"…Mom?"

There's a momentary pause, and then a coughing sound. Kate realizes it's the sound her mother makes when she's holding a hand to her mouth, and trying to stifle the onset of a terrible sob.

"Oh, Katie," her mother replies, hoarse and full of emotion, "how—are you okay?"

"I'm…I'm fine," Kate watches as Joyce returns to her work, the smell of freshly cooked meats and vegetables made the blonde's stomach ache in anticipation, "I've been with Mr. and Mrs. Madsen since…since last night."

"Oh, thank goodness," her mother sighed in relief, "I was worried that you were stuck outside when that horrible incident happened over by the town hall. Thank the Lord that you're alright—"

But the woman's relief switched instantly to concern, "Wait, you are aware of what happened last night, right, sweetie?"

Of course I am—half the town was woken up because of it, Kate bitterly recalled. But to speak of her first-hand account of events would only make this tense situation even worse. She bit her tongue, and chose the path of least resistance.

"Yes, I know," she assuages, "The news was covering it this morning."

"A terrible thing it was," Mom fretted, "Your Dad's been beside himself…didn't sleep well last night. He's been worried sick because of what's happened, for your sake."

That was…such an odd thing to say. Dad's always been a heavy sleeper, so much so that unless he had an alarm clock set to wake him up every morning, he would usually sleep in. Was he truly that worried for her?

"Oh…well, I hope he gets better," Kate murmured.

"I hope so too, sweetie. At first, I was thinking of heading over by myself, but I figured it to be best to wait until the both of us are ready."

"…heading over?" Kate repeats worriedly.

"Oh, right. So, as soon as your father wakes up, we'll be heading over to pick you up from Joyce's—"

"No."

There was a long, painful moment of silence.

Then, "…sweetie, what?"

Silver eyes flicker to the messenger bag over by the couch.

"I…I can't go back. I can't leave just yet."

A sigh came from the other end of the receiver.

"Katie," her mother emphasized, "I know you're under a lot of stress, and you're probably thinking about all kinds of troubles—it's okay to feel stressed out because of what's happening. But I promise you, you'll be better off somewhere safe, somewhere that's familiar to you. Your father and I…we're worried about you, and surely you can understand why. It won't be a long drive for us, anyways."

"I have…an obligation. With Mr. Madsen," she stammered out in protest, "I promised to help him with something. I can't go back."

"Oh, for goodness' sake—what could possibly warrant you needing to be with Mr. Madsen instead of being with your family?" came the exasperated retort.

"It has something to do with the incident," Kate hissed back, unappreciative of the tone, "I need his help, and he needs mine. I promised."

Max's blue eyes implored her. Warren's sad smile beckoned her.

She promised.

"That's…Katie, that's a job for the police department, not for a single person. I'm sorry, but we are going to bring you back home—"

Kate quickly interjects, "No. I'm not ready. Not until this…this mess blows over. Tell Dad and the others whatever you want, but I can't come back. Not now."

Not yet. Not when there's too much to lose—

"Katherine Beverly Marsh," came the bitter command. Kate winced; she had not felt the sting of that particular tone since she had dropped the case full of delicate antiquated trinkets collected by great-grandma Marsh, passed down from generation to generation up until their fateful encounter with little Kate. She was only twelve years old at the time, but that did not save her from the tongue-lashing her mother dished out at the grave mistake she had made.

"I am not asking you. I am telling you," her mother impressed the finality of her decision with every syllable, "We are going to Joyce's house, and you will be coming back home with us. No more of this nonsense, no more of this delay. I won't settle for these empty promises anymore, Katie, not until I know for a certainty that you're safe with us!"

Panic seized her. Eyes widened, hand clenching the receiver. She couldn't. Not after everything that's happened, not when she's still got a chance to figure out the mystery. She knows Max and Warren would do the same for her, if it came down to it. She cannot let the sacrifices of her friends be in vain. Her parents would turn their house into an impenetrable fortress to keep her safe—not that she was ungrateful of this sentiment, but she simply could not afford to remain idle. Prescott knows of what she's seen, of what she's looking for—and if he were to take his wrath upon her family, then it would be a battle that was lost before it ever began.

And so, in a desperate attempt to keep her family safe, Kate spoke with all the force she could muster—

"Have you ever thought that maybe I just don't want to be around you!?"

Again, there was silence.

Long, impermeable, oppressive silence.

Kate was beside herself. She had not expected to say that. She expected something in the form of a legitimate excuse—anything to make her mother see reason. But not this.

Tears welled up in her eyes. With no chance to think, she takes one more step into the figurative grave.

"Have you ever thought that maybe I've grown sick and tired of your constant nagging," the words tumbled out, uninhibited. Kate couldn't stop even if she wanted to; she was so focused on keeping her voice even, trying her damnedest to make it sound believable, "You always had me doing chores around the house while Lynn and Claire got all the free time to do whatever they wanted—you treated me like a failure whilst you excused everything my sisters do at the family's expense. Who's the one who gave up all their free time to make sure that they weren't late for the school bus while you slept in!? Who helped them with school projects whilst being neck-deep with their own work?! Who was it, Mom?! Tell me!"

There was a slight tremble in her lip, betraying the venomous words she spoke. All of it was a fabrication, a betrayal of the love still present within her heart. Every word is contradicted by the images bursting from long-cherished memories.

"…you hate me, don't you?" she choked out, her throat constricting from telling such lies.

She remembers when Mom and Dad celebrated her graduation from grade school by taking the family on a week-long trip to Seattle. Despite being strapped for money, knowing that it was risky to do this with only so much cash to spare for emergencies, the Marsh family still celebrated her accomplishment. She remembers the trip to the Space Needle and the aquarium, visiting the various garden exhibits, strolling down the crowded streets of the Pike Place Market.

She remembers being happy. There was genuine pride in her father's eyes, and there was a blessed warmth in her mother's smile. Her sisters' laughter still echoes whenever she thinks back to the memory.

Yet now, she takes this memory and tosses it away, as if it never existed. Uses it for her own selfish interest.

"…Katie—"

It was so remorseful. So hurt. Her mother was crying, she knew it so. Kate had completely blindsided her with this, and it was exactly what the blonde was hoping for.

Tears bite at her vision. Her free hand is clenched into a fist.

Forgive me, Lord.

"Stay away from me," she struck the final nail in the coffin, "You don't know what I'm going through, and hopefully you never will. If you know what's good for you, then you and Dad and everybody else will stay far away from me. Now, for the love of God, just leave me alone—!"

Her hand shoves the receiver back into its mold. It doesn't catch, and ends up dangling by the wire near the floor. Kate doesn't notice this, for she's unable to control the sudden flood of emotion spilling from her eyes and her mouth, this being translated into horrible sobs.

"Kate—"

She bolts away from Joyce's outstretched hand, turning down the hallway and up the stairs. The door to the upstairs bathroom crashes against its frame as she locks herself inside.

It took a moment before Joyce finally moved, reaching for the dangling receiver and bringing up to her ear, "Oh dear Lord above…Evelyn, are you alright?"

No response.

"Evelyn, hon', talk to me—are you still there?"

"…I…I'm still here," came the eventual reply. It was hollow, wispy. Nobody was there.

"Alright, then," Joyce sighed with dubious relief, "Now, look, I can try to convince Kate to come with me if you'd like, I…I should be able to head over to your place in a couple hours or so, at the earliest."

"That…won't be necessary."

Joyce's thoughts derailed for a second, then, "Wha—are you sure?"

"Joyce, my daughter does not want my help," the resignation was palpable, "Try as I might, I can't just force her to come along with me. I…I know what happens when you push someone too hard."

There was a break in the mother's voice, where a sob threatened to burst. It came again as she resumed, "I don't know what to do. I haven't told Katie about what happened to Richard yet, and I don't even know how I could…he's been suffering from back pain all day and nothing I do seems to help him, and now I've found out Katie's been around what happened at the town hall as well, I…oh God, what am I going to do?"

"Evelyn, it's going to be alright," Joyce's soothing tone countered, "Now let's take a moment to think this through—Richard's back with you, right where you can take care of him. Kate's still with David and I, and rest assured, I intend to keep her safe. You have my word on this, dear—I'll care for her as if she was the daughter I never had, I swear on it."

Evelyn didn't respond at first. Joyce could tell her friend was fighting off the tears. But even despite wallowing in her grief, the Marsh woman's voice broke through the silence.

"…thank you, Joyce."

She left it at that. Joyce didn't need any more reassurance, this alone was sufficient, "Right then, I'll call you back tomorrow and we'll see how it goes from there. Take care of yourself, dear."

"You too," Evelyn sniffled back. The line cut a second after.

Joyce gently set the receiver back into its place, and looked up to where the stairs would be. She hummed, having made a final decision.

Her hands clenched into fists, then unclenched. Muscles tensed and relaxed, to-and-fro, in tangent with her drumming heartbeat. She shudders, unable to stop the torrent of grief washing over her soul.

Kate was sat against the bathroom door, having lost the strength to stand against it when she first entered. She was hunched over, her knees drawn up. Her bun of blonde hair had lost its structural integrity sometime during her escape, and now spilled over her shoulders and her legs. Her face was completely covered, no light could touch her troubled features.

She remained this way, unwilling to pull herself up, unwilling to face the consequences of her actions.

There was nothing that could rectify what she had done. All that she had tossed away, just to entertain the mystery she was so desperate to solve. Her family. Her trust in them, the love they still had for each other. Her parents would never forgive her for this—she wouldn't forgive herself, either.

But she had promised. She swore to Max, there in that solemn blue-tiled bathroom, stained with crimson blood. This was enough of a justification, right?

She…wasn't sure. There was a vague sense of validation, of her friends' voices cheering her on, imploring her towards the promised goal—but no certainty. It was the same feeling she had whenever doubts came into play, when she's not sure if her nightly prayers are actually heard. God had not steered her into any kind of trouble which she could not overcome, but what really made this premise a certainty, as compared to what she faces now? Is it divine assurance, or willful ignorance that keeps her aligned with this unshakable faith?

Cowardly, she curls in on herself as much as she could, and willed anything and anyone to be gone from her. She will wallow alone, and she feels it right to do so. She has no one to blame for this but herself.

What if I had not stayed behind and witnessed everything…

What if I never took the journal, nor the message…

…what if I break my promise to Max?

There was some soft tapping against the wooden door. Kate flinched from the sound, her hearing sharpened to catch any noise thereafter.

"Kate?" a voice calls out to her. It is soft, worried. It reminds her too much of her mother. She does not answer.

"…Hon', I know you're not interested in talking," the somber voice continues, "but I would appreciate it if you came out. I, uhm…have to use the bathroom."

Oh…damn it all.

She pulls herself up, her hair being brushed away to look somewhat presentable. However stricken with grief she might be, she was not stupid enough to deny her current guardian a part of their own house. She would simply have to find another place to curl up and disappear into, that was all.

Kate unlocked and opened the door, her head angled down to avoid whatever look Joyce might be giving her. She tried to side-step the woman, passing through the gap to reach the stairs—

But Joyce catches her arm in a firm grip, and Kate flinches at the touch. It was a trick! A clever ruse it was, to break her defenses down and leave her vulnerable to the woman's righteous vengeance. Oh, what terrible consequences would befall her now—!

"Wait for me in the living room," Joyce beckoned to her. It was an order, Kate could tell; but the woman was not as vicious as she could have been, and Marsh had no answer to why this was. She was expecting to receive a verbal scolding, for this was what her mother would've done: nearly breaking the only landline in the house and staging a temper tantrum to push away one's own family hardly merited forgiveness. And yet…

Joyce let go of her, and closed the bathroom door as she stepped inside. Kate awkwardly stared at this door for a handful of seconds, then turned to walk down the steps and back into the living room. She takes a seat on the couch, and sits there anxiously.

There really was nowhere to hole up in, nowhere to hide.

But she knew, deep down, that the woman was guiding her from a place of concern, not anger. It simply came down to how much she would reciprocate. She didn't want to; but is that the right choice to make? Was it even an option for her?

Footsteps come from the hallway, and stop on the other end of the couch. Some shuffling, the couch adjusts to the newcomer taking a seat opposite to Kate.

There is silence.

Behind them, a clock tick-tocks in the background. Every second is punctuated by its monotonous ticking. Long, slow, dragging seconds.

"…you were holding yourself back."

Kate turned her head to glance at the pensive frown leveled at her.

"W-what…?"

"You were holding yourself back," Joyce repeated, a knowing glint in her weathered eyes, "Even now, you didn't say all that was really on your mind when you could've. I'm surprised you didn't go farther."

"I…I don't understand."

"What I'm trying to say, is that I've had far worse arguments with my daughter than what you've had here and now," the woman reminisced, "Far worse. Chloe and I would be at each other's throats whenever it got really bad. I…don't like thinking about it, because it pains me to imagine the things she's said to try and hurt me, and what I've said to her in return. But I could tell what she said to me was from the heart. There was no lie, no obfuscation."

A gentle hand took hold of one of Kate's, to reassure her of what may come; but there was a sharp glint to those wise green eyes, and they bore into Marsh with a sternness befitting the woman's motherly role, "I've only known you for so long, but it's not hard to recognize that you're not a liar. Not a good one, at least. You know better than to lie, least of all to your own mother."

Kate's heart drummed in her chest, the anxiety pulsing like static in her head. She gasped at the woman's deadly intuition, a hand of hers raised to her crucifix. As if the Lord was not witness to the spectacle already.

"I know it might be difficult to say, but I'd like to know, as a mother myself…why?"

Marsh ducked her head towards the carpet. Clenched her jaw. Curled her free hand into a fist. Self-hatred coursed through her body like a heat-flash, screaming for her to keep silent. Yet still, she confessed—

"Because…I was…I was scared. I am scared."

Joyce said nothing, but her hand gave a gentle squeeze to Kate's, beckoning the girl to continue, "…I'm scared that M-Mom and Dad would get hurt, because of me. I…if Prescott and the militia knew I was hiding back at home, then they'd break into the house to try and get me. And Mom and Dad, they'd…"

She stopped. Her bottom lip was trembling, she was teary-eyed again. She hates how easy it was for people to open her up like this, to view clearly the trouble brewing in her heart, spelled out so plainly on her face and in her manners. But this was the mark of a good soul: to be open and honest with those she cared for.

Joyce recognized this, and eases her into an embrace. Kate does not fight it.

"Did you really mean to say those things, Katie?"

"No," Kate sobs, tears spilling from her dimmed silver eyes, "I didn't mean it—I didn't mean any of it! I love them so much—I didn't want to push them away, I didn't mean to say those things to Mom—but I know they'll get hurt if I let them take me back. I just know it!"

"Then that's what it must be," Joyce concurred, a hand of hers rubbing gentle circles across Kate's back, "But you'll have to explain to your mother why, for it is the least that you can do to help her understand."

"But my Mom will never forgive me. She probably hates me for what I've said—"

"She would hate not knowing why more than anything else," Joyce interjected, putting a stop to the doubts festering in the poor girl's mind, "Hon', if your mother is anything like me, then the only reason she's hurt is because she doesn't know why you feel this way. Any good parent can forgive their child for most things if they simply know why, and I know this well because I've experienced it myself. Even despite all the hurtful things I've heard from my own daughter, I would still forgive her in a heartbeat if she would just tell me why she felt the need to say such things; because I still love her, in spite of everything."

"Because that is what love means, dear," the woman continued, "To go all the way, even when it seems unwarranted. To make the greatest sacrifice of oneself, for another's sake. It is perhaps the closest thing we can achieve when it comes to the permanence of our feelings…and that is why it is so hard to find. Because too many people don't know when to commit, nor who to commit to: they wander, searching for the right moment, and the right person. They do not realize the people they search for are right beside them, until it is far too late."

Kate nodded, as difficult as it was with her head nestled in the crook of Joyce's neck. It was true, she could not deny this. She was privy to the feelings this advice brought, for she had felt it twice already: Max's heartfelt conversations and Warren's attempts to cheer her up sprung clearly to mind.

This…this love she has for her friends, this was what spurned her on. This is what guides her, not fear, not some blind and desperate faith—but love. Love of friends, love of family. It was real, it was tangible. She clung to this love, and refused to let go.

I promised.

The sobs receded. Sniffles came, and went. Eventually, she would tap the woman's shoulder, and disengage from the embrace.

"…thank you, Joyce. I'm so sorry, for earlier—"

"There's no need to thank me, dear," the woman politely reminded her, "It's the least I can do, especially since you helped me overcome my own grief," the woman smiled then, a warm and loving smile, "Us good people need to stick together an' keep an eye out for each other. Lord knows there's only so much good in this world—a little more goes a long way."

Kate wiped the tears from her eyes, and nodded. She parted her lips to speak in agreement, but a noise interrupted them—the front door was opened, and Madsen's gruff voice echoed a greeting. He had returned from his shift.