Author's note: This fic could have come by November. Unfortunately, there was an unforeseen personal setback with a member of the immediate family falling ill. I had been typing a little whenever I got the time. So technically, it took me six months to come up with a chapter when the previous chapter took 12 months. Maybe the next will take less time still. I intend to keep Chapter 19 brief anyway. The reasons for delay in updating happen generally is because I am writing a novella of short stories and when you're writing most of the time, it just takes a lot out of you to settle to write a fanfiction. The Hell Within is not an endeavour in unwinding but a sincere attempt to create a complex narrative from my limited perspective of thrillers and things in general. :P

Much thanks to Japhet, CliCliW, sorry4beingstupid, Urban Cowboy, Soul Searcher, Greased Lightnin, TheIann, BlackxValetine, Dracona Mortis. Hope I haven't missed out anyone. I will wait until at least the some readers have reviewed the fic before I continue with the next so that some folks are up to speed with the story.

I am grateful to all of you for being a part of this journey. It's been four years long and still going and hopefully will continue to march onto completion. I upload this three days before my birthday, so your reviews will make for great presents! I especially await my 160th review! :D

Merry Christmas and a happy new year in advance, y'all!

Previously on... The Hell Within:

1. Norman retrieves a dead phone from a dead-er suspect and passes it on to a trusted phone technician in the hope that he gets it fixed in time for more clues.

2. Grace was trying to establish a timeline that exonerates Ethan from the killings and gets a mysterious phone call from Madison asking her to come over.

3. Ethan is badly bruised from the boxing trial. Other pedestrians may or may not have spotted him as he escaped from the venue. Madison rescues him but he is clear that hospitals aren't an option.

4. Blake sneaks away from a sleeping Lauren after a tip-off on Ethan's location.

5. Kathy is leaving for said location, not before entrusting Officer Collins with giving Scott the list of subscribers to the origami magazine which he can then tally with the list of Hotel Delano employees.

It was bad weather. Even rain was not needed to add to the dingy, deathly look of the city. Grace was trying her best to drive down the streets and break a few red lights along the way. She assumed most cops would be too preoccupied searching for the monstrosity that the news had made of her former husband. How many eye witness accounts had been real? How many contradicted each other?

The hunt for the killer was like an epidemic that swept across the city. Everybody had seen him at some point. Would they recognise him if he stood in front of them? she wondered. Testimonies would be so confusing if it was a nation-wide manhunt. When Grace got stuck in a traffic jam she could not escape, she turned to check her backseat. There was a large overcoat thrown over a first aid kit, a torchlight and some other assortments she had put together in a bag.

It was her paranoia that led to such a collection. There was no telling the severity of his injuries. On the flip side, if she carried too many things on her, she would draw a lot of attention. Almost akin to riding an ice cream truck, ringing a bell and screaming, "Step up for some Mars!"

Her nerves were stretched, straining more so upon hearing the sharp peeling of police cars around key junctions. I am not the person for this job. I should be home. I should be keeping my fingers crossed. My hopes up.

But here she was. Risking everything to meet the very man she had inadvertently put through a world of pain. We did it to each other, she thought. Maybe it aligned karmically better in her head. But she could not afford a guilt-trip right now.

She kept checking the address texted to her on her phone, afraid to feed it into her GPS in case it gets traced to her in the future. Grace did not know how. But she did not want the risk of surveillance. She kept checking her rear view mirror too. No, she was not being followed.

Could today get any busier? Norman wondered as he drove towards the messaged address. Kathy had texted him, asking if he was on his way. He replied in the affirmative. As he coasted through the night towards his destination, Norman began to wonder if this time he had bitten off more than he could chew... taken on more than he could handle.

It was going okay... when it was all about the rain and the little boys. None of this had to get personal. She – Dr. Grace Garner – made it personal, on more level than one. It began as leverage. Where it had reached now, he did not know.

Cases and relationships had no clear answer. You had to sift the truth from the lies. With any luck, at least his investigation would be on the right track. Remy, the man who had David Williams' phone in his possession was still trying to adjust with the battery situation on the phone. The fresh battery he had inserted died out soon enough and the handset had a few more hours of charging before it was of any use.

Never again, he thought to himself, for nothing in particular. Maybe it was for everything. Everything that... for the briefest time made him feel good.

Lauren Winter was up and awake. Carter Blake was gone and missing. A quick search around the small apartment confirmed it. He probably left in an immense hurry. But not enough of a rush to wake her up.

Well, that's considerate.

She sat by the window in the dark and lit a cigarette. With the lights off, she could see the city better. Glistening pavements, people in black, the siren of a police car somewhere in the distance...

It was a decent neighbourhood, she thought. Not high-end or anything, but sufficiently law-and-orderly. Where, if strange men came to break down your doors, people would notice. Yes, she was still sore about the incident. Undecided about how she felt about the man who did rescue her on two occasions today. Troy's arm felt a lot worse than her door hinges. And the power plant... she shuddered and said a small prayer for the charred body that clung to the wires.

The landline gave a sharp ring, which shook Lauren off the window sill.

God!

She wondered if she should be picking up the phone. Did anyone else know she was here? Were they supposed to? Or would that be an embarrassment for the Lieutenant? Lauren decided not to answer the phone and frown at the annoying sound. She was surprised people kept landlines anymore. But maybe he kept it to be accessible at all times.

The call finally went to the answering machine.

"Umm... Lieutenant Blake? This is Officer Collins. I can't get through to your phone, so if you're still home... Detective Conley's given a Mr. Scott Shelby some stuff to work on. She says you two know each other. I'm keeping an eye on him but if you could just confirm the same. I am only being cautious. Yeah... thanks."

And there was a long beep. Lauren straightened on the sill. There was no time to waste.

Blake pulled up in the designated neighbourhood, tight-lipped and hazy eyed. He wasn't getting any younger. Gone were the days of long stakeouts and paperwork. That's for the more youthful lot now. Still... he could not afford to look too pulled down. Being ranks higher did not mean being a pencil pusher. It was about setting an example for the rookies.

"Lieutenant," said Ash, which sort of reverberated in his ears, even though Ash was not that loud and Blake not hung-over.

"Any sign of Mars?" asked Blake.

"Scouring the neighbourhood as we speak."

They walked together passed the police barricade. Blake had to show his badge to the cops manning the point. It was alright. They were being alert.

"Didn't get any sleep, did you, Ash?"

"Wasn't going to. Had plans with the missus. Pizza and a movie. Molly hasn't seen Ace in the Hole."

"Kirk Douglas. What a classic," said Blake.

"Relevant commentary. Can't believe she missed it."

"Always a reminder that you need to keep the press at bay," said Blake. "They'll be here soon. Like sharks for blood."

"We should be able to get a lead before they arrive, though Captain Perry's press conference today gave them enough matter to be busy this evening," said Ash.

"Sure, he does the talking while we're in the line of fire," said Blake.

"I'd rather be on the field than answer questions, Lieutenant. I know you feel the same way too."

Blake did not nod an assent but seemed to agree. "Let's see these witnesses, who claim to have spotted Mars."

"Right this way, Lieutenant," said Ash and led him to what was going to be a series of frustrating conversations with people swearing that Ethan Mars was wearing different clothes or walking in entirely different directions. Had Grace been with them, she would have taken reasonable satisfaction in giving a sardonic smile and saying, "I told you so."

"Who did you call?"

Madison raised her head from her hands. Ethan was still lying on her bed, but conscious. His arms and limbs were dangling limp on all sides. "Who did you call?"

She could sidestep this if she wanted. Instead – "You need help, Ethan. You'll destroy yourself at this rate."

"No ambulance..." His voice cracked but was firm.

"Didn't call for one."

Ethan dropped his head back on the pillow. He did not have the energy to pursue direct answers.

"You have a hell of a fever, Ethan."

She gestured to a thermometer next to her.

"How high is it?" he asked.

"High enough for me to be worried."

Ethan closed his eyes. Now that she mentioned it, he did feel like he was sinking inside a cocoon of heat. His mouth felt damp, heavy and sore. The pain in the back of his head circled back to the front in a persistent throb, like a pulsating bulldozer. He had lost sensation in the rest of his face. In due course of time, he lost consciousness too.

Madison took the opportunity to sit by his bedside and touch his burning forehead. At least there was rest this way. If he could walk the slightest bit, he would be crawling out the door to save his son. A boy who needed to be saved. And the man doing the saving had to be awakened.

I'm sorry, Ethan... I had to call her. She is probably the only person in the city who has escaped the attention of the press and can get past the cops. I hope she can. I hope I did the right thing.

Her gaze lingered on his face, one of tormented slumber. She withdrew her hand. The clock ticked somewhere in the background. Madison took a deep breath. She bent down and kissed his forehead, her warm lips leaving the slightest moist imprint on the flushed skin.

Grace saw the barricades. They were specifically blocking access to a large neighbourhood. One people or several possibly tipped the cops off to the general area to where they last saw Ethan. She could not take the chance of going through. There may even be cops from the same department who saw her come and go umpteen times.

She parked the car near an unguarded alley. Grace was never a fan of dark alleys but they could well serve the purpose of helping her make her way around. She swung her bag onto her shoulder, first-aid kit, torch and pepper spray clinking together inside.

In a move she saw in cop films with Shaun, she tugged the hoodie of her black jacket over her head. A finger-painted camouflaged face would have been excessively dramatic. She tapped all over her screen to get a street-view on her navigation app. Yes, putting the address on her phone could be traced back to her, but she had been feeling a little lost and reckoned that she was under the radar from the agencies that be (or surveyed as much as a regular citizen). It was not much of a labyrinth, hence every turn she took in the alley took her towards the designated building.

Grace passed a homeless man on the way. He was slumped against a trashcan. She stood there for a moment. He was still breathing. Her services were not required. Grace proceeded down a lane, keeping her head bowed. A group of drunken boys were lingering at the corner. Two of them decided to pick the turning as just the spot for wrestling each other to the ground. They were yet to see her.

Grace zipped her bag out and got her can of mace ready. I am going to have to soldier through.

She began approaching the group.

Our Father who art in heaven

Nearer and nearer.

Hallowed be thy name.

Both the grapplers fell to the ground. That did not break them apart. It looked ugly.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.

She tightened her grip on the can. The walls on either side of her felt like an escalating blur of pace.

"Excuse me," she half-whispered as she stepped over the tangled mass of arms and limbs.

On earth as it is in heaven.

She half-expected to be grabbed, spun around or at least challenged verbally. But it was only when she was a significant distance away that she heard them whistle and high-five each other. Grace shut her eyes for a moment and caught her breath. Her legs felt like jelly.

I think I've done it.

She could venture onto a more respectable street and check if she had crossed the barricade, but that was taking too much of a chance. As she plodded on, she saw the odd police officer showing around pictures of Ethan to passersby. It was a passport sized shot taken from his driving licence. Those pictures were never a person's finest hour and in Ethan's case, did not serve his purpose when it came to empathy.

Kathy Conley followed close behind. She must have been a few cars behind Lieutenant Blake as she entered the neighbourhood. "Busy night," she said to the officer inspecting her badge.

"Yeah."

Not so chatty today, are we?

Ash was standing in the distance, looking annoyed and at his notepad.

"Howdy, neighbour," she said, relieved to find a familiar face. Kathy could neither stand alone nor make small-talk. It was tough to live with that effervescence.

"Hey, Kath."

"Any luck or leads?"

"We are trying to reduce the area of search. It isn't very helpful since based on the testimony of witnesses; all we can close in upon is an approximation."

"Man, we could be here a while," said Kathy.

"All night and the next if that's what it takes."

"Hmm," she pondered and looked at her shoes.

"There he comes," said Ash and she could detect the need for an eye roll in his voice itself.

"Be nice," she said, knowing from the tone who it was.

"I am. We're all doing our jobs and the Feds send this guy to swoop in and make us look incompetent. I mean, those freaky glasses. How do we compete with that? In the face of budget cuts too?"

Kathy finally looked over her shoulder to see Norman in conversation with the cop checking the badges. It seemed to be going awkwardly. She turned back to Ash. "I think the Feds could have sent any agent. We got him by chance. Hate the system, not the man. He wants to find the kid as much as we do."

"And you want to pork him as much as he doesn't," said Ash, barely suppressing a grin.

"I asked him one time!"

"The day he arrives, at the crime scene!"

"Time is always of the essence!"

"I was there! He'd slipped off that muddy hill and you go up to him and say 'that's called going downhill'!"

"I made a clever phrase pun!" Kathy protested.

"You made a fallen man uncomfortable!"

"You're speaking in his defence for a change."

Ash just shook his head.

"Men are like a pack of wolves. Defending their own kind against the allures of our lot," she said.

"You talk crazy during investigations, you know that, right?"

"Hey," said Norman. "I guess this is the location, then?"

"Lieutenant Blake's been questioning some witnesses over there," said Kathy.

"Okay. Thanks," he said and went over.

"Did he just say 'tanks'?" sniggered Ash.

"It's called a Bostonian accent!"

"Tanks!"

Blake looked over the shoulder of the 'witness'. "Well, well. How kind of you to make your presence known!"

"Yeah, Blake, lovely to see you too. What do we have?" said Norman.

"What, you're gonna saunter in here and expect me to give you details? Where've you been?"

"Trying to find the kid while you've been looking for Mars."

"Is my work here done?" asked the man Blake was talking to.

"No, hang on." He gave a look to Norman. "The cops have been checking the video camera footage of the neighbourhood. See if you can follow up with that."

"Okay."

Blake did not seem to be in the mood for a fight, he noted.

Norman went over to a police van. The door was partly ajar and a control team was at work on a laptop. He flashed his badge, they acknowledged it. "What do we have?" he asked, scooping himself into the vehicle.

"We're looking. A lot of the faces are hooded or hidden behind umbrellas."

"Agent Jayden, wasn't it your precinct that made the arrest on Mars earlier?" said the cop with the buzzcut.

"It was."

"He was wearing a hoodie, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"What was the color of his jacket?"

"Brown."

Norman did not like the cross-examining. It was in his best interests to... he had to keep Mars on the street. Everybody could run around on a wild goose chase for the red herring while he could come here to accomplish what was long due and what he had to do.

"We'd like you to have a look at the footage."

Norman pulled up a metal chair. This was more cooperation than he had volunteered to give.

"You're the profiler, aren't you?" said one of the cops behind him. It was a woman.

"Yep."

"Man of a few words, aren't you?"

"Yep."

He squinted his eyes at the screen. Goddamn ARI disoriented any regular viewing.

"You say yep a lot, don't you?"

"No."

They chuckled at the back. Norman, to prove that he wasn't a massive asshole, turned around and smiled. They grinned back. This was probably the least awkward social interaction he had had since he landed in Philly.

Scott Shelby was busy poring over the documents at the police department. Officer Collins hovered around his desk, not bothered with disguising the suspicious glances he sent Scott's way. "Seriously," said Scott, after a point, "my name is in the department's records. So are my photographs. I've done drug busts and suited up for courtroom testimonies. Have a look!"

That unexpected outburst stilled Collins, who, after a moment's disbelieving glance, kept his distance. Scott chuckled, but set about rubbing his eyes.

I am too old for this shit, a reference one cop too many would be wont to make.

"Excuse me!" came Collins voice, which shook Scott back to work. He wanted to accomplish the task at hand before the fledgling decided to shunt him out of the station in his paranoia.

"I'm the assistant!"

"To whom? Ma'am? Excuse me? You can't walk in there unless you have a complaint you want to register."

"Scott Shelby!" said the voice in a theatrical boom and the private eye spun around, unaccustomed to being called by his full name, except when he was up for adoption or at the police academy. She was attractive, he thought. High cheekbones, worn-out eyes and a beautifully taut body. Like a sexy soccer mom.

Since he was the only one who turned instinctively to the name and did not have a uniform on, Lauren Winter hedged her bets and decided to make a run to his side. "I needed to see you," she said. "I know that you know Lieutenant Carter Blake."

Officer Collins caught up. "Ma'am, you need to leave. Mr. Shelby, if she isn't with you, then she has to go."

"I'll handle this, Collins. Thanks."

He said it with the authority that confused the cop. Who were this people walking in and out of the station like it was freaking Disneyland? He bounded off to make another call, this time to Detective Conley. That she would ask him to give Scott a free hand, he did not know then.

Scott began shutting the files. "Explain yourself," he said to the woman in black.

"My name is Lauren Winter. My son was a victim of The Origami Killer. My friend Susan Bowles was killed when she was putting together the pieces. And judging by the botched investigation that could not save my son, I really need to step in."

"I don't think you can just walk into a station and demand to be involved in a high-profile case..." began Scott.

"The whole city is involved! I'm the mother who lost her son. Maybe I can assist in a way that would really help the investigation."

Scott folded his arms and leaned back into his chair. "Aren't you the one Carter dragged into the station earlier today?"

She blinked. "It was a misunderstanding."

"You were running away with the clues."

"How did you-"

"Word gets around," he said, inwardly thanking Kathy for letting him know.

"Let me help you," said Lauren.

"I am sorry, Ms. Winter..."

"Lauren."

"I am sorry, Lauren. But this investigation is not an A-train. Not everybody can hop on it."

"I-"

"I will have to ask you to leave," said Scott. He hated being firm with the distraught, but the job in the streets steeled that timid, asthmatic child right out of him.

"Could you do me a favour, then?" asked Lauren. "Could you at least take down my number and let me know if there is any way I can help?"

"Sure," said Scott. He let Lauren give him her number.

"Give me a missed call," she said and Shelby did.

"Thank you."

With a sad smile, she was gone. Scott went back to work.

Well, that was too easy.

The doorbell rang. Madison, who was jittery over her laptop (and maybe playing a few flash games in the process), bounded to the door.

"Hey!"

"The cops are everywhere!"

Madison toned down her breathlessness. "Hi, Fred."

"Expecting someone?"

"Oh. No. Just busy... you know how it is."

"They're saying they spotted Mars in the neighbourhood. You think that's true?" asked Fred.

"I... wouldn't know. "

"You're a journalist. I thought you would know."

"I can be well-informed, not omnipresent," said Madison with a nervous laugh.

There was the sound of a siren that pierced through the window behind her and right into the corridor where they stood. "Hear that?" said Fred and dashed right into her apartment.

"Hey!"

She ran. He stopped before one of her large windows. "You couldn't have seen so many flashing lightbulbs in one place. Not unless you were in Las Vegas, baby!"

Madison scrunched her nose at the bad simile, but kept her eyes trained on the curtained glass partition that separated her bedroom from the living room, Ethan from Fred, a fugitive from a potentially loudmouthed witness.

There was an 'uhh' sound from right behind. Madison wound around. Her heart sank. So did Grace's as they held that gaze. One was the redhead from the press conference, the other was the inquisitive journalist. Ethan Mars, their area of mutual interest, was holed up in a journalist's house.

What did you do, Ethan? thought Grace.

"So this is your guest?" asked Fred from behind Madison.

"Yes, yes she is," said Madison. "Come on in," she said to Grace with an amicability that had to look natural before him. Grace avoided eye contact with the man. You never know where you could get recognized.

"So..."

He was hoping for an introduction, the idiot.

"I'll see you later, Fred."

Madison was already escorting him out the door. "Is this one of those journalist-source meetings?" he asked in a loud whisper.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

There was collective, small laughter and then he was out the door.

"Sorry, about that," she said, shutting the door.

Grace stood uncertainly, but her eyes were at the newspaper cuttings on Madison's work desk. For a jittery mother, her look had that unflinching sharpness which took in every detail. Those were the eyes of a person who had been pushed too far up a wall.

"Where is he?" Grace asked, quietly. "And why is he with you?"

"Because I believe that he is not the killer."

"Where is he?"

"Follow me."

Madison led her behind the glass partition. There he lay, on the cusp of consciousness, lips moving inaudibly, looking every bit the part of damaged goods. She waited for Grace's reaction. Would there be a dramatic outburst?

Grace sat by his side, a hand on his forehead. She began pulling things out of her bag. "I have so many questions," she said. "So many. But I really need to be alone with Ethan right now."

Madison was unsure if that was a reasonable request. Considering that she has been bailing Ethan out of trouble, Grace was very politely trying to get her out of the room. But then a calmer instinct told her that she needed to leave. They were man and wife a long time ago. She needed this.

"Okay," said Madison. "I'm right outside if you need anything."

Grace got down to work immediately, even before Madison had a foot out the door. The journalist went out of her bedroom and into her work station/drawing room/kitchen. For a studio apartment, she did manage to squeeze a lot in some space there.

Maybe I could shift my work desk next to the television and the couch that's one step up, she thought to herself, as distraction. But idle thoughts alone could not divert her mind. She sat at the computer chair before her laptop and began typing, clicking random links, opening articles. Madison knitted her fingers together, looked down at the keyboard and then rose from her seat.

From between the gap in the curtains, she could see through the glass partition. She saw Grace's hands pulling precise manoeuvres, a practiced grip binding and mending her patient's broken body towards healing. When she sat back in her chair, the article before her was on Ethan Mars, deranged child killer.

Body language experts were dissecting his pupils, his prior public appearances before his arrest and that one time he spoke to the press where he looked 'disturbed'. Disturbed. What an ambiguous word. The experts needed to write a handbook on how to react when your child has been missing for a day.

Madison seethed over the searing indictment of the man's all-evident guilt in the article before it occurred to her to ask the doctor inside if she needed anything. Despite the odd circumstances, she was still the hostess.

Madison peeked in.

"Uhhh..."

The brown eyes looked at her.

Grace or Dr. Garner? Grace or Dr. Garner?

"Grace," she finally settled on. "Would you like me to get you anything?"

"I just got done," said Grace. "A glass of water would be great."

"Okay," said Madison.

She was scarcely done filling a glass to the top when she thought she heard a conversation turn ugly though the glass. At the risk of dropping the glass, she raced back to have Ethan, awake and more alert, propped up on his elbows.

"What's happening? What did I- what is... I don't even..."

Grace, Ethan and Madison exchanged a Mexican stand-off of a look.

Kathy and Ash were standing and talking in a corner. Norman was half-visible through the door in the van. Other cops, who were a summation of rears, slicked hair and holsters, were in varying degrees of being noticeable in the way they were angled. Blake watched them, the familiar faces, among the sea of blues who were all united in a common cause. He felt detached from them, from it.

Everybody was looking for Shaun, he wanted to as well, but two years of hopping onto the violent carousel of killings, watching the mud being cleared off the dead children and explaining coldly to their families what became of Jimmy/Larry/Bobby was getting to him. It was not a physical exhaustion as much as a moral one.

The killer killed every year with the same audacity and tenacity. The injustice weighed on him. If Blake was not an atheist, he probably would have found it in himself to enter a church and seek answers for The Big Questions. Common sense knew that all that boomed back would be an echo as Jesus' vacant eyes looked upon the great beyond behind you.

He did not need religion to be a good man. He did not need the approval of others to be well-meaning. So when his feet turned him towards a quiet corner to dial on his landline, Blake did not think twice about it. I'm just checking on her. No harm in checking on a hooker you've left at your apartment, right?

The word 'hooker' stung him even as he thought of it. Maybe he hadn't really thought this through. What was he going to say? Wouldn't he be disturbing her in her sleep? Blake did not hang up. It was just a hunch. Why so, he couldn't tell. The phone kept ringing. The hunch got stronger.

Come on... pick up.

Nothing.

He hung up. Called again.

Nothing.

What the hell? Isn't she home?

Blake called the police department. Officer Collins picked up.

"Is that Collins?"

"Lieutenant Blake! Did you finally get my message on Scott Shelby?"

"No, what about him?"

Collins seemed puzzled and said, "He is here. Apparently Detective Conley has brought him on to work the Origami case. He is sitting right now with a woman who claims to be his assistant."

"Okay, much as I trust Detective Conley's call, I will double-check the same and let you know in case this isn't the case."

"Sure, Lieutenant."

"Thanks for letting me know. Keep an eye out and keep me posted."

Blake was just done putting the phone back in his pocket when he heard the voice of the person he intended to approach.

"Lieutenant Blake!" called out Kathy. "They found Ethan in the footage! We've zeroed in on the area!"

The intercom by Madison's desk began to ring. It broke the momentousness of the situation and had the third wheel in the encounter make a justifiable run for it.

"There are cops swarming our building," said Fred, without wasting a beat.

"Cops? Why?"

"There's only one person the cops are going to send such a battalion after."

"Mars?"

"Exactly! I just spoke to the super about it a few moments ago."

"So they're coming here?"

"Here and the neighboring buildings. They'll probably go house to house too for questioning. So put on a pair of pants, just in case."

"I am dressed!" said Madison, flustered more with the situation than the sartorial judgement.

"Shorts don't count," said Fred,

"So I can't even be comfortable in my own home?" asked Madison, unnecessarily.

"This isn't the time to get comfortable, Madison."

The call ended but the concluding sentence resonated in her mind.

Not the time... to get comfortable...

She dashed back beyond the partition to inform the endangered couple. Former couple.

"The cops-" she began, only to find Grace hiding behind a curtained window, daring only to peek out with a sliver of her eye.

"How are they here already?" asked Grace.

"Will they be going house to house?" asked Ethan, swinging his legs off the bed. He took a stagger but steadied himself with admirable grit. "I'm fine," he said, waving off Madison when she came forward to help.

"We need to get out of here," said Grace. In her anxiety, she ran from one large window to another, realising the cops were too high up to notice her. Even if they did, they would never actively seek her out. Keeping a low profile had its advantages. Ethan, wisely, kept away from the windows but leaned against a wall next to Grace.

"Downstairs isn't a plan anymore, is it?" he said to her.

"No. No, it isn't."

"Got a plan?" he asked.

"No..." said Grace, her voice trailing off. "But we should improvise," she added with the last trace of optimism.

"The rooftop."

They turned towards Madison.

"The rooftop," she repeated. "It's the only way."

"Can you-" said Grace, her questioning gaze upon Ethan now.

"I have to..." he said. "I have no choice. We have no choice."

Scott was running through the list of origami magazine subscribers and the list of employees at Hotel Delano, when he got the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is that Mr. Scott Shelby?"

"Speaking."

"This is Detective Rebecca Flynn. Lieutenant Carter Blake has given me some documents pertaining to the Origami case that he would like you to have."

"Carter? He's in on this?"

"Yes, Mr. Shelby. I am standing outside the turning of the police station. I have to be on the move, but if you could dash across the road and take it, I'll greatly appreciate it."

Scott rose from his seat and peeped through the glass. "I can't see you."

"You'll have to step out of the station. Walk towards the right. You should be able to see a Mustang with flashing lights."

"A Mustang, huh?"

Scott stepped out and began walking a short distance outside.

"I see nothing."

"But I'm right there!"

He detected the slightest hint of amusement in her voice.

"Look, lady. I don't know how you know my name or the names of my colleagues but I don't appreciate this prank call."

"Oh, but I'm not."

"Where are Lieutenant Blake and Detective Conley right now?"

"I cannot share that with you, sir. That is classified information."

"And you're coming to give me the documents? In a Mustang on the right side of the road?"

"I'm right there!"

"Nice saves, but wrong answers," said Scott and hung up the phone.

He entered the police department in a rush and nearly bumped into Lauren on the way out.

"Hey! Hadn't you left already?" he asked her.

"I was just in the bathroom," said Lauren.

"Okay, then. Go safely."

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby."

"Scott."

"Scott."

He saw her leave and then went back to his desk. Despite the absence of cops and a lack of bustle, he could've sworn that his desk was in a greater state of disarray than when he had left it.

"Hey, Collins!" Scott called out. "Did you mess with my papers?"

"No, Mr. Shelby. Nobody touched them here except you and your assistant."

"My assistant?"

"Yes. The lady in black."

Scott's eyes widened. He dove into the files, hurriedly checking to see if everything was in order.

"Is something the matter?" asked Collins.

Scott couldn't say it was. All the papers were in place. "Nothing..." he trailed off, wondering then what Lauren was doing there in the first place.

"Hello, hello 'Detective Flynn'," smiled Lauren into her phone.

"It's no problem, honey," said the voice at the other end.

"Thank you, Sophie, for the decoy call. I've got what I needed. You really had him going there."

"Modulation's the key, woman. Who'd have thought all this time at the phone sex hotline would've come handy?"

"Remind me to buy you lunch when this blows over," said Lauren.

"Sure, love. Yours is the one call I'll wait for."

Lauren hung up. She ran to the nearest bus she could find and got in. She opened her phone gallery. In the Images folder were pictures she had taken of the papers on Scott's desk. High resolution. She could figure out the contents and maybe piece together the mystery.

The bus was taking her a whole other direction from Lieutenant Blake's area. After the little stunt she pulled off, Lauren would never be able to return to Blake's apartment. There was no extra house key to let herself in.

She did a good thing, by calling Sophie and asking her to distract Scott. This way, she came to know that her former 'colleague' was back in town. Which means that she has an alternate roof over her head for tonight, while her legal roof continues to have no door.

One thing at a time... chanted Lauren. One thing at a time

The bus trundled oncarrying her into the dark night, which she watched unfold like the other citizens. Despite her detachment from the actual investigations, thus far, Lauren could not help wonder about the unknown as the wind cut through her hair and cheekbones and as the car lights flashed defiantly in the distance.

Author's note: Pardon any typos, folks. Also, I've been going bonkers on Quiz Up lately, so I'm just gonna go back to that now before I sleep. Anyone wanna get their game face on, let me know in the reviews and I'll either reply by PM on on my profile. :)