He sat with his head on his hands, his heart on the floor. Eight hours sitting in holding cell with transients, woman beaters and petty thieves wasn't exactly how Lucas pictured his day. It was cold sitting on the metal bench that lined the expanse of the wall. He tried lying down but found it entirely uncomfortable. Not only that, but he didn't think that a few of the men took kindly to him stretching out in their domain. He couldn't think clearly. He knew he didn't do it. He knew it. He knew Peyton knew it. So where was she? Where was his lawyer? Patience clearly wasn't a virtue here.

It was after 10 or so hours that he was finally called into questioning. It wasn't like the movies. The room wasn't dark, save a dim light dangling from the center of the room. It was bright, so bright it almost made him squint in reaction. There was an ordinary table and chairs in the center. Along the far wall was a mirror, which Lucas avoided looking into. That, he thought dimly, was in the movies. There were two detectives.

'Good cop/Bad cop,' he told himself.

He sat and stared from one man to the other for a long moment. They seemed like ordinary men. Men you would pass on the street and not think twice about. They were men that probably had families, friends. But it was these men that could possibly hold the key to his freedom. Freedom. It is such a strange think to take for granted. Only did he feel the suffocated when he was taken into captivity.

"Let's get to the facts," the first cop said, tossing forensic reports across the table.

Lucas winced at the sudden sound of his booming voice slicing through the quiet. He looked down at the papers in front of him.

"I don't understand," he muttered.

"Well understand this, you little shit. You did a bum job with your Molotov cocktail. A real bum job. You should have wiped your goddamn prints of the jar. We have you. And you're looking at 5 to 20 for arson and destruction of property."

The emotion that quickly swept in his veins can only be described as the sudden screech of a violin string. Lucas stood violently, knocking the chair behind him to the floor with a clatter. The men stood, each reaching for their holster.

"I didn't do anything, this is all wrong…!"

"Sit your ass down or we'll be forced to restrain you," shouted the 2nd cop. So much for being the good one. Lucas felt his heart hammering like a caged bird against his ribs as he sat, his hands shaking.

"Look buddy," the man softened. "We need to talk plea deals. Im sure you had your reasons—"

"No," Lucas interrupted. "No reason. I didn't do it. Plain and simple. We were great. There is nothing I would gain. You aren't going to manipulate me into changing the truth."

After over an hour of going back and forth the men finally sighed, alerting him that he was under arrest for arson and destruction of property.

"Where is my lawyer?" He asked dully.

"None were called. Would you like us to call someone…?"

Lucas droned off his responses until they took him back to his cell.

"You have a visitor," they said.

Lucas brightened as much as possible. Peyton. It had to be. Finally. He needed her faith, her guidance. He needed her voice and eyes to bring him to sanity.

He sat down at the far end of the visitor's area. It was a thick piece of plexi-glass that stood between him and freedom.

Jake came into his view like the sun peeking triumphantly through the clouds. He turned the corner, a small smirk on his face and sat opposite of the glass. He wore a finely tailored pair of dark, tweed pants and a navy button up shirt. Lucas stared, his head slightly cocked in confusion. He watched as Jake picked up the phone to speak. Jake shifted his eyes to Lucas's phone. Lucas picked it up.

"Jake…" He asked. "What are you doing here? Did Peyton send you?"

"Peyton is the least of your worries right now," he said coolly.

"What?"

"Lucas Scott. Tsk. Tsk. Arson?"

Lucas stared.

"Word travels," Jake smiled. "Im shocked. Really. Who knew you had it in you. You couldn't stand for Peyton to be away from you? So you what? Took whatever shred of independence she had left?"

"What are you talking about man? I didn't do it! Why are you here?!"

"Like I said," Jake smiled. "Word gets around."

"Where is Peyton?"

Jake chuckled. "That's what it always is, huh? Peyton. She is the end all be all for you. She does have that effect, huh? And be damned anyone who gets in the way of your great love…"

"What are you talking about? What in the hell is going on?"

Jake shrugged nonchalantly.

"Im just visiting an old friend," he said softly. "Something tells me you wont be getting in the way anymore."

Lucas stood suddenly. Ice filled is veins so swiftly it nearly pushed him back into his seat. Jake was a part of this, whatever it was.

"What did you do?" He asked slowly.

Jake's smile came easy, beautifully.

"Im just visiting an old friend," he said again before hanging up the phone.

"Jake! Jake!" Lucas pounded on the glass as Jake walked away and out of his sight and into the freedom of the outdoors that was denied to Lucas.

The guards rushed to Lucas and pulled Lucas from the glass. He was rabid, unafraid. He struggled, screamed and yelled. He reached for one of the guards batons and as he did so, another crashed down onto his head. In that moment, he saw the brightness of a white emptiness before the fullness of a dark shadow enveloped him.

Across town, Brooke fingered a crucifix at her neck as she looked on at Peyton through the long wide windows from the hospital hallway into the ICU unit.

"What have we done," she whispered to the wind.