Night had passed, and Wednesday morning greeted her just as somberly as yesterday's. It was the least of her concerns, however.

Having just returned from her early morning shower, Juliet was rifling through her wardrobe to pick out today's attire. She chose to go plain and unassuming—a simple t-shirt and complementing jeans. Her jacket would be the shield against the cold winds expected during class hours, as was reported by the KBAY news station. Perhaps, they had claimed, another low front with heavy rain could be expected sometime before the weekend, but there was no certainty of that. Her umbrella might come in handy once again.

She checks her messages. Nothing new, that's good—or it seems to be. She taps on her conversation with Kate to see if there's been any response, but there's no change. Kate has not responded to her.

Watson pinches her brow, wondering if maybe Kate missed the message. This suggestion was itself concerning because Kate never missed a message from her before. A scroll through their previous messages indicated that Kate received and responded every time—except now.

Calm down. She's probably going to respond later today. Don't stress.

Her hair was dried, and combed. Her jacket was adorned, along with her satchel full of notes and pens. The dread persisted, even as she stepped out into the hall, and began her day.

"…so that's what those weird sounds were, from last night."

"I'm telling you man, first it was that shooting in the bathrooms, then the big fight out in the front quad, and now this?" another voice concurred, "Something crazy is going on in this town."

"I bet my parents are gonna start packing their bags and telling me to do so as well," a third chimed in, "I wouldn't be surprised if I'm transferring out within a week or two, what with everything going on."

Juliet had not taken her eyes off the single television in the cafeteria. It was muted, for nobody would be able to hear over the collective chattering of students, but the subtitles displayed on the screen spelled out a rather grim series of events about what happened down in the heart of Arcadia.

Juliet had not heard the shots, nor the sirens of the police and the fire department. She had not even suspected something was amiss. Granted, she had gone to bed shortly after conversing with Justin and Trevor, and subsequently had no idea of what happened when the storm raged on during the night. What terror had befallen this town, whilst she slept?

Her reporter instincts kicked in the second she walked into the cafeteria and heard the news. Times were being passed around, casualty counts were being exaggerated, and many times were those few hours of the attack recounted from the perspectives of those who spoke. A story was already forming in her head, but she held herself back. Something gave her a reason to hesitate.

She pulled her phone from her pocket. No new messages from Kate.

She opens the chat and begins typing—

Juliet – Hey Kate, please text me back whenever you get this.

Message sent. Message delivered.

…but not seen.

Her hand is shaking ever the slightest. Terrible thoughts are eclipsing her mind. It's not possible, is it…?

She switches to her conversation with Warren. He's not messaged her anything since his last text notifying her they were going to meet with the waitress from the Two Whales, and that was yesterday afternoon.

She types.

Juliet – Hey, are you still with Kate? Please text me back whenever you get this.

Sent. Delivered.

…not seen.

They should be awake by now, Juliet reasoned. It was lunchtime, and she knew for a fact that Kate was an early riser. Warren was kind of random with his sleep schedule, but even he would be awake to show up for morning classes. They would have no reason to be ghosting her, then.

Right…?

There's a knot in her stomach, and the pain it brings is sharp, and acute. She can't get rid of it. Even when scarfing down her lunch and making excuse after excuse for why they haven't texted back, the knot persists.

She leaves the cafeteria, searching for the only thing she can count on.

The Blackwell Academy Infirmary was an L-shaped room, divided into two sections: the first being the waiting area, and the second being the patient's ward. This ward was very small, having only three cots to care for three people at a time. This was not to the detriment of many, however—for Blackwell's insistence on charging people for every day spent recovering in this infirmary have led many to turn to their family members for help, or to simply forego treatment and hope that their ailments do not become worse later on. Nobody cares enough to fix the glaring issue, and no amount of protest would sway the principal to enact much-needed reform.

After all, it would be said, why spend time and resources on this infirmary when the town's hospital, in all its wonderfully profitable splendor, was just a couple of minutes away?

But this was not the point of Juliet's visit. No—this time it was out of necessity.

She walks up to the reception desk, and is greeted by the lone physician in attendance: Dr. Ann-Marie Barenchi. A stout woman she was, with long, curly locks of chestnut-brown hair gathered into a single braid, and with a pair of rimless square glasses perched atop her small button nose. Dr. Barenchi was a kind soul, and never raised her voice unless it was an emergency.

And she addressed Juliet in this soft-spoken manner, "Hello, please write your name down on the clipboard and I'll be with you shortly."

Dr. Barenchi was currently opening a box of supplies, one of the few that had been sitting on the shelves for the past few years. Juliet knows this because she's been to this infirmary for casework time and time again, and would count the boxes on the shelves whilst she waited for the doctor's approval to conduct her reporting. Watson wonders what will happen once all the supplies are exhausted, and what that could mean for the students who find themselves in need of some treatment but have no options available on campus. Only time will tell, she supposed.

Her name is written in the visitor's log, and she sits down in one of the few uncomfortably small plastic chairs next to the desk. Time passes slowly. Her leg starts to bounce anxiously, and she suppresses it with a steady hand. Dread lurks over her shoulder, and whispers gently in her ear.

Time is of the essence, reporter.

"Ms. Watson," Dr. Barenchi finally greets her, "It's nice to see you again."

"Dr. Barenchi," Juliet stands up and nods in reciprocation, "I need to see someone here."

"Oh, I know," the doctor placates, "She's mentioned you too many times for me to forget. Come now, she's right over here."

They journeyed to the far end of the patient's ward, past the first two cots hidden behind curtains for privacy. The third one at the end had a small break in its curtain to allow one inside, and the doctor gestured to her, "Go on, I'll leave you be."

"Thank you," Juliet imparted, and stepped past the threshold, closing the curtain. She turned, and was greeted with sore eyes, and a tired smile.

"Dana—"

"Was wonderin' when you'd come visit," Dana snickered to her best friend, "I was startin' to get bored."

They embraced, Juliet was careful to not touch the reddish bruises on her friend's face.

"How're you doing?"

"Better," Ward answered, "Doc's been telling me I'll be fixed up and out of here by the end of the week. I'll take that as good news."

"That's…that's good to hear."

Dana frowned with concern, "Jules…?"

Watson ducked her gaze, "Nothing, it's nothing."

A hand takes hers into its hold, and beckons, "Talk to me."

"I…I'm sorry," Juliet confessed, "I'm the reason you're stuck here, and there's no other way to say it. It should've been me, not you. I'm sorry—"

"Quit it," Dana demanded, "I did it of my own will. I did it because you would've done the same for me."

Juliet nodded. She would have, and there was no doubt in their heads about that.

"Sorry," she says anyways.

"It's okay, Jules, you don't gotta apologize for it."

"No, not for that."

Dana pinched her brows in confusion, "Wha—then what for?"

"For what comes next," Juliet explained, "After the fight, they dragged me to Well's office and gave me the ultimatum. I can't do anything, or else I'll be kicked out."

"Jules, that's—"

"That's not why," she clarifies, "I'm apologizing because I had to bring in some help. Prescott's got a party set up for this Thursday, and we'll be capitalizing on it by breaking into his room when he's busy. I've filled in Justin and Trevor about the plan, they know what to do and when to do it. I'll make sure they get out of this in one piece, I promise you."

"What about Kate, and Warren—?"

"They're MIA," came the sullen reply, "They went to investigate that lead we had down by the Two Whales, but they haven't texted back. It's up to us, now."

Dana's expression passed through many phases—confusion, shock, worry and finally resignation. But there was a glimmer of realization, of knowing that there's a missing piece to the puzzle.

"What about you? Where're you in all this?"

"I'll be at the party, to make sure Prescott's right where he's supposed to be."

Dread seized her best friend's heart; Juliet could hear the moment it was spoken aloud. Dana's hand squeezed tightly against hers in protest, "Jules, no—"

"Dana, I have to."

"No, you don't—"

"Yes, I do—"

"He'll hurt you!" Dana hissed desperately, "You know he will. The second he sees you, he'll do it. There's got to be another way, anything but that—!"

"Dana, I'm sorry."

Juliet tries to stand up, but the hand of her wounded friend pulls at her, dares to keep her here, where it's safe. Pleading whispers beg of her, "Please don't. We can find another way to get back at him, let's just wait until I'm out of here, please—!"

"Four years."

Again, confusion paints Dana's brow, "What?"

"I have been friends with you for four years," Watson recalled fondly, "And I still think back to the day we met. Do you remember that day?"

Dana was silent. Her eyes spoke for her—gleaming with recognition.

"I had just gone up to do a presentation for our first test in English class," Juliet recounted, "But I froze up, and gave up halfway through. I was on the verge of breaking down because I was so ashamed of myself. Nobody cared to help me…except you."

"You were there for me when I needed someone. You gave me a reason to try again, even when I didn't want to. All that I am, all that I can be, is in part because of your support. And I don't think I can ever repay you for all the memories you've given me."

Dana was shaking her head, already knowing what lay before them.

"Don't do this to me, Jules."

"I have to," the reporter admitted, "The truth demands it."

"To hell with the truth!" Dana begged, "I want you to at least be alive to see the moment they put that bastard behind bars. All the trouble he's caused, all the hurt we've taken from him, it doesn't mean anything if you're not there to see it. The truth isn't worth its price, toppling Prescott is not worth your life!"

"It is."

This fire in her heart cannot be curtailed, it cannot be snuffed out so easily. No amount of reason can deter what lies in the midst of passionate zeal.

"I'm not going to die," Juliet assured, "It won't be the end of me if I go, I promise. Let me go, Dana. The truth awaits me."

It hurt, to see the shine of tears in her friend's honey-brown eyes. It hurt even more, when the iron clasp of Dana's hand relinquished its hold, and she was free to go. Because now, it was her choice to leave behind this moment of peace, and to push onwards, into the unknown.

But she promised. For Max, for Kate and Warren. For Justin and Trevor. For Alyssa and the rest of the people burdened by the Prescott jackboot.

For her best friend, to whom she owes many cherished memories, and many more if she succeeds. And this image of victory is what makes her smile softly, and give this last farewell message.

"I'll talk to you later, once all is said and done. See you soon, Dana."

The curtain was parted and then closed. Juliet turned, and walked away.

"…goodbye, Jules," came the unheard whisper.

A/N - There will be a significant delay for the following chapters. My work schedule has changed dramatically and it is not known when I'll be able to have the time to write the next parts of the story. I am not giving up on this work, but do not expect any uploads for the next few months. Take care, dear reader; for I shall return. - MB