Vern Loomis was a stubborn man. Once he put his mind onto something there was no chance he would back off if he didn't fulfill his purpose first. When he announced his departure to Dee this morning, the woman didn't even bother to question his decision, she knew for a fact that he would be unable to sleep at night if he didn't solve this out. Rita was an old client of his now, and Dee knew for a fact that for the sake of her husband's dignity and huge ego she had to let him take matters to his own hands.

He tried phoning Earl this morning, after three failed attempts Vern cursed that bastard for being so ignorant. Dee suggested that he waited until lunch and then tried again, but he was impatient. He found Harry's presence alarming enough to let him wonder around freely whilst he shared such a nasty past with Rita. Having Alma as an ally couldn't be a good sign after all... There he was now walking down the Main Street. He wore his rounded brown hat low in an effort to hide his face cause he didn't need anyone suspecting his curiosity. After years and years of being a private detective he had learned how to blend in with the crowd and remain invisible.

Friday was the day that Earl usually went fishing. He was a lone wolf, enjoying all the activities that required zero socialization and communication with others. He was probably the only one actually fitting the role of his profession. Always so stern and quiet. He never needed a family or friends, even though people tended to be fond of him and his brain. He wasn't like any other man in the department, who constantly sought for a single opportunity to find a proper tribe and make a family. After years of experiencing the cold feelings of war every single one of them sought for some extra warmth. A safe place. A haven.

Earl couldn't care any less. He either spent his days working or fishing in the countryside a couple of kilometers outside LA. When he had the opportunity to disappear he took advantage of it. There were many times where Vern stated that Earl was afraid of commitment. He was afraid of the possibility of disappointing someone, but that wasn't the case. The man enjoyed his loneliness, he found some comfort in his gloomy living room whilst enjoying a glass of fine scotch. He didn't daydream of the past, or made plans for his future, he'd rather live in the moment and make the most of it.

Some people called him selfish. His profession technically required him to be a people's person. His main purpose in life was to protect the ones in need. He fought the evil that conquered this corrupted sunny city. At the end of the day he didn't like people. Except a special someone, a mystery person that no one else was supposed to know about. Detective Jones was different than the others. He was intimate but raw, he made sure to give Earl his private space when he needed it, he didn't question his fishing trips, or had any high expectations about their future together. They knew for a fact that there was no future, all they had was now...

Their special meet ups didn't occur quite often but when they did they usually lasted for days. Detective Jones would usually lie to his wife pretending that he needed to leave for a business trip. Which wasn't entirely a lie, after all he spent his time with his boss, providing him with his services like he would in case they were attending a business trip. His wife Nicole knew better than questioning his job, she knew that he wasn't really allowed to share any details about it. Which was convenient for him after all in this case. Earl believed that they shared something special, their relationship wasn't truly about the sexual intimacy their romantic deeds provided them with.

It was something more intellectual. Like detective Jones once quoted, true beauty ends where true brilliance begins. Earl didn't necessarily agree with him at first, he considered his words cliche. When they started getting to know each other better, when the real exchange of their emotions and experiences began he realized that his partner was correct after all. Physical beauty was what attracted him the most in the beginning of their meet ups, but the beauty of his brilliance became the main reason of his interest towards him.

Detective Jones mesmerized him, and he felt the need to keep him hidden. People wouldn't understand the connection they shared. They would be too fast to judge and point fingers, and what terrified him the most was the very outcome of someone figuring out his secret. That's why he grew extremely alarmed when Harry found out. He knew for a fact that his partner would never say a word, in fact he'd rather take their secret to his grave first which only meant that Harry found out from another source. When Earl realized that he grew nervous. The first emotion he experienced with such intensity in a very long time...

He spent three nights thinking. Detective Jones tried to call him but he wasn't in the mood to talk. He hadn't witnessed him in such a bad mood again, so he chose to be patient. When he was ready he would come back to him again... he always did.

Detective Earl wasn't the one to panic. He tried a variety of soothing methods that almost worked. Drinking his ass off was his first effort to calm down his nerves, but the horrible aftermath the next morning made him instantly regret his decision. Then he considered ending his career and leaving the face of the earth. A good camouflage, a new identity and a fake passport perhaps could be the only solution to his problems... but again he soon realized that life wasn't like the movies- or that he simply didn't have the guts to end his true identity. He couldn't bear the thought of losing himself first in order to be saved.

The weight of his guilts became too much to bear. He was supposed to be smart, ingenious, he was supposed to act like a true chief but instead he felt like a puppet. He realized that it was long ago now that he'd lost his ability to lead, after all not all people are made to be leaders. Some of them just follow and usually their kind is stronger under pressure. He lost his ability to think straight, to put his messy thoughts into tiny boxes until the solution strikes. The first hit was setting a murderer free. He got tricked. His acts were innocent, or at least he tried to convince himself that.

He always intended to achieve the greater good, especially when it came to the nasty criminals he had to deal with on a daily basis. He tried to reason with people, see the good in them, and Harry had no good. He was raw, in a bad way. An animal. A ruthless man driven by sheer will and insanity— and he set him free. He didn't have a choice, or maybe he did but instead of protecting the others he chose to protect himself just for this time. He acted selfishly and the guilts he now carried only lead him to one simple conclusion...

The rain had been falling all night, soft as confession, steady as guilt. He was in no proper state of mind to think of detective Jones, he owed him no explanation. He trusted his intelligence, he believed that he would eventually understand. In the quiet of the dawn he wrote no note— for what words could pardon a man for simply being himself? For once again he trusted the man's intelligence that he would eventually understand. The only thought conquering his mind was the tremendous agony of unmade decisions that only tormented the cowards. Until it became simple as that...

His badge laid on his desk, cold as the silence he'd lived in— heavy with honor but heavier with shame. His quiet rustic office was his only companion, his only friend and supporter throughout this battle was a bottle of unfinished Macallan. He didn't have the courage to finish it all, he wanted to remember, he needed to replay his motive in his head to gain some strength—to give himself a good reason to justify his insanity. His revolver, polished like the shoes he wore to every lie he ever lived in. He was still in his work clothes, a black suit, the only reminder of his true self. He wanted to be remembered as a man with dignity, a true leader not a coward. He didn't want people to see his new form, the man that surrendered to his chaos and allowed himself to fear the cruelty of human kind.

His blazer was buttoned all the way up. The white collar of his shirt laid still and perfectly ironed on his collar bone. He was sat down on his favorite leather arm chair that faced straight to his large bookcase that contained a huge collection of hardback biographies. He finished reading a book, positioned the bookmark on page 149 like it actually mattered and positioned it on top of his desk. He turned to his half empty glass. He took hold of the crystal glass and brought it closer to his lips, allowing himself to sip the bittersweet liquid like a man dying of thirst. He wiped his lips with his thumb and his eyes travelled all the way to the tall window at his right. The curtains were open revealing the night sky glowing under the aggravated rain that continuously poured down the surface of the earth. He wanted to cherish this moment, make the most of it like he always promised to himself.

With shaky hands he lit a cigarette, the last ritual of a man undone. Outside, the city whispered, not of justice but pure and ruthless judgment. A life— his life weighed not in deeds, but in secrets. If he ever spoke the truth he was certain that people would be judging, amateurs would say that his secrets would eventually ruin him. Not for crime, but for love unspoken. He never spoke words of affection, only whispers of approval. He straightened his collar, feeling the sensation of suffocation taking over him as the clock kept ticking. His eyes locked on the tiny object above his desk hanging from the wall... the crucifix his mother once kissed.

Was she proud of him? Would she be proud if she knew? The rain disturbed his thoughts for once again, it tapped against the window like a metronome counting down the last minutes of his silence. The smell of old leather and tobacco somehow soothed him and put his mind at ease... no matter what he knew that it was the honorable thing to do and for once again he trusted on people's intelligence that they would eventually understand.

He inhaled sharply. He blinked a couple of times feeling his body relax, probably finally making peace with the idea. He wasn't scared, only disappointed. His thumb caressed the cold metallic revolver lying on his lap. A shiver went down his spine and his fingers wrapped around the grip. A single shot— not loud, but final. A whisper through the walls of a city that never listened. And the world went on, as if truth hadn't just bled into the floorboards of a forgotten man who wanted nothing but to be both proud and safe.

A dog barked in the alley, inside time stalled...

12th of June 1937:

Isabelle held the steering wheel tightly in her hands that were still covered in blood. The dark circles underneath her dark eyes only indicated her own exhaustion— both physical and emotional. The moment Harry fell dead on the living room floor she grabbed her suitcase and lead Rita back to the car. They were on the run ever since, unable to close their eyes at night nor make any stop. Nothing could stop them from seeking for a safe place, a place where they would be finally able to start over and set themselves free. LA sounded like a good idea when Rita suggested it.

It was the city of entertainment and big dreams. A small paradise where people actually made their weirdest of dreams come true and have a meaning. It was the city that would actually allow them to reinvent themselves. Isabelle felt uncertain. With only a couple of hundred bucks in her wallet left she believed that they wouldn't make it through. It was Rita's determination that changed her mind. The brunette beauty had had enough. She was determined to claim her own justice and acquire the lifestyle that she thought that she deserved.

Isabelle shifted on the driver's seat when Rita's eyes flickered open. She had fallen asleep against the car window, and Isabelle knew better than disturbing her peace. She run her fingers through her brunette curls and glanced over her cousin that kept her eyes firmly on the road. Her teeth firmly pressed against her bottom lip as she drove anxiously feeling like a chased woman. She hadn't realized just yet that they were actually free.

"We need to make a stop."

Isabelle croaked hesitantly and made a left turn smoothly towards the city of Fort Stockton. Rita looked through the window and furrowed at the stone houses lying on the left of the road. Small yards laid in front of them and a couple of children roamed the street kicking around a soccer ball.

"Here?"

"We need gas. It won't be long until we run out of fuel and we still got a bunch of hours ahead of us until we reach Los Angeles."

Rita let out a low scoff and cleared her throat.

"If we stop now… anything can happen."

"Where's your confidence cousin?"

"I don't think I have any of it left."

Rita returned with a nod and lit up a cigarette. She rolled down the window slightly only to allow the grey smoke flooding the car to escape. Isabelle scrunched up her nose and gave her a side glance. Rita rolled her eyes and held the cigarette still between Isabelle's thin lips for the woman to take a heavy bang. The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in.

Isabelle exhaled the smoke towards the roof and pressed her lips together into a firm line.

"You better fix that. It's all we got."

Rita didn't look at her. She was determined to do absolutely anything in order to provide them both with some stability.

"I'm working on it."

Rita responded firmly and chewed on her bottom lip. Her fingers landed on her lap, playing with the silk fabric of a beige long gown that hugged her body perfectly.

"You got the looks and I got the brains… Mother used to consider us two as the perfect combination."

Isabelle husked to break the ice only to receive a nasty glare from the younger woman.

"How polite."

"You know what I mean… you can get yourself a nice wealthy man. With your great looks and finesse I'm most definitely certain that you'll have him wrapped around your finger in an instant."

A sardonic chortle left Rita's throat instinctively.

"Do you actually believe that?"

"Don't you?"

Rita nodded. She brought the cigarette closer to her pale lips and inhaled strongly, seeking for more nicotine to calm down her nerves.

"Whoever that is, I won't leave him a choice. How are we going to get close to him?"

She tilted her head slightly and her dark orbs narrowed.

"This is exactly why you need my services cuz. I'll think of something, trust me."

She grinned and Rita chose to believe her for the greater good.

A taller building showed up at the end of the road and Isabelle pulled over the car a couple of meters away.

"Here we are. I'll take care of the fuels and you can head in there and get us some food."

"You're entirely oblivious aren't you?"

Rita smirked and Isabelle furrowed.

"What is it now?"

The younger brunette made a grimace and removed her seat belt. She sat upright and wrapped her fingers around her neck to untie a satin brown scarf. She folded it in her palm and handed it over Isabelle.

"Clean yourself up first, we don't need to draw any more attention."

Isabelle looked down over her hands and swallowed hard. His blood was still on her… it looked like she had entirely forgotten about getting rid of her own conviction. She hesitantly grabbed the scarf and poured a couple of droplets of water on it. She applied it on her skin and rubbed it hard against her flesh to clean up the last traces of the crime she had committed only a couple of hours ago.

"If it weren't for you… I would have been dead instead."

Rita admitted into a hoarse shaky tone and put out the cigarette quickly into an old water bottle.

"Don't think about it. Don't think about what happened ever again— we only need to look forward."

Isabelle returned. Her voice low and her tone uncertain. She finally erased the last hints of dry blood and hid the scarf underneath her car seat.

"Now get in there and be quick, we don't have any time to spare."

Present:

Night time passed and the first rays of sunshine washed over the city applying a golden color on the horizon erasing every single trace of the thunderstorm that took over last night. Birds chirped over the low hum of luxury cars gliding down the boulevard. LA was the kind of place that secrets were spoken softly or they were simply kept behind closed doors that protected people from getting exposed into a wealthy and beyond judgmental society. Rita Castillo was no longer afraid of exposure and menace. There was only one person she feared to her very core. Harry Jaworski. The man that ruined it all. The man that took away her courage and the life she was supposedly creating. The man that broke down her dreams and the man that became her worst nightmare. A ghost from her past that resurrected to hunt her down.

The hotel room was spotless, curated like a magazine spread. Crisp white linens, a gold framed mirror, a mini bar greeting the guests at the entrance and the faint scent of tulips piped in from somewhere unseen. The bed sheets were scattered indicating a woman leaving the bed in a rush. On top of the bed stand there was a half empty glass of martini. The red mark of lipstick decorated on the nozzle. Rita Castillo stood still in front of the marble bathroom sink. Her hands pressed against the edge firmly as she looked at her reflection on the mirror. Her lipstick, freshly reapplied half an hour ago, now painted a trembling half smile across her face. She clutched the edge of the sink, without grace or warning her stomach twisted.

She lunged for the toilet- porcelain so clean it gleamed like a confession. Without any warning she was on her knees, not in prayer— never in prayer. Her body convulsed and she emptied herself in gasping bitter waves. The sound raw and unglamorous, unfitting for a woman of her kind. Another waved of nausea made her hunch over for once again. Panting, Rita gripped the edge of the toilet seat with white knuckles before leaning forward and pushing strongly to alleviate the intense pressure as the overwhelming urge took over for a second time. Tears threaded to fall, but she didn't allow herself to break down now.

She pushed herself up when the overwhelming sensation of nausea finally subsided and flushed. She turned to the sink again, rinsed her mouth and stared at her reflection. Disappointment pooled in her dark chocolate eyes. She wasn't the woman she used to be, and the very realization left her speechless and in awe. Her cheeks were flushed, her freshly applied mascara smudged and a single curl falling out of place. She managed to stabilize her breathing and let out a long exhaled that she hadn't realized that she had been holding in for so long.

She didn't need a doctor to confirm her suspicions… she could already tell. The sickness had a memory, and she'd known this taste before. She pressed both palms to the counter, breathing through the shock. Her eyes never leaving the estranged woman in the mirror. She smirked bitterly and a villainous cackle escaped her dry throat.

"Of course.."

She muttered.

"Because why the hell not?"

She spoke again and her voice came out raspy.

Outside, the sun kept shining on a city that worshipped beauty and buried the truth beneath designer rugs and perfectly trimmed hedges. She rinsed her mouth for once again and left the bathroom. She proceeded to get changed into a former attire, just a little something that would remind her of the woman she used to be. She stood across the tall closet across her bed and opened up both doors with one rapid movement of her hands. Her eyes roamed the longs frocks hanging from the thin hangers until she finally chose a long purple gown.

Thankfully Grace was mindful enough to equip the room with items that Rita would most definitely enjoy. She run her fingers through her brunette hair in despair before she got herself undressed. A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She put on the luxurious attire and proceeded to open the door only to be greeted by Grace standing in the hallway with a warm smile gracing her light features.

"Good morning."

Rita cleared her throat and tried to push her thoughts away for now. She put on a broad politician like smile and greeted the woman.

"Miss Berk, you were being late and I was getting worried."

She pretended an eye roll and let the woman enter the room and shut the door closed behind her.

"I apologize for the delay dear, I was on marital duty."

She chuckled lightly and removed her long white gloves only to reveal her well manicured red nails. "Did you sleep alright?"

The blonde asked and her eyes roamed the room seeking for anything alarming. She glanced over the martini on the woman's nightstand and smirked.

"Did you drink yourself to sleep dear?"

Rita rolled her eyes in annoyance and walked closer to the tall window to gaze at the crowded street.

"The glass is only half empty."

"You must be sick then."

The woman joked but Rita didn't respond. She crossed her hands under her chest and scrunched up her nose. Grace couldn't help but notice the shift in her demeanor. She walked closer to her and stood next to her by the window.

"This place is nicer than I expected… Although I was planning on a small renovation. What about red velvet and creaky headboards?"

"Please. I may be hiding but I refuse to suffer."

Rita returned in disapproval.

"Is that your motto?"

"It's one of them."

She finally flashed a small smile and bit the inside of her cheek. With shaky hands she proceeded to light up a cigarette to ease her thoughts. Grace shrugged and observed the woman closely.

"You seem different…"

She stated and her blue eyes narrowed and filled up with suspicion.

"Different how?"

Rita stood still and fixed her gown. All of a sudden Grace's indiscreetness made her body stiffen. She walked towards the minibar, taking her sweet time, graceful and deliberate as always— a performance she'd been perfecting for years.

"Is this about Harry?"

She asked and took a step back. She decided to give the woman some space. She lit up a cigarette and inhaled the bitter smoke.

"I'm not exactly relaxed ever since I've heard the news."

Rita admitted but that was only partially true. Or maybe it was one thing out of two that currently alarmed her.

"What are you planning to do?" Grace quirked a suggestive brow expecting to hear the obvious but the brunette woman paused for once again. She grabbed the small porcelain tea pot and carefully poured some warm tea inside two cups. She turned to look at the blonde with a small grin gracing her lips.

"Tea?"

"Don't do that… This is serious, the police should know! The man is dangerous."

"Tell me about it. I'm not in any position to ask for help Grace, it will be like digging my own grave!"

Her voice came out gravy and cold. Empty of emotion. But again she had trained herself for years to refrain from showing her weakness.

"Then what? Are you just planning to wait here with your hands crossed?"

"Of course not."

She returned and pinched her nose bridge. It wasn't even 10 in the morning yet and she could sense herself already losing her patience.

"Are you alright?"

"I think I'm allowed to have an off day Grace."

She snarled and soothed herself with some tea.

"Is it a migraine?"

Grace furrowed and examined Rita closely. Their eyes met, Grace's baby blues stared at her with determination whilst Rita looked away.

"It's not a migraine is it?"

"Don't do that! The Florence Nightingale act. It doesn't suit you."

The brunette let out a sardonic chuckle and lit up a cigarette herself. Without giving it a second thought she inhaled the warm tobacco and exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling.

"I'm literally not acting. I just made an observation Rita… After all these years, trust me I know you for good."

"After all these years, trust me I'm still getting to know myself."

The brunette scolded and took a seat down on the sofa.

"So what's the plan?"

"I'll speak to Vern Loomis alright?"

"The detective?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll join you."

"Aren't you on marital duty?"

Rita quirked a brow slightly amused by the woman's dedication.

"Was."

Grace chirped and grinned slightly.

"Very well. I have a little something to do first, meet me at noon outside his office."

Grace furrowed.

"Do you have plans?"

"You worry too much dear. And you're too good to me. Too patient."

"Not good. Just foolishly loyal."

Rita pretended an eye roll and put out the cigarette into a crystal ashtray. She grabbed her bag and walked past the woman.

"Don't be late."

Rita smirked and exited the hotel room swaying her hips. The blonde stood there in confusion staring at her slim figure walking away. She bit her bottom lip and rolled her eyes cursing at herself incoherently for letting her feelings escalate.

"Or maybe I'm just simply foolish…"