A/N: I know it's been a while since I posted this story but hopefully I still have some followers out there. Last chapter was in Woody's point of view and was all angsty because of Devan's death, but this one will be through the eye's of Devan, who isn't dead at all. Not yet, anyway.

I've been changing around this plot for a while now, just trying to find the right one, and this idea came from one of the directors of Crossing Jordan, who stated a while ago that they had plans to bring Devan back somehow. Won't spill it yet but read on to find out. Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan. Never will.

-And my words will be here
When I'm gone
As I'm fading away against the wind
And the words you left me linger on
As I'm falling again now
Never to change this- - "Sympathetic" - Seether

I couldn't see anything. It was dark. Trying to will my eyes open didn't work so I lay in the darkness and listened. I tried not to think about the stabbing pain in my neck and instead focussed on trying to identify with my surroundings. I was laying on something stiff, something that felt like a hardened mattress. My hands were tied, extremely tightly, around my back and I wriggled as best I could to free them. However, everything was in vain. I realised suddenly that there was something covering my eyes to obscure my vision. My breathing increased and I could hear every painful exhale loudly. My heart beat faster then, and I struggled harder to free my hands from the grip of the taut cloth.

A door opened, its piercing echo screamed into my ears and made my hair stand on end, sending rippling shivers up and down my spine. I lay motionless, though I knew whoever it was stepping into the room was aware of my consciousness. It didn't take long for the shadowed figure to press the tip of a metal pistol to my neck and whisper to me to keep still. I did. It was a man, and I knew who he was.

The cloth around my eyes was viciously swiped from my face, and with a sharp gasp, I opened my eyes. At first all I could see was darkness, then my irises quickly adjusted to the light of a small bedside lamp. My sight was immediately met with the hollow barrel of the gun, then I shifted my gaze to look him over. He was still wearing the same cooperate suit he had donned when we had met earlier. Except he looked deadly serious this time, all of his warnings had expired. He was slouching over the bed but he was still tall, and his dark hair glinted in the pale light. Those deep blue eyes still probed mine, dangerously.

"Who's Woody?" he smiled coldly with dry amusement and my head snapped up to look at him with a frown.

"Excuse me?" I asked dully with a dry throat.

His lips twisted into a sour grin. "You talk in your sleep. I swear on my brother's life I've told you that before."

My heart skipped a beat when I realised I was supposed to be in Boston. "Where am I?"

"We," he replied instantly with an amused look, "are in Washington. You remember, don't you?"

I knew by his tone that he was mocking me, taunting me. I had heard this all before and knew how to play the game. "Absolutely. That's why I'm asking you these questions. What did you do?"

He sucked in a long, teasing breath before sitting down on the bed beside me. "It's just a little game. You don't pay me and I'll play you."

He leaned over and flashed his teeth. They shined stainless white. I shivered and allowed my head to fall backwards against the covered pillow. The room was not the same hotel I had checked into not long ago, though I couldn't remember anything beyond my phone call to Jordan…whenever that had been. I still had no idea what was going on but it was strange because I didn't really care. Dealing with him was always dealing with money, so I figured I could get out of it quite easily. Then I remembered why I had come to Washington in the first place.

"Where is he?" I asked fretfully, my senses finally awakening.

He tilted his head mockingly, twisting his lips. "Who?"

I glared dangerously. "Don't do that to me. You know who I'm talking about."

He stood suddenly and leaned over me, bending down and tugging at the cloth around my hands. It was so tightly wrapped that I could feel my circulation cutting off. My restraints were released suddenly and I gave him a brief look of appreciation before struggling into a sitting position. Pain flowed easily through my head and I made no attempt to stop it. I suddenly felt like crying and was disturbed by it because I didn't know why I was so emotional.

"Devan," he began quite gently, which confused me, "you died."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Confusion was not the correct word. Disbelief was. "But…I'm here. Unless I went to Hell. Is this Hell, because it feels like it."

I moved my head back suddenly when he pushed the gun into my face, his features taut. "It's not funny so don't pretend it is. This was the only way I could stop you. Stop them."

I shook my head, sighing and attempting to stand but he pushed me back onto the bed. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about…"

"There was a plane crash a week ago," he interrupted me. "You died in it."

My head snapped up and the pain immediately rushed to the crook of my neck, but I ignored it. "What?"

He looked at me with those dangerous blue eyes. "You don't exist anymore. The plane crashed in Boston last week."

I stared at him with wide eyes, shocked and chilled to the bone. They thought I was dead? That plane had crashed? I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Why did you do this?"

I heard the unmistakable click of the safety being capped off on the gun. "Don't act like you don't know."

I was trying not to let on but he knew me too well. He knew what I was like when I lied, when I kept things hidden, when I deceived people. He knew the signs. He gave me a few moments of peace to absorb everything, but nothing seemed to seep in. I was dead to them now. Dead to him. Was he grieving? Had he moved on? All I could think about was what this was doing to him. Woody.

My eyes flicked to his quickly then I lowered them to the ground. "So what do you want?"

He raised his eyebrows at my whisper and his mocking voice returned. "Fifty million dollars.

Cash, preferably. And you're silence, but I guess it's too late for that."

I stared incredulously at him, my nerves rising within me. "What?"

"I'm out of a job, Devan," he said quickly, though painfully. "I have nothing left. I need your support with this."

"This?" I raised my voice. "You refer to him as this?"

His eyes softened, something that rarely happened. "It's hard, and you would have no idea because you left a year ago. You haven't seen him in over twelve months."

I shook my head. "If you weren't so adamant about us marrying then maybe I would be around more often."

"Fifty million dollars," he dismissed. "Take it or leave it, it's up to you."

"And if I leave it?"

He grinned then, a sinister twitch of his lips. "If you decline this offer, you will never look at yourself in the mirror again. More importantly, you'll never see Woody again. By the sounds of your dreams, you two were quite close."

"That's none of your business," I replied coolly, my head once again resting against the wooden headboard.

He sat down on the bed and reached out a hand to me but I slapped it away. "Devan, when it comes to you, it's always my business."

I swallowed when I found myself facing the end of the gun again, it's circular hole reflecting in the light. He held his finger to the trigger and I wondered what the pain would be like if he squeezed it. I decided not to find out.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "I'll do what you want."

He never moved the gun from my face but I watched the movement when his finger was pulled backwards and the trigger squeezed. Nothing came out but a hollow click. It had been empty.

A/N: Ooh, tense.

Peace out