As each day passed, both the residents and the staff of Hearthome settled back into the regular rhythms and routines. The deaths of Charles Evans and Finley Sullivan were mere talking points now with the two memorials steadfastly approaching. There were two important changes for the residents of Hearthome now – the first was Conner Shepherd, who had disappeared the night after Sullivans death. A curfew had been put in place as Conner had been deemed a 'dangerous individual.' As soon as the sun went down, residents were pushed to return to the dorms. Some whispered rumours that the orderlies seemed to have no desire to quell was that Conner Shepherd had in fact murdered Finley Sullivan, much to the anger of certain residents. Perhaps more surprising for the residents was the second change: Imogen Banks had seemingly toned down her actions considerably.

Some thought that perhaps she was being on her best behaviour for what she did to Noah Barker. Others thought that she was just keeping more quiet about her actions. Others wandered whether she had actually changed for the better, somehow.

In fact, Imogen Banks's mind was somewhere completely different.

Scenes were playing in her head like a vicious game of ping-pong. One scene she would be ten-years-old again, being forced to hold her arm out for the oncoming cigarette burns from her mother. Daddy was never there. Another she would see those three people in masks, her mind twisting and perverting the masks even more. Her mind would bounce back to fifteen years old when she had first started smoking, trying to fit in, trying to be like her mother. Daddy was never there. Again the masks, the distorted voices, sounding like demons to her mind eye. Her graduation – she tried so hard to be different after mother overdosed, gone into the medical field, really tried – and she could remember that being her last truly happy memory. Daddy was not there.

Imogen growled out loud in frustration and slammed her fists on her allotted desk in the bunker. It just wasn't right. She loved her father. She did but that stupid Johann had put these memories back in her head. Should she have told him about the people in masks? What would that have mattered. This List… the people in masks… her past… it was all throwing themselves into the boiling pot of her mind and was threatening to overrun it.

How would Finley have dealt with this? What did it matter! He was dead and he never cared about you because you didn't let yourself actually be good. Nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, stupid, stupid, stupid!

No, Imogen, calm down. Stop it. You are at one with your mind. Otherwise you're no different from the freaks and crazies of Hearthome. You're neither a freak nor a crazy. Settle it all down.

Think logically.

The woman in the mask had wanted her to speak to Finley, to dissuade him, but Finley was dead. Imogen's role was off the board. Did that make her free from them? Imogen wasn't certain. But what she was certain of was that she could find them. Some of them, maybe all of them, had ingratiated themselves within Hearthome, she was sure of it. She wasn't stupid. They were talking of the List too. They knew about the list, wanted answers from that John Doe freak. Why ask questions like that? Imogen Banks already had the answer to it.

Somebody wearing those masks was on the List.

They wanted out and they wanted John to help them with it. She was there when he had told them what he knew and quite frankly he knew diddly squat. Imogen had been convinced they were going to kill them all then and there but they had stuck to their words. They had freed them. Let them go. They wanted to frame Conner and Imogen was more than happy to help them. Yes, she needed to look like she was working with them, not against them.

Truly, Imogen wanted to tear them to pieces, all of them, starting with that woman.

To do that, she had to follow her gut, and her gut knew that someone on the List was part of the people in the masks. But who? Noah seemed as farfetched as you could get. Robyn was extremely chatty but her figure was similar to the woman in the mask. Penelope and Ollie. Could either of them have been the people in the masks?

One of those four Imogen was convinced was a person in a mask and she would go through hell and high water to find out who.

"What ya working on, Imogen?" Paulie's distinctive tone came from behind Imogen and she slammed a small black notebook shut quickly and spun around. Paulie was grinning, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"Nothing."

"Ain't nothing guiltier than the answer of 'nothing'. Ah well, not my business. I heard you beating the table half to death. What's on your mind?" Paulie sat on the edge of the bunk, smiling lopsidedly.

"Noth—" Imogen grimaced. "Just dealing with some stuff."

"The Barker kid? Those Investigators have left you alone for now, right? You did what anyone in your circumstances would do. Gave the kid a taste of his own medicine. I don't care what they say, Charles didn't just fall and kill himself on his own pen, did he?"

Well, apparently that was exactly what happened, Imogen thought to herself. This bloody list. The worst part was it looked like accidents so any outsider would just assume that was what they were.

"Well, Charles and Finley's memorial for the staff is tonight. Warden Hearthome is hosting. I hear he's got a buffet table. Nothing like a bit of death to spice our diets up, eh?" Paulie winked. "He wants as many of us as possible to pay our respects. I take it you're coming?"

"Yeah," Imogen nodded. Maybe it would be good for her. She had always projected hatred onto Finley and if only she hadn't acted like she did. Maybe her course could have been steered differently if she only told him the truth. Maybe she'd tell him the truth now. That he died because he was on some god-forsaken List and that they were all just playthings of the List, the people in masks, and the bloody Department of Human Protection.

"You shouldn't look into it too hard," Paulie said quietly. Imogen felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"What?"

"Whatever you're thinking," Paulie's tone was back to normal. "Don't dive into your mind too hard. We are what we make of our minds. That's what separates us from the residents. Come on, walk with me?"

"Sure," Imogen slipped her notebook into her jacket pocket and stood up from her desk, stretching before following Paulie out of the bunker and out into the drenched exterior.

The storm had run its course now, leaving the skies cloudy but otherwise dry. The pathways were muddy, the trees had been shaken to their roots, and the greenery was sodden. Imogen's boots squelched through the mud as Paulie led her away from the bunker.

"So I wanted to talk with you," Paulie said, lighting up his previously unlit cigarette. "What are your plans for the future, Imogen?"

Imogen snorted. "My plans? What is this, career day? I'm forty-six, Paulie. Hearthome is my future."

"Are you happy here?"

"You know I hate sentimental questions." Imogen looked around as the trees started increasing in number. Hearthome had been built in the middle of woodlands and many trees had been cut down to build the hospital. There were still masses of trees within the exterior walls of the Hearthome grounds that were wild and untamed. It made for good exploring for a lot of the orderlies who didn't have too much to do outside of their bunker. Imogen had heard tales of Residents escaping the inner gates from the hospital proper and losing themselves in the forest but they were few and far between. "Where are we walking?"

"Nowhere in particular. Just wanted to talk without the walls of the bunker closing in on us." Paulie took a deep drag of his cigarette as he stepped off the path and pushed his boots through the leaves. "I applied for a transfer, you know."

"You? Thought you loved your little smoking shills."

Paulie laughed. "I do. But I wanted more, y'know? This ain't the life for me. It was denied."

"That's a shame."

"I've tried four different times. Each time, denied." Paulie stopped at the crest of a hill and stared down into a little crater-like area filled with leaves and debris that had gathered from the storm. Imogen could see that usually it would be empty but there was a large pool of water that had not drained, creating a makeshift pond. "It's not just the residents that aren't being let out of Hearthome."

Imogen sighed. Just another mystery. "Like when you told me the police never showed up?"

"Exactly. I haven't seen any new members of staff for a while." Paulie took out his cigarette and offered it to Imogen. "Here."

"You know I haven't smoked for a while, Paulie." Imogen eyed up the cigarette. It had been a while since she had tasted the poisonous, addictive taste of nicotine. Despite her words, she reached out and grabbed it with two fingers.

"Where were you that day, Imogen? Finley was really worried about you, kept saying you never showed up for a shift late." Paulie scuffed his feet in the leaves and prodded at a fallen branch, about as long as his arm.

Imogen took a deep drag of the cigarette. The toxic sweet feeling filled her lungs and she blew out before answering. "Paulie. You and I, I guess we can call ourselves friends, right?"

"Sure," Paulie nodded.

Imogen took another drag. This whole situation wasn't something she could do by herself. She couldn't rely on that Jason fellow and she sure couldn't rely on the residents. She needed someone familiar, someone she could trust. "…I think there is a lot more to Hearthome than we might think."

"Oh? Been listening to that Robyn girl's conspiracy theories again?" Paulie picked up the branch and used it to prod at the leaves by his feet. He glanced up at Imogen.

"I'm being serious," Imogen frowned. "We all play our little games, I know that. You and your cigarettes, me and my bullying. I know what I am. I know what I do. I know what I feel from it. Just like this cigarette…" Imogen took a third deep drag. "It makes me feel good."

"So what is Hearthome offering?"

"I think there's something going on, some hidden… group, I guess? I don't know what they want but that's where I was. I was taken, if you can believe it, fuckin' kidnapped by these freaks in masks! They took me, they took that John Doe man, they took little crybaby Ollie Cox, all three of us. We were tied in chairs. They didn't want much from me or the kid. They wanted a lot from John." Imogen sighed in relief. It was the first time she had said it out loud to someone. It felt good to free up that hidden weight from her shoulders, to be honest. "They let me go but I want to find them. I want to make them realise what a mistake they made. Paulie, I think you can help me, I think some of the others can help me too. Hearthome is our home, not these fuckin' freaks!" Imogen offered the cigarette back to Paulie. "Will you help me fight these people, Paulie?"

"…Imogen…" Paulie took the cigarette and placed it between his lips. The cinders on the end glowed and speckles of ash fell towards the damp ground. "Why'd you gotta say something so stupid?"

Imogen had barely considered the meaning of his words before the thick branch in his hand whistled towards her. It clubbed her on the side of the head and sent colours spinning through her confused mind. Imogen staggered, blinking, trying to connect what had just happened. Imogen absently touched the side of her head and pulled away two fingers wet with blood. Paulie swung the branch back as if readying for the home run. "…Paulie?"

The second shot cracked Imogen Banks in the side of the head with such force that it snapped the branch in two. Imogen heard and felt a sharp crack. She staggered to the left and her leg immediately buckled as her foot hit the hill. Before she knew it Imogen tumbled head over hill down into the crater, splashing into the water. For a second she was submerged but the shock was enough to bring her out of her surprise. Imogen pushed herself out of the water – which only reached her waist from where she was seated. Her head was throbbing as she could feel the sticky blood against her ear and side of the head.

Paulie stood on top of the incline, broken branch in hand. He stared down at Imogen. "I thought you'd stay as scared as you were back then, Banks! I thought you'd be smart! Daddy's little girl… If only he knew how stupid you are!"

Imogen didn't respond as that familiar terror filled her again. She wanted to be strong, by God did she want to be, but her legs wouldn't move. The water was cold and seemed to grip her, catching onto her legs like tendrils.

"You just had to keep your mouth shut! You just had to keep to yourself! Play it like normal! You stupid bitch!" Paulie shook his head. "I liked you, Banks, really did. Loved the way you bullied the freaks. You showed 'em who was boss. We let you live. We gave you a second chance."

Of course, Imogen thought absently. Some part of her wanted to rear up and shout back at Paulie but the dominant part of her had given up. If only she'd paid attention. Of course Paulie was the one called Invidia, she could match the eyes to the eyes behind the single-striped mask. It only made sense why he would invite her out here. It was a test. A test she failed spectacularly. Of course.

Paulie walked around the edge of the makeshift pond where a tree stood half-ripped from the hill. He pressed the sole of his boot on it. "I'll make sure they find your body in three days, four tops. Went on a walk to clear her head, tragically drowned by an unsteady tree from the storm." Paulie pushed and the already unstable tree tore completely from its roots.

Run! Move! Move, Imogen, move! Despite her fighting thoughts, Imogen's body failed to do so much as twitch. The tree, no wider than her own leg, crashed into her shoulder sending another blinding surge of pain through her body. It was heavy. Too heavy. The weight pushed her body down under the water, pinning her so the water lapped at her chin. Don't give up, don't!

Paulie stepped casually on the end of the tree sticking up out of the hill and walked down it, holding his arms out for balance like a child. Each step drove the tree harder on Imogen's chest. Finally he stopped just in front of her, staring down at her face. "Daddy's little girl just doesn't have any more fight. It's sad, really. I respected your strength, Banks, not your fear."

Damn it, damn it! You were supposed to be worried about the List, not these fuckin' pricks in masks! …The List. Imogen's eyes and mind focused for a moment and she grit her teeth. "I know one of you is on the List! Killing me will just make their turn come quicker! Let me live and you'll give whichever one of you it is more time! I know more about it now as well, more than John told you!"

"Aha! There's some fight! Love it!" Paulie clapped his hands together. "Brilliant, Banks, brilliant. I'm glad I got to see that fire but… We know all we need to about the List, that Jason Ryan fella is a very talkative man after all. We don't need you or John anymore. John has been smart enough to keep his mouth shut but you had to gab to the first person who asked. It's a good thing you told me – after all, if you had told someone not involved… Well, accidents happen every day." Paulie raised his foot.

"Wait, my father—" Imogen's words caught in her throat. Her father what? That professor was right. She always went back to her father. She always used the name of a man who had never gave her the time of the day. "…Do what you will, you fucking coward."

Paulie gently, almost delicately, pressed his boot onto Imogen's face and pushed her head underneath the water. Imogen forced her eyes open in the murk and held her breath, wishing for some kind of divine intervention. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of watching her struggle. Instead Imogen counted the seconds. Ten seconds. Twenty. Forty. A minute. Imogen could feel her lungs burning, could feel the light pressure of Paulie's boot on her face. He would meet his maker, they all would. One minute ten. One minute twenty.

For the first time in her life, Imogen Banks prayed to whatever God might be there. She prayed that the people in masks, the woman, Paulie in particular, would meet a grisly and fitting end. One minute thirty. Her prayers turned from vengeance into hope. Hope that perhaps there was something more for her, who had spent so much of her life playing the villain, taking in false exhilaration from bullying those weaker than her. One minute thirty-five. Was there redemption for people like her? She had once saved lives, did the good of her past outweigh the bad of her present? She hoped and she prayed that it did.

Involuntarily, Imogen took in a deep breath and felt the water rush down her throat and fill her lungs. Her arms pinned to her side by the tree, her face held underwater, Imogen Banks shoulders bucked as she sucked in more and more water. She bucked a final time and grew still, eyes glazing over with dwindling prayer.