keeping his movements smooth and slow. She doesn't move as he takes his seat across from her, and only gives him a quick look as he opens the folder. He decides to go for a more personal approach.

"It says here you're studying journalism," he says lightly, indicating the page in his folder. "I was actually considering journalism, before I ended up on the force. It's an interesting career, from what I can tell. Are you enjoying it?"

This comment makes her drag her attention away from the mosaic-patterned carpet. She gives him a withering look, as if wondering why in the hell he'd be talking about such trivial things given what's just happened. He feels like a desert plant under a scalding sun, but he forces himself not to look away.

"When we found you at the gas station," he says, watching her eyes for any flicker of recognition, "you kept shouting something. Someone's name. Do you remember what it was?"

She clears her throat and then mumbles something inaudible.

"Sorry?" he says. He'd had a feeling she remembered the name, and if she did, maybe she knew the story behind it, the reason she'd been screaming it as the police dragged her away from the body.

She looks away, focusing on something beyond his shoulder. For a second he has the horrible feeling that she's going to smile, but then she turns back to him and says softly, "Aria."

"Aria," he repeats. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. "Who is she?"

Spencer's lower lip trembles and tears spring to her eyes, making McDonald wonder if he's just asked something unforgivable or inappropriate. Tears trickle down her face, and she makes no effort to wipe them away. She lowers her gaze again and gives her reply, so quietly that he has to lean forward to hear her.

"She was my everything."

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