Tabula Rasa

Interval 5

Checkmate

Author Note: Well, saying sorry probably won't cut it. Then again, I could have abandoned the story all together, right? Hehe. Well, I hope everyone is getting pumped up for F.E.A.R 3. The trailer is out, and the race is on—It's due out this fall, from what I hear. Anyway, I've fallen deeply in love with this story once again, and with Becket and Alma's exciting relationship. I do hope that you'll forgive me, and enjoy the new chapter. It's summer vacation in two weeks, so more updates will be imminent. Much love.

I'm also going to make the chapters a bit shorter (barely!), and will therefore update more often. Sound good? Good. Glad.

So without further ado…

Interval 5

BEGIN

In a world like this, of course, there was always room for things to get stranger. And beyond that, maybe there was room for things to get more dangerous, too. She was here, after all, but seeing her other side had helped. She was no longer a completely mystery—Only partially now. She was no longer erupting out of the shadows, to grab onto his arm, to trick his senses. She was no longer only bone, covered by leathery flesh, long dead, long drowned, long murdered. She was alive now.

Yet seeing her face as she sat upright in the bed reminded him that there was a long way to go before she could heal. Or really, could she heal?

After he woke up from the surgery, his body aching, sure that he wouldn't last on his feet, he remembered her in the doorway, for that split second, a phantom. A soul, trapped in such a terrible place. He remembered her voice then, clearly.

'Who's there?'

What did she see, then? Was the world falling apart? Was she truly all alone, in her own little world? A world created so that she didn't have to suffer, so that she could try to escape from the wrongs of this one.

She wanted everyone to smile. But could she return the favor? What would she look like, with a smile on her face--Like she had shown when she was a little girl.

"Daddy's here."

He hadn't been sleeping anyway—and he doubted that he could, even with the fatigue—but he still startled a bit when she spoke aloud. Sitting up, he could see her clearly, as the room wasn't completely dark. Eyes wide, mouth ajar, for a moment, she looked like the frightening spectre he had come across so many times. However, the hand that was in his was warm, and was clutching him so strongly, that he couldn't mistake her for anything but a frightened girl.

A frightened woman.

The room went dark, the walls decaying from the inside out, the bodies of his teammates starting to drift into a different time, decaying too fast, their bones visible through thinning skin--And he felt himself breathing hard, pulling his mind together. But could he? Shaking a bit, he got up, standing over her bed--But she didn't react. Perhaps he wasn't real either. Or perhaps she still didn't know where she was.

Moving to sit closer beside her, he wondered if she was having a dream—or a nightmare, to be more precise. Squeezing her hand, not knowing what to do next, Becket realized how truly lost he was in all of this. The men in the room were still asleep, and the next step didn't seem clear. Shaking her seemed somehow cruel, slapping her awake was out of the question. He was an independent man, who had no family to speak of, and who had never had to take care of anyone. This was so far out of his league, he wasn't even sure he could learn these skills.

He didn't have to do much, perhaps luckily, because the girl turned her head to stare at him with wide eyes, and his heart seemed to stop. The room itself melted away for a moment, into white light, and Becket wondered if this was what it was like.

'When her heart stopped beating, could she feel it? Did she watch herself die?'

The thought was terrifying the more he dwelled on it. What would it be like to be alive in spirit, watching from the outside, as your body deteriorated? It was funny, how someone like him, so focused on his job, his position, lost track of reality. And this was her reality, however ridiculous it seemed. She was here, when she had been lost for so long. What was it like, to be trapped? Though, she had wanted to live, hadn't she?

'Most people can't just refuse to die.'

And she did refuse, didn't she? She had unfinished business, she wanted revenge.

…Didn't she?

The room was normal now, and he wondered if that had just been his own imagination. Her eyes were bright, yet so full of fear, that he would do anything to make them childlike. The innocence that she had shown in the car with her father, talking about her hopes and dreams. He had to wonder, did she remember what her dreams were? Or maybe she had been lost too long, and let them die, long before she did.

She squeezed his hand harder, shocking him with her strength in her still fragile body. She opened her mouth to speak, and it was hesitant—as if knowing that doing so would be painful. Or maybe, she wasn't yet used to having the option. "You have to…warn them."

"Warn them?" He tried to keep quiet, but his voice was a bit loud by nature. "Of what, Alma?" He wouldn't let go of this hand, not now. Saying her name out loud let him concrete what was happening, but it felt heavy on his tongue.

"He's here." Barely above a whisper. "He's here, he's here…They are here. So many of them, but why are they here...?" Panic in her eyes, her body shuddering, she got onto her knees, large clothing disheveled, one shoulder sticking out of her shirt. Becket wanted to reach out and fix it, but maybe things were too serious for that at the moment. He realized that maybe this wasn't a nightmare, after seeing the readiness in her movements.

The new enemy…? Could it be?

"Alma," he spoke quietly, still. "Is it the enemy? Is it…the thing that made those men die?" For some reason, talking about death with Alma was odd, and slightly wrong, though not for the reasons he expected. She had murdered his teammates, and countless others, committed atrocities. And yet, the only reason he felt guilt at mentioning these things, was because of her innocence, the innocence had seen on the video tapes. Though she was in the body of a woman, and she was strong like a woman, he couldn't shake the image of her child eyes out of his mind. You do not speak about murder, blood, death, around a little girl.

But this woman had seen enough blood and death for a million lifetimes, hadn't she?

She was nodding her head, slowly, an answer to the question. Her eyes were darting around, as if seeing something no one else could. The men in the room slept soundly, but this, apparently, wasn't a good thing. "No, they can't be asleep, it's too easy…They have to be conscious, have to fight. Too easy. Too easy, too easy, too dangerous…" The woman spoke in a whisper, one hand on her throat. Her gaze snapped to the door, which was shut, a whimper escaping her throat, long hair falling into her face. "Wake up…" It was a whisper. She repeated it, but it only came out a bit louder—Surrendering, she forced her telepathic window open, voice a sob as it loudly hit each sleeping member of the room. "Wake up!"

The effect was, as to be expected from the intensity of the words, instantaneous. Pierce startled awake, no doubt a light sleeper from his life with a small child. The others rose at similar speeds, some rubbing their eyes, and others looking around for some enemy to punch.

Eyes slowly came to settle on Alma, some kindly, some accusingly, and while Manny looked irritated (albeit he was someone who loved sleep), Pierce spoke up, after a long yawn. "What is it Alma? Do you need something?" Of course, he wouldn't be irritated—but with seemingly no enemies around, the others started mumbling about getting more sleep. It was almost sad to watch, as she attempted to speak out loud, her voice, something that could be very beautiful, raw and forced, sounding as if she were being choked. "Don't sleep…They are here. They are coming." She coughed a painful cough, gripping the sheets with her other hand, and Becket couldn't help but pull his hand away, and proceed to rub her back. He felt like an idiot doing so, but the gesture wasn't completely unwelcomed—She didn't move away, and seemed to once again calm to some degree. He was just doing things by instinct—It was a rather interesting, and frightening, feeling. 'She's too thin…Need to work on that.'

He was happy that if she heard his thoughts, she didn't respond.

The others looked somewhat alarmed at the announcement, and Manny spoke up, obviously having come in some time during the night. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you mean 'They're here'?' I think alarms would have gone off if…" He trailed off as Alma shook her head furiously, switching back to telepathy grudgingly. 'No, no, no, they aren't like that. Aren't like you.' She looked down at herself. 'Or not like me, now.' Once again, she seemed in awe that her body moved—That she wasn't tied up in a tank somewhere.

Sickening.

Manny was about to say something, but Pierce cut him off, looking to diffuse any situation between the two. "You mean that our enemy is…invisible, so to speak, isn't that right?" The blonde was new to this situation, to this fight, but he had read enough reports to know what to expect. Though, he had a sinking feeling that if a 'ghost' made it's presence known in the room, he may have a small heart attack. Normal, right? He was a captain, nothing more—Yet, for some reason, he knew that he wouldn't leave. Maybe something to do with duty, maybe something to do with the woman in the room, but he knew deep in his heart that this was for keeps. For better, or for worse—Most likely the latter.

Garrett and Harvey were watching on in interest and trepidation, while Pierce and Manny began to suit up. Even if this were a trick, a joke, a mistake, they sure as hell weren't going to be caught in the crossfire if something really did happen. "What the fuck…We really can't catch a break around here." Manny mumbled the words under his breath, catching a dirty glance from a few other soldiers in the room. He either didn't notice, or ignored it—It would have been humorous if something mentioned cursing in front of a lady.

Becket realized that he needed to put on the few protective elements he did possess, and load his weapon—Both of which meant letting go of Alma for a bit. He leaned in a bit, and spoke softly. "I need to get ready, alright? Don't worry. Nothing bad will happen if we have anything to say about it." Pierce overheard, and nodded his head soundly, a smile on his youthful face. Alma looked at Becket, but she didn't seem to relax at the words. Speaking up, she grabbed his hand, perhaps something that she couldn't help. "I'm going to help. I'm going to help you." The words were weak, but behind them was nothing but honesty. Did she even understand what was going on, truly? How was she seeing the world, at that very moment?

Pulling his hand away, she shuddered, but he had to prepare. "Alma, you don't have to use your throat until it's healed." She looked at him, seemingly confused, a bit of hurt in her eyes. "You can, if you want, but…You should let it become stronger."

"You talk like this. I talked like this. Let me use it. Please, let me use it."

Becket looked at her, as he pulled his armor on, pulling on his gloves.

'I talked like this.' How much does she remember, really?

He sighed, frustrated, but knowing anything with her would be a losing battle. Tenacious, wasn't she? "You can use it. Just try to let it heal. It won't hurt after a while, alright? Promise."

She nodded her head, dazed, fingers against her neck. The new recruits were watching her with interest—Fear seemed to be last on the list of words to describe her. But the other soldiers seemed to have not forgotten, still warily eyeing the woman. The thing around her neck, the device, had left a small mark on her neck from how she had restlessly slept. But it was necessary, maybe.

Maybe, someday, it wouldn't be. Even now, Becket thought it was a little much. Of course, he had lost his sanity, he knew it--But she hadn't been in that kind of pain since they freed her from the tank. She hadn't gripped her head, hadn't screamed like that, meaning she hadn't tried to harm anyone at all. Then again, it was still early...He had to pray that she wouldn't feel the need to get revenge anymore. They could help her, maybe.

What was this change in him? One minute, his fear overwhelmed his senses--And the next, he felt too compelled to be the hero. Her hero. Had she done this to him, or had he done it to himself?

Was he looking for someone to protect?

Their eyes were swiftly assaulted by the red blinking of alarm sirens, spinning round and round, a rather loud horn sounding in alert. Not that it mattered—The commissioner was barging into their room at once, making the men jump, and making Alma curl into herself in shock, noise coming from her throat silenced by the noise surrounding them all.

"Get out to the main hall. It's Stokes, something is wrong. Really fucking wrong." He was out of breath, gripping the door frame, looking every one of his years, and the blare of the alarms were loud, so loud, so serious. Funny, how the reminder of impending death can bring you back to reality. And it was strange enough, that Alma wasn't the cause of it this time. He wasn't sure he was prepared anymore.

Manny was the first to approach the man, his voice a loud snarl, as he made a not so subtle glare at Alma before he spoke. "Stokes? Is she hurt?"

"Something is…messing with her. Messed with me too, made my head fuzzy, but it left pretty quick. Was only here a few seconds." He tapped his head. The man was shaking still, Becket noticed. "Something ain't right, I just didn't think it would show up like this—"

Becket was finished arming himself, prepared for the fight—But he wasn't prepared for Alma to rise from the bed, walking up to Rodney, eyes wide, peering into the older man's with interest, as if looking for something. The man was still, panting heavily, trying to steady himself, and he didn't speak a word as the reanimated woman peered inside of his mind.

Perhaps she would have found something too, if Manny hadn't pushed her back, shoving her with more force than necessary. She was a fragile woman, after all, physically, and she immediately fell to the floor, letting out a small noise as she fell.

Becket rushed forward, livid beyond belief, kneeling down, asking the woman if she was alright, hand in hers before he could help himself. The culprit was already gone, having pushed past the Commissioner, walking to the scene of the crime. Pierce had rushed over as well, and Rodney, no matter how wounded, kneeled down to speak to her. "Forgive him, Alma, I am so very sorry that he did that." It still sounded as though he were afraid Manny would be left with no skin in the hallway somewhere, yet with a little more confidence.

She didn't seem to have truly reacted to the situation, staring up into Rodney's eyes again, her body shaking under Beckets hand, staying focused. Suddenly, she shook her head, struggling to get to her feet, in a rushed state. Had she seen something bad? Something that predicted things to come?

The alarms had ceased, but the red was still spinning, morphing their vision. "Do you feel pain?" Her question was soft, and her eyes remained on the Commissioner, wary, perhaps as she realized the push. Manny was an asshole, Becket knew it, but that was a little much. Lack of sleep, maybe? Or maybe he was just taking things too well, personally.

"No, no pain. Just a little shaken up, is all." He didn't know whether to thank her for the question, because he assumed it wasn't out of concern that she asked. She whispered the question, before using her telepathy, to respond to the admission of no pain from the other man. 'You won't feel pain. They were looking for something. You didn't have it, so they left. You're safe now. So don't worry.'

The man nodded softly, watching with a little amusement as the reincarnated one seemed to keep so close to Becket. The soldier seemed to accept it easily, and he wondered how the connection worked. It was strange, but by no means unwelcomed. They needed someone to keep her calm. But the extent to which it worked was a miracle of sorts. Of course, this whole situation may just be a miracle.

And after these words ended, there was resonance. Things that he remembered hearing in the thin corridors. Things that made him think he had been going mad.

Her sobbing, childlike. Piercing. Making his anger rise at whoever caused it. Had they been the culprits? Had they torn her apart like this?

'I know what I am.'

But how much did she know?

He would turn to glance behind him, and there she would be. Crouched, or standing tall, wounded, dead. And he was ashamed now, that he would sometimes draw his gun and shoot out of fear. When he went to Still Island, and saw the lonely swing, and a little doll on the ground, abandoned. He had turned, and there she had been, watching the scene, a corpse. It was too horribly sad to think about, really. He knew that when that doll had fallen the ground, she had never held it again. It was the last moment that she was free.

His amazement spiked, that she was standing beside him now, a person, real and breathing. Blood ran through her veins now too. She was shaken up, maybe she couldn't be completely fixed, but she was trying. Damn it, she was trying, wasn't she?

Becket admitted in his mind that this was a new experience to him. During his time within the past month, wandering through the dark corridors of the buildings nearby, seeing her out of the corner of his eye, suddenly being grabbed by her with no warning, his reaction to push her away instantly. Yet now, perhaps he understood. Why was she so calm when he was near her? Because of the experimentation? Must be, because he wasn't really a calming soul. Not one bit.

A scream came from the hall, and all eyes snapped in that direction. The Commissioner ran, of course, wanting to take care of his team, but the others followed just as swiftly. Becket glanced at Alma, not knowing what to do. She would follow anyway, he supposed, yet for some reason, thinking of her wounded wasn't something he could handle. Before he could say anything, she began to walk, somehow keeping her legs steady. The pants she wore came to her ankles, and her bare feet made him think back to the time when they were covered in blood. As bad as it sounded, seeing her clothed was something he wasn't used to. Of course, it was a welcome change. This made her seem more plausible.

'Be careful. I'm sorry.'

He heard it, and assumed it went to everyone. Maybe earlier, when he had the visions, it had affected the others. He certainly hoped not. She would start to feel like a burden. Then again, she'd been made to feel that way since she was little, when the kids at her Kindergarten had shoved her away.

Gathering himself, he followed, walking beside her, in case she stumbled. "Do you know who they are?" He wanted to say something stupid, like 'Did you know them when you were, you know, dead?', but it left a bad taste in his mouth. That was in the past, wasn't it? Her timeline was too confusing for him. For her too, he figured.

She hesitated for a long time. He nearly told her that it was fine not to speak, but she nodded weakly, the vibe in the place getting much darker, very quick.

He nodded slowly. "How many are there?"

This time, she quickly shook her head. Her eyes squinted, and she stopped briefly, wrapping her arms around herself, taking a few deep breaths.

'Is this...a dream?'

He watched her curiously, shaking his head, even if she couldn't see. "It's not a dream." Did Alma know what a dream was? Or only nightmares?

The high pitched scream in his head, angry, wondering why no one would hold her.

'Am I really here now? You can see me?" Her head was against the cold wall, as if she needed something physical to touch her, to let her know that it wasn't a phantom.

How did you help someone through this?

It was as he suspected. She remembered how he'd shoot his gun out of fear, push her cold body away. He shook his head, needing be as gentle as possible with the situation, even with the commotion ahead.

"Don't run away. Don't leave me."

When she said it, it sounded like she hadn't logically said it at all. Becket was pretty sure he imagined it. As if she were portraying a memory, the many times that he had pushed her away, her reaction to it. It wasn't a conscious plea, but he would still respond to it.

The time in the elementary school, strewn with scarred desks and colorful posters, the floor and walls covered in blood, and the lights flickering. Every few moments, he could see her, a ghost, searching for something, for anything.

'And scaring me shitless in the process', he thought.

"I'm sorry that I pushed you away. You have to understand, I was...Look, I can explain more to you later, but you're here. You're right here, now, and we can all see you. I'm pretty sure I don't have any reason to run away. Do you think I'm right?"

The soldier touched her shoulder, and she turned quickly, flinching, mouth ajar, as if realizing finally that she wasn't in some hallucination. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. So sorry. I'm bad.'

Becket shook his head. "You don't have to be. Do you want to hurt us? Do you want to hurt me?"

Alma shook her head forcefully, as if the very thought were causing her physical pain. Her breathing was quick, and he worried that she'd pass out from stress. Hell, if they woke him up, and tried to make him reintegrate this quick, he'd probably lose it.

"There is nothing to worry about, then." He forced a shaky smile onto his face, moving his hand down to take her hand, ready to take care of business. "Can you be strong for a little while? Let's get this taken care of, so we can all rest."

She held his hand tightly, and nodded her head, eyes back into the daze.

A lighter mood emerged.

'Damn it, Becket…How the hell can you be so helpful?' He couldn't help but wondering it to himself. Maybe he was as strange as he seemed to be bland.

As they approached the main hall, wide and spacious, the tile floor was already dotted with blood. Turning the corner, his gun drawn, he was only confused by the scene before him. Stokes was there, yes, on her knees, hands gripping at her tied up hair, quiet and still, while one soldier, one he didn't know personally, seemed to be attached to the wall. But as quickly as he believed that to be true, the man fell to the ground, hitting it with a sound thud.

"FUCK!" Manny shouted the word, gun drawn, ready to shoot at anything that moved too quick. "I ain't meant to deal with fuckin' GHOSTS." Noticing that Becket and Alma had arrived, he motioned towards the scene. "Go on, do something. You're still on their side anyway, right? Talk to them!"

Pierce spoke up in a voice unlike his own, stronger and rustier. "You best shut your mouth. This isn't about sides, this is about doing what's right. Give her a chance." Glancing over at the woman, he nodded his head, this being his first experience with the 'paranormal.' He hadn't seen what the others had. And even if he had, he knew that forgiveness was the only path here.

After all, had they already forgotten the video tapes? The little girl who wanted to be a protector, and not a murderer?

The hall was white and gray, no decorations to speak of—What you would expect a warriors barracks to be. Yet, this wide room was never so full of anger, and hatred, and pain, and violence. Becket was tempted to check on Stokes, but since no one else was, he wasn't sure if it was safe. Turning to Alma, he meant to ask, but she was already walking forward.

Why did he want to stop her?

There wasn't noise from the readied soldiers as the woman walked forward, not a breath too loud or the sound of a gun. Her clothes so disheveled, her hair falling around her face, somehow, she was not frightening. She should have been. But instead, she was simply wounded. She was the monster in their dreams, who was now here to be their savior.

Kneeling down in front of the female soldier, she tried to peer into the others face. To no avail—Her eyes were tightly shut, hands gripping her head too tightly.

'My Alma, my sweet little Alma…'

It was frightening how loud the words were. The windows to the outside shook, the floor beneath them seemed to shudder. A males voice, commanding and strong. A voice that couldn't be mistaken.

Harlan Wade.

The team was looking around, guns cocked, most of them shaking without being able to fight it back. Even Becket, who needed to be strong, for himself, for her, could not seem to shake off this terror. After seeing the man become a loving, caring father, turning slowly into the scientist they all knew, it was even more frightening.

How could she possibly feel now, hearing her fathers voice?

She was standing up, looking around, as if she were a little child who had accidently let go of her balloon.

It was breaking his heart, right down the middle. And if the other members of the team had any decency, it would be hurting them too.

"Daddy?" She spoke up, walking forward. "Daddy, you came back? Are you here to take me with you?" The meaning of the words were lost on the team, but they could not erase the videos from their mind--The girl asking her Daddy to stay with her, to not lock her away again. Wondering why she was giving birth to a child that she couldn't remember conceiving, and the man trying to tell her it was a miracle. What was he--A loving father and a scientist, or a heartless monster?

The way Alma stumbled forward, as if her energy had been stolen, was difficult to watch. She was still so thin, too thin, though she certainly wasn't as frightening as the corpse Becket had seen countless times. The shock on her features made him want to rush forward, but he held his ground, knowing somewhat how she felt. This was her father...She had missed him, so much, hadn't she? Yet there was no smile on her face, none at all.

"Show yourself, bastard!" Manny screamed, ready to empty some of the bullets from his gun, and quick. Rodney shook his head, extending an arm. "Hush your mouth, don't tempt—"

Suddenly, the soldier, who had been knocked unconscious from his fall, was getting up, at lightning speed, running for Alma—who, whether because of pure shock, or because of the metal collar around her neck, didn't react quickly enough. Tackling her to the ground, and grunting, eyes pale white, under his control, the puppet master himself, the father. Ripping at her shirt, the soldier reached for his knife. She screamed, voice blazing in protest, and clenching her eyes shut, seeming to be caused by the pain in her head. Was she...

'You shouldn't be out, my little Alma. Go back. Go back to the vault. You're dangerous. You're going to hurt everyone. Go and be safe. Keep them safe.'

It didn't take much more than that. Becket rushed forward, ready to take a hit or two, so long as he didn't lay a finger on her. Grabbing the back of the man's uniform, he pulled him up, delivering a swift hit to the face with the butt of his gun, sending the man down easily. Pierce, ready to be of help, came over to make sure he didn't get up again.

Gathering the girl up in his arms, who was now clutching her head strongly, her fingers like claws as she gasped for air, Becket checked her for injuries—Perhaps there would be a few bruises, but nothing she couldn't handle, right? Either way, he asked her softly, "Are you alright?", trying to pry her hands away. "It's okay, I'm here. Nothing is going to happen, relax, relax, relax..." He just had to make her calm down. Picturing her killing someone now was too painful, knowing that deep within herself, she didn't want to do it. She didn't deserve any more blood on her hands.

There was silence as she calmed down, opening her eyes, and looking up at Becket with an expression that he couldn't decipher. Nodding her head gently, her body shaking too much, she made it to her knees. Independent, wasn't she? Yet he knew that he could help. The reason, he didn't know so well.

'Where are my babies? Give them back to me.'

The question was pleading, her voice, even in telepathy, sounding on the verge of tears. Glancing around at the others, Becket realized that Pierces gun was shaking a little too much, his eyes squinted, exhaustion on his face. Her proximity, it was difficult to them, he knew--But this was caused by the subject at hand.

A fifteen year old, forced to give birth, not even knowing that she was carrying another life inside of her.

The father answered swiftly. 'I don't know anymore, my sweet little girl. I don't believe them to be alive now, not anymore. One of them, at least, is here. Nearby. He has been searching for you.'

A long silence.

"Not alive…" Her voice, pushed through her vocal chords, was shattered. 'Nearby?'

She stood, and he couldn't stand it. Taking her hand, he hoped that it would calm her. But what was being said, could that be made right? The others were also listening in spellbound horror. None of them knew anything of her children—Other than the fact that they would have grown up, while she was trapped underground. But…died? Why? Disease? Or maybe something else…

'Yes, sweetie, he is nearby. But he is bad. Very bad. I am sorry. My poor little girl...' His voice, disembodied, took him back to the time when Alma frightened him, more than she did now, when she would blink in and out of sight. Horrifying, wrong.

She squeezed his hand, but maybe it was just a reaction. He wasn't going to leave her side, and slowly squeezed back. He had lost his damn mind, he knew it. 'Tell me about him, daddy, tell me about him! He's my baby, tell me!' Her stance was angry, and her eyes…They were taking on the yellow stare, the frightening yellow glare that meant danger. The collar around her neck, tight, was keeping them safe. Then again, if it were off, would she turn on them? Or within the short time that she had been awake, in her new body, had she changed at all?

He would like to think so, even if it were just high hopes.

'He can see, my darling Alma. He can see what you can see. He has killed, as you have killed, committed horrors. Dangerous…But he feels no sorrow for his crimes. I am so very sorry...'

Her head swung to look up at Becket, eyes pleading. He didn't know what to say to her, to make things better. He didn't know what to do, and no one else could either.

"He can see?" Her voice was small, disbelieving, eyes viewing a world in ruin. "He can see it?" Taking in a breath, she let out an ear shattering scream.

The windows shattered into a million small pieces.

The members of the team jumped, moved back, some on one knee, ready to shoot--Or, like Pierce, hand over his mouth, watching the scene as though it were a dream, letting his guard down completely. Becket didn't know if that were a great idea, but he could at least understand the feeling.

'Oh, my sweet little girl…It seems as though you could not even birth one meant for this world. You came out wrong, my little one, and you cannot even pass to the next life as other people do. All wrong…I am so sorry.'

Becket wanted to tell him to shove his apologies, and make things right. But they couldn't turn back time.

Her grip on his hand was weaker by the moment, as she collapsed onto the ground, sobbing loudly, other hand pounding at the ground, as she fought to cry and keep her eyes open. Pierce looked on the verge of tears himself, from fear of the unknown, and from the terribly painful words being spoken. After all, Alma could affect the mood of a place—And it was obvious what her mood was now.

Rodney spoke up. "What do you mean by saying this to her? What do you want? What is your goal?" He walked forward, standing between the incapacitated Stokes, and the horribly wounded Alma. "You have no control over her now. She is free now, and you cannot effect her life. What do you want from us?"

A soft, fatherly laugh, sending a chill through the team, and making Alma stop her sobs for a moment. 'To warn her. To warn all of you. I must.'

Stokes seemed to snap out of her trance, glancing around in confusion, body shuddering. "What the hell..." She glanced around, and immediately realized that things weren't solved. "That thing was--" Rodney quieted her with a finger over his lips, bowing his head in recognition. She nodded, shakily grabbing her gun, and keeping still. Her eyes traveled to Alma, and she wasn't able to look away.

As Alma raised her head, blood dropped from her mouth, no doubt from her torn throat. She wasn't done sobbing, that much was obvious, and as she looked at Becket, who was kneeled beside her, she couldn't hold back once again, and sobbed more, leaning against his arm for support, her hand clawing at his in desperation not to be separated. He wouldn't dare push her away this time, even if she tore his arm off.

Not this time.

Manny spoke up, checking on a rather lost and confused Stokes. "Warn us of what? Of her?" He looked at Alma, but couldn't manage a glare—Not when this had happened. Not when she was so hurt. Not when her body, her actions, were so innocent of crime.

'I believe he was warning you about me. But you will only get what you deserve.'

The voice wasn't the same. Turning back towards the hallway, where the soft, gravelly voice emanated, a man stood, in uniform, hair short, a tall build. But something wasn't right.

Too pale. Skin blood spattered. Eyes missing.

'It has been too long, Mother. Are you happy to see me?'

Interval 5 Complete, 95%

Coming Soon: Interval Six: First Gaze – Paxton Fettel, Murder, and Confessions

A/N – Now, this chapter is going to be added too a bit. Think of this as part one, and the next chapter as part two. I just wanted to let you all know that I'm back, for sure. A lot is going on, yes, so the next chapter is going to be much more intense, and will have a strict mature warning on it. Of course, let me know your thoughts—I've missed you guys, and I apologize much.