TOUGH CHAPTER - THIS TOOK ME A WHOLE DAY TO WRITE - HOPE YOU LIKE IT! LOTS OF EMOTION IN THIS ONE

Her breath caught as she stared into the one-way mirror. Despite the wild strands of hair in her face, she could still see the reflection of the room around her - the table, the back of the agent's head, the dark walls that made the light on the table block out everything but her own reflection.

From experience, Emma knew there was more behind the glass. She knew people stood back there with microphones, audio into the room, high-level people conversing like they were playing ball. Except playing ball with information, theories, and punishments. And lives.

They'd always fascinated her. The fact that the unknown behind the mirror was only unknown to the person in the room staring into it. Because she saw a mirror, a looking glass into her own self, watching herself. But with one touch of the button, the mirror became a window. And suddenly, the person in the interrogation room no longer stayed the subject in their own eyes, but instead, they found themselves staring at the inner workings of what very well could be their own downfall. The people in the room behind the mirror always existed, pulled the strings and moved conversations like a master chess player, and only revealed themselves if and when they wanted to.

As Emma shifted in her chair, she could feel the room spinning around her, while she stared at her own reflection, twisting and turning like the pattern a merry go round made, round and round.

Emma had one of those mirrors in her own brain. She'd built the prison inside of her brain long ago - walls as high as possible to keep the memories at bay. She'd imagined them built with steel plates, layered sheet upon sheet until the walls were thick enough that nothing could escape. She'd shoved events, memories, people, and emotions down the chute at the top. And then she'd sealed them inside, nailing the ceiling like the cover on a wooden coffin, then covering that with concrete. She'd tried to keep them contained. They couldn't break out, she'd made sure.

But somewhere in the building blocks of her brain, she'd put a one way mirror on the wall. And, while the horrors were locked away, leaving her standing in a bare, empty room of her own psyche, she was left staring at herself in the mirror, looking at the broken shell of a person that she now had to call herself.

But the monsters of her past loved to push the button, leaving Emma staring into a room of horrors. Whenever and wherever they thought they might come to mind, their fingers, gnarled by years of monstrosities, pressed down on the button, leaving Emma staring into the prison she'd created - blood littered the walls as mutations of her panic smeared the window with bloody pictures of time gone by. Monsters with the flesh of her memories stuck in their deep fangs beat and scratched deep grooves in the glass separating Emma from herself.

She wanted to push the button, she wanted to stare at the empty version of herself instead of the terror behind the mirror. She'd rather see the emptiness of her own soul than the nightmare of reality.

But something changed lately. She'd noticed something in the glass. She'd noticed a crack. She'd reached out her finger to touch it, feeling the groove in the small separation of glass from glass. And she'd watched it grow, with the memories pounding against the crack - against the weak point in their prison. All the while hissing and screaming at her to let them out. That they were coming for her. That there was nothing she could do. That they would destroy her. Soon.

A voice turned her attention from the crack in the glass. She shifted her head and stared at her mother. Standing in front of the window.

The window that was now a mirror - a mirror where she could see herself chained to the table. The dark faded away, and she could feel the chair underneath her, hear the sounds of her heart pumping through her ears, and see the woman standing in front of the table where the agents had been.

She forced herself to focus on the words. And the woman in front of her. Trying desperately to forget about the things on the other side of the mirror.

"Emma McCord, answer my question!" She could see that the words were meant to make her pay attention - both from how clearly and how direct her mother's tone was.

Something on the other side of the mirror pushed the button, once and twice, just showing the growing crack, blood weaving throughout like translucent spider webs. Then it was back to a mirror.

She swallowed. And asked, "Can you repeat the question?"

Exasperation tore at Elizabeth, standing there in the interrogation room facing her daughter down. She couldn't sit. Couldn't bring herself to be that close. Didn't trust herself. Instead, Elizabeth crossed her arms, thankful for the higher line of sight that allowed her to remain distant.

When Emma made eye contact with her, Elizabeth repeated, "When did you last use?" She needed to know. Needed to see who to blame. Needed to make a point.

Emma turned her head to the side, staring into Elizabeth's eyes, her eyes narrowing, "Why?" But Elizabeth's fingers tensed against her arms, as the word came out sarcastically.

Elizabeth knew the signs of withdrawal - in a clinical sense. And she could see Emma was clearly in the throws of her body reacting to needing a substance. Emma, entire body shaking, couldn't keep her legs still, was grinding her teeth, and her pupils, large, almost took up her entire eyes, making the ring of deep blue small enough to frame the darkness inside of her.

"I want to know." Plain. Simple.

Emma turned her body so she was sitting on the side of her chair, her legs swinging back and forth like she was on a swing or a roller coaster. Hands, still secured to the table, pulled against the restraints. Emma angled her head to the side, again meeting Elizabeth's gaze. "'ayu saeatin?"

What time is it?

As Elizabeth bristled at the changed language, she watched a smirk come to her daughter's face, as if Emma just wanted to push and push Elizabeth yet again.

Today was not the day.

Hands flat against the cold table's surface, Elizabeth towered above her daughter, staring down with daggers in her eyes as she invaded Emma's personal space. Emma stared up at her, as if frozen in place. Elizabeth could hear the frustration in her voice, the way the words shot down and flew at Emma, maybe like the bullet Emma had shot through Henry. Aiming for the most damage.

"Answer my question."

Emma looked past Elizabeth's stare, to the mirror behind her, staring and ignoring Elizabeth's attempt at intimidation.

And, quietly, Emma said, "The day before I went to Isabel's."

They were going to get out. Emma had to stop them. They were coming.

The web had grown - stretching out to the entire window - blood and glass shards inextricably weaving in and out of each other.

The monster's eyes were black. Deep. And she could see him. The devil. His hands holding a towel, and mouthing to her. She stared and tried to read his lips, but she couldn't see past the web of blood. She could see the shackles held by another monster behind him.

She jerked against the handcuffs, trying to free herself. But she knew struggling was pointless. The scars around her wrists. She looked down.

They kept beating on the window. Kept pushing and pushing. She wanted to scream for help. But there was nothing that anyone ever could do.

Instead she squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them again, this time looking up into her mother's disgusted face. The way her eyes drilled into Emma's was enough to wonder if that was how the monsters were breaking the glass - with the hatred she saw in her mother's eyes for her.

She managed one word. One, single word. It left her lips and filled the room for only a second. Before it was overtaken with the pounding from the other side of the glass. "Why?"

The question was quiet. Broken. Quiet and dry. "Why?"

Elizabeth stood away from the table, taking her time straightening up, never breaking Emma's eye contact - staring into the dark abyss inside of this person in front of her that Elizabeth had before recognized as her daughter. This person - this…

She shouldn't do it. She should just leave the room. Just walk away and deal with this later. That was what should be done.

"Why do you need to know?!"

Elizabeth just shook her head, breaking eye contact for a second and looking down at her hands as she walked towards the door.

But she stopped in her tracks at the words that soon filled the room. She couldn't have heard them correctly. She turned her head to look and try to register the words. Tried to keep the monster inside from taking over. Tried to process the words. But as Emma's words reverberated through Elizabeth's head, something clicked inside of her.

"You just want to watch me suffer, and asking me about drugs makes that more fun for you, isn't it?"

The words hit their mark. The years of being accused of trying to hurt her daughter, the years of taking blame for what Emma had gone through, years of being the verbal punching bag - apologizing for anything that would make their relationship work. Years of trying to be Emma's mother only to be kicked to the curb over and over.

The words hit the last part of empathy and sympathy she had for the person handcuffed to the table. That was all that needed to happen. And the monster inside, the one she'd been afraid of letting loose, the one she'd tried to convince herself didn't exist - the one she'd boarded up to keep him away from the last bit of motherly instincts she had for Emma - drove a knife into that part of her. And she was left with…

Whirling around, she felt the heat from her anger. She leaned over the table, and her words were hot with rage. "I just needed to know if…" Her lips snarled, eyes boring holes into her daughter. "We will charge you with the murder or manslaughter of my husband!"

And she expected guilt to hit her conscience. She expected to feel the remorse for what she'd said. Especially as she watched Emma's eyes widen as she processed what Elizabeth had just said. She watched as Emma's looked away, her mouth falling open. But no feeling came except vindication.

She screamed. There, in the room, she watched her mother turn towards the monsters behind the glass. Behind the only protection keeping her from the past.

Her eyes glazed over, as the room started to spin. But she saw her mother pull a gun out of thin air.

Emma couldn't move. Emma couldn't stop screaming.

As she watched her mother point the gun at the window, aiming right in the middle.

As she made eye contact with her mother, Emma couldn't stop screaming, begging for her not to do it.

Then the gun fired.

And the glass fell away. Blew out towards her. As Emma shielded herself from the sharp glass flying around the room, she could see them coming. See their claws finally out in the open again as they ran toward her, fangs and claws extending into her skin, grabbing her. Teeth bit into her skin, hands all over her body, pulling her away from anything that was real.

The last thing she saw before they devoured her was her mother. Looking down at her. Gun still in her hand - and with the other hand, waving goodbye to her. Waving goodbye as insanity took over.