Disclaimer: I don't own DOA, but I wish I did. Doesn't everybody?

This story is told from Christie's POV.

Chapter 1

How long have I been walking?

I stopped & sat on the wet steps of a library. It was closed, because it was dark out. It was drizzling & I was wet. I could barely feel my fingers as I clenched my fists. They were white . . . So cold. It just had to be cold & wet when I don't know where I'm going. The information given to me wasn't enough for me to know where to go.

Diana Moores . . . Who is she anyway? All I know is what she looks like. Blonde & short with freckles. And that she's hiding somewhere . . .

I looked up at the sky. It was dark purple. I couldn't stop looking now. Donovan was counting on me. He couldn't send people to get her for him so he chose me to find her & kill her . . .

I looked around me. Some more brick buildings & the wet pavement.

Where to look . . .?

I stood up & let the water that pilled up on me spill into a puddle in front of me. I looked down at my reflection. I looked terrible. And I felt terrible, too. My face was white & my eyes & nose were red. My hair had turned light blue from being drenched in water & stuck to my skin.

I continued to walk some more, getting caught up in the quiet squeaking of my black leather trench coat & the clicking of my boots on the pavement. I walked past a graveyard & stopped for a second. I placed my hands & face on the bars. I was so tired of looking. I was getting tired & hungry. I searched almost all night. I couldn't ask people about this Diana, because when they find out she's been murdered . . . Well, you know how it goes.

Who is she . . .?

I stared at the graves for awhile. They were dark gray from the rain. The trees hung low, so depressing. I didn't need this . . .

I had to force myself to move on. I walked for several more minutes until I heard voices nearby. I looked to my right & there stood a bar.

Am I really that depressed?

I walked past four men on motorcycles. I could tell they were staring at me until I was in the bar. I sat on the only available stool at the counter. I was in-between two men. One was a thin blonde smoking a cigarette & the other was some muscular, black-haired man just sitting there, staring off into nowhere with his elbows on the counter.

After I looked at them, the bartender noticed me asked me what I wanted. I asked for the strongest drink they had.

I am depressed . . .

That was when the black-haired man looked at me then looked away. I looked at him through my blue hair, expecting him to say something. I knew what he was thinking. Not the best thing to order when there's lots of men around & only about two girls.

As I waited I pushed my wet hair out of my face, I looked down at my hands on my lap, & started to fiddle with my nails. They were too short from all my fighting.

I could feel the blonde next to me staring at me & at what I was doing. He took one of my hands in his & looked at my nails. I shot him a glare. I wasn't in the mood to be messed with: cold, wet, a bit hungry, tired, a bit frustrated, & depressed.

His skin was rough, like sand. He then put my hand back & said before he turned away & continued to smoke his cigarette, "You have nice hands."

Normally, one would reply by saying "thank you", but I didn't. I wasn't in the mood to be "nice". But I suppose he wasn't expecting me to.

I waved some of his smoke away from my face. I hated smoke. Probably because Donovan smokes in my face almost all the time.

I went to back to fiddling with my nails when the bartender returned with my drink. He stayed for awhile to watch me drink, probably waiting to see my expression when I drink it. It was the strongest thing they had. But someone called him & he walked off to do his job before taking one more look at me.

I wrapped my fingers around the cold, wet glass. I noticed my fingers were starting to return to normal. For some reason, I couldn't even place the drink to my lips. I could feel the eyes watching me. I suppose you could say I was sort of uncomfortable. I was around about 30 men with only two women & they were giggling their heads off in one of the corners of the room with two other men. They probably met them just tonight.

When I finally brought it to my lips, I noticed those two men watching me now. I took a sip & it burned my throat. I quickly slammed the glass down & coughed while covering my mouth with my sleeve. God, that was strong. I heard the two men laughing at me. "Bad idea, huh?" was probably what they were thinking.

My eyes started to water up & my nose started to run. I finally uncovered my mouth, sniffed, wiped my eyes, & caught the bartender smiling at me. So I humiliated myself. Who cares? I suppose I wasn't in the mood to care about anything or anyone.

The blonde beside me put his cigarette out & left. It was probably really late now. The smoke died down a bit & I was able to breathe in normal air again. The other man beside me drunk down the rest of his drink & told the bartender he was leaving. The bartender said goodbye as the man walked out of the door. I heard him call him Bayman. That was his name?

Well, whatever, not important. I looked for a clock & saw that it was 10:30 p.m. when I found one above the door. I had to find this woman & kill this woman before tomorrow. Donovan had said that she witnessed too many days & I had to end it all. I had to hurry up. I saw the bartender smiling at me, remembering what I did. I left the money on the counter before I left.

I rushed out of the bar with my face & eyes red & my nose threatening to run again. I walked a few yards from the bar, pulling my coat together for warmth. I stopped under a tree to get out of the rain even though few, little drops still fell on me.

Where to look . . .?

Same question I asked myself before. I decided to follow the road until I come across something interesting.

I looked up at the sky.

I have to endure this rain again . . . If it'd just stop, I'm sure things would be easier.

When I walked away from the tree & around a corner, an umbrella flew over my head, stopping me.

"Umbrella?" I heard a deep voice ask.

I looked towards who was holding the umbrella. It was that man from the bar. Bayman must be it. He leaned against the stone wall of a building, looking at me, waiting for an answer. All I could say was thanks.

He got up off the wall & looked deep at my face. I looked back at his blue eyes, wondering what he's looking at.

Is my nose running? Am I crying? Or do I have something on my face?

He told me I looked lost & it was then that I thanked God it wasn't those things I thought earlier. It would've been so embarrassing. But he knew I was lost & I suppose I was. I realized I walked little off track & I've never been on this side of town before, not ever. So I told him I was.

He asked again, "Where do you live?"

I couldn't tell him. I live where no one can reach me. It was for my safety. I couldn't tell him I live nearby somewhere so he'll leave me alone, because I told him I was lost. He obviously noticed that I didn't want to tell him or that I had nowhere to go.

"Well, where were you going?" his questions were starting to bug me.

"That way " I said, pointing down the road.

"Oh . . . That's where I was going . . ."

He looked at me. Then I knew what he was asking. So I accepted & walked with him under the umbrella. Maybe he could help me out in finding this girl.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

We walked for minutes down the road, in the rain, & past several parks & buildings. We were so close together under this small umbrella that was made for one person. Even though we didn't talk, I could tell something unique about him. He had stern movements as if he had discipline. He probably served in the military or something.

"Bayman?" I looked up at him.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"What do you do?"

He hesitated for a second & it was then that I knew he was going to tell a lie, which was "nothing much". All I said was oh, just to let him think it was over in my head & I wasn't going to bring it up again. He probably didn't trust me, because he doesn't even know me. But there's no need to suspect a lonely woman of being untrustworthy, right?

I went back to looking at the pavement just like I've been doing the whole way.

Should I ask him about Diana now?

Before I could he asked me the question that I asked earlier. Then I realized it was wrong of me to start a conversation. What I do is my business.

"Uh . . ." I had to make up something. I was going to lie just like he did.

He looked down at me, noticing my hesitation, "You fight?"

How does he know?

"Yes . . ." I was puzzled.

"You want to know how I can tell?" he asked, taking one of my hands in his.

He pointed at my fingertips & said he saw that my fingertips were callused when that man took my hands.

"Must be a lethal fighting style . . ." he added at the end.

He's very good at observing this type of thing, huh?

I gave him a threatening look, expecting him to be surprised, "She quan."

He stared back into my eyes for awhile. Probably trying to imagine me fighting someone with she quan.

He dropped my hand, "I see."

He continued to walk, getting me wet from still standing where we were. I caught up to him. And we walked in silence for more minutes. Then I remembered one of the reasons why I consented on walking with him: to ask him about Diana Moores. I started off by saying do you know, but that was all I said before I started asking myself questions again.

Can I trust him? It's not like he'll call the police & report me when Diana ends up dead . . . No, he doesn't seem like the type. He's like me . . . Quiet & serene . . .

"Do I know who?" Bayman asked me after waiting for me to continue.

I finished my question, "Diana Moores?"

He immediately stopped. I stopped, as well. From his reaction, he had to know her. But He said no before he started off again.

What?! Lies, lies, lies . . . You're not helping, Bayman!

We walked again. I was overreacting about him lying, I suppose. It was the weather that got me moody. But anyway soon enough, Bayman finally stopped. I turned to look at the brick building across the street. Jones' Hotel. Bayman told that he was staying there.

So he doesn't live here in England . . . Well, I suppose this is where we depart . . .

"I was hoping you would find somewhere to go before I reached here, but I suppose not," Bayman said when I turned away.

I looked at him, expecting him to walk off & leave me all alone in the rain. And he did. He was across the street when I started off by myself once again, my arms crossed. My mood got worse. I was alone, now & wet, tired, cold, but my frustration was going away.

"Are you coming or not?" I heard Bayman ask.

I shot my head up & turned around to see him across the street.

He's going to let me stay with him . . .? But he barely knows me . . .

I suppose he was a bit generous although he didn't seem like the type. I quickly made my way across the street as well.