A/N: OK, first of all I applaud anyone who is still reading this. I had put this story on hiatus and really couldn't see myself finishing it, but in recent times some lovely, encouraging reviews brought me back to it. So if anybody happens to have maintained a faint interest in Old Wounds after all this time, you have the following readers to thank: Eirinn Croi, amy819 and dannylindsay101.

Also, thanks to everybody else who has reviewed since the last (read: prehistoric) update: Tinkerbell220, sdmwd1115, swimgirl822, omgezuz33, Readingtoomuch, C.C. Nyde, xXGleekFreakXx, PotterGleek94, Bonesluver, ajp2281, TheBestDamnThing96, gleeddicted, ., laura, dancingdreamers, mumbles64, Mijah, Gleek4lyfe, GleekFreak, Me and DweezyMe. Your support is much appreciated.

Again, apologies about the lack of updates, but I've caught the bug again so expect more frequent addition of chapters!

Kisses,

Ciara

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Rachel Berry was in the bathroom of the Hummel-Hudson household, back pressed to the door and breathing erratically. Upstairs, two police officers were interviewing Finn. Or 'asking a couple of questions' as they put it, but it all came down to the same thing. Santana, Artie and Jesse were dead, and Blaine was lying in a medically-induced coma in Lima General. The link between the attacks was obvious; all of the victims had some connection to New Directions. Her former glee club. And, as a result, over the last few days the police had begun asking questions. Everyone with any link to the group was a point of interest, even though they all had rock-solid alibis to rule them out as suspects. The only blots on the copy book were Jesse, Blaine and Matt. Blaine and Jesse, understandably, had been cleared of suspicion, although it was too late in Jesse's case. Matt, on the other hand, was missing in action. Nobody had seen him since Santana had been discovered in the BreadstiX bathroom, and that interested the investigating officers greatly. Everyone was being questioned about him, and it would be Rachel's turn shortly.

She knew she should be thinking about that. She knew she should be focusing on Kurt and Brittany and Noah, and on all the others who had lost friends. She knew she should be mourning their loss, or visiting with Blaine or something, but she was finding it hard to focus on anything but the matter immediately at hand.

She was late.

That in itself wasn't unusual. Rachel was often a couple of days late in times of stress; auditions, dealing with pesky understudies and, apparently, murder investigations. But a couple of days was the extent of it. Now she was two weeks late and she couldn't put it to the back of her mind any longer.

Which had led to her locking herself into the bathroom while the police talked to Burt, Carole and now Finn. She knew there was a female police officer outside the door, probably wondering what was taking her so long, but all she could concentrate on was the small white stick clutched in her sweaty palm.

It wasn't that she didn't want to have children with Finn. In fact, the opposite was the case. Rachel loved Finn more than anything, even more than her Tony award, and she couldn't imagine anything more perfect than starting a family with him. Some day. Some day in the future, when she was old enough to give up her part to Tessa with good grace. Some day when they were married. She wanted a family, and she wanted it with Finn. She just wasn't sure if she could cope with one now, in the middle of everything that was going on.

She couldn't open her eyes.

If she opened them she would see the result, and if she saw the result then she would have to deal with the fallout.

"Miss Berry?" the female police officer called through the door. "We're ready for you now."

"Just a minute," Rachel said desperately, her voice little more than a squeak. She was trembling from head to toe and she was pretty sure her nervous system was collapsing by degrees every second she stood there. Errant thoughts of Broadway and that dreadful Tessa creature and Jesse, Artie and Santana lying cold in a morgue with nobody to keep them safe ran through her mind and she felt herself sliding to the floor, that fateful stick still clasped in her sweaty palm.

"Miss Berry?"

Rachel took a deep, shuddering breath and opened her eyes, glancing down at the little white stick. This was it.

"Miss Berry, I'm going to have to ask you to open this door, or I will have to use force."

"Don't worry," Rachel said calmly, and she rose to her feet with the grace she had developed over years and years of ballet lessons, combed her fingers through her hair and plastered on a well-practised showface before opening the door and following the police woman upstairs for questioning, leaving the pregnancy test tucked out of sight in the medicine cabinet above the sink.

The two blue lines seemed to glare accusingly at her as she shut the door, and she could feel their pull the whole way through her interview with the police officers.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Tina felt sick. She was sitting in a darkened room in Lima Police Station with a glass of water poised on the table in front of her and a grim-faced policeman facing her with a notepad in his huge hand. She hadn't expected this; she had come here with Mercedes, planning on relaying their suspicions about Matt to the police so that they would do something instead of just sitting around waiting for autopsy results. But no sooner had they identified themselves to the young rookie manning the front desk than two officers had taken them by the elbow and brought them to separate interview rooms. Instead of being allowed to tell the police what she knew, or at least suspected, about Matt's involvement in the deaths of their friends and former classmates, the officer had quickly launched into a series of questions.

Where was she when Santana had been killed? Artie? Jesse and Blaine, where had she been when they were shot?

Could anybody confirm this?

Had she noticed anything suspicious?

Was she worried for her own safety?

Could she think of anyone who might have a grudge against any of the victims, or against any of them at all?

And finally she got the opportunity to tell them what she thought. How Matt had been conspicuous by his absence when Jesse and Blaine had been found with Santana's body, and how he had disappeared immediately afterwards without a word to any of them. How he was the only one who had been unaccounted for when Jesse and Blaine were taken down and when Quinn, Sam and Puck had discovered the carnage at Santana's apartment. How he had always been quiet, a little aloof even.

How she thought it was him.

"You should be out there, finding him, doing something!" Tina told the officer opposite her, slamming her fist into the table with determination that would put Rachel or Kurt to shame. "My friends have died, any one of us could be next-"

"Why are you so sure of that?" the officer asked quickly with a curious scowl. Tina growled in spite of herself and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Have you been paying any attention to what I've been saying?" she snapped, knowing in the back of her mind that this was a bad idea and that she should just shut up and toe the line, but people were dying. Her friends, her Artie, were gone and these people were too busy following procedure and going by the book to hunt down Matt Rutherford and make him pay for what he had done. "Everyone who's died, they've all had some connection to glee club. Why can't you work that angle?"

"Ms Cohen-Chang, we're doing our best here-"

"Well you're not doing enough!" she interrupted, her voice shrill with frustration. "Get more people out there, find him, stop this before somebody else gets hurt!"

Before the officer could reprimand her for her outburst, the door to the interview room opened and the rookie from the front desk poked his head around the door. His expression was grim and he gestured for the investigating officer to join him. The burly cop shot Tina a scowl before heaving himself to his feet and engaging in a quick whispered conversation that she couldn't hear. Eventually he nodded and the young officer excused himself hurriedly. Her unnamed interviewer returned to his seat and placed his hands palms up on the table.

"What would you say if I told you your theory about Matthew Rutherford was wrong?" he asked, one eyebrow quirked. Tina narrowed her eyes at him and ran a hand through her shimmering dark bob.

"I'd ask how you can be so sure, considering that your lot have been... less than successful thus far," countered Tina, a challenge in her voice. She glared and jutted out her chin as firmly as she could manage. A small voice in the back of her head, coming from out of nowhere, piped up to remind her of how much her confidence had grown from the shy, subdued high school sophomore who faked a stutter to avoid contact with other people. Her untimely reminiscing was cut short, however, by the officer's next statement.

"Matthew Rutherford was found dead at his home this morning, along with his wife and two daughters."

Tina felt her stomach swoop sickeningly as though someone had just poured a bucket of ice down her throat.

"I- what?"

"Neighbours in Fairfield reported a disturbance in the early hours of this morning. Matthew, Leah, Ruby and Colby Rutherford were dead when EMT's arrived on the scene, as was the family dog and a white rabbit belonging to Ruby Rutherford."

"I... I don't... I mean, how...?"

"There's more. A landlord on the other side of town found one of his tenants slaughtered in her apartment. A Miss Lauren Zizes."

Tina retched and had to clench the edge of the table to stop her head from swimming. This couldn't be happening.

"I- what? I-I mean... L-lauren and... and... how?"

"I'm afraid I can't release that information to a civilian, ma'am. I shouldn't even technically be telling you as much as I have, but the chief reckons you and your friends might be in danger-"

"You think?" Tina managed to spit out, her vision swimming. "What tipped you off?"

"Miss Cohen-Chang, I understand that you're in shock but-"

"Of course I am! Matt and Lauren, they're... I thought it was him! I've just spent how long telling you lot that it was Matt, that he was killing everyone and now... we waited too long! If your lot had listened earlier, he might still be alive, and his wife and little girls..."

Overwhelmed, she felt hot tears begin to spurt down her cheeks in angry rivers. She would usually be ashamed and swipe them away, determined to maintain a strong, calm facade. But there was nothing to be calm about anymore. Her friends were dead, and she owed it to them to show this pigheaded officer the damage the police were doing by going by the book. She stared stonily at him through the haze of tears.

"Are you done questioning me?" she asked coldly, feeling a lone tear travel the length of her upturned nose. "Can I go? I need to be with my friends."

The officer looked suspiciously at her and she gave a hysterical little scream.

"For goodness sake, the cops have been keeping their eyes on us since Artie was found! If one of us was doing this, you'd know by now."

The policeman nodded, almost to himself, and got to his feet.

"Alright ma'am, you can leave for now. But stay safe. The police will be trying to keep an eye on you and your friends, so just try to pretend like they're not there, alright?"

"Fine," Tina said, as civil as she could manage in the present circumstances. "Now can I just get out of here?"

"Sure thing. We'll be in contact."

Tina didn't even bother to reply. Instead she pushed past the policeman into the brighter corridor, hoping for a reprieve from the feeling of hopeless horror engulfing her. However, the lights in the corridor were too bright, the people too close, the faces too judgemental. Everything seemed to close in on her, the pain of loss and fear of being next constricting her airways until she felt lightheaded and bile rose in her throat. Blindly, she staggered into the nearest restroom and dived for the first available stall. Coughing and spluttering up all of her fears was a moment of strange relief, at least at first. Then it started to make her feel, if possible, more afraid. What really got to her was the not knowing. Not knowing if she would be the next to die, or if it would Rachel or Kurt or someone who hadn't joined them in Lima, like Lauren. Not knowing if the killer was even planning on striking again, or how long they would leave it. Not knowing if the police were getting any closer to apprehending the psycho. Not knowing what they looked like. It could be the old woman she had passed with Mercedes on the way here, or the angry young rocker who lived next to Quinn's place or even the busboy who had seated them at BreadtstiX. She was completely vulnerable, and she hated this sick freak for making her feel this way.

And then, as she raised a shaking hand to the tissue dispenser when a noise interrupted her frantic thoughts and chilled her to the bone.

Footsteps. Quiet at first, but growing louder and heavier until they came to a stop. Right outside the cubicle door. She froze in place, cowering in her sheer, slight blouse with the tissue poised halfway to her mouth. Then-

"Tina? You in here?"

"M-Mike?" she squeaked almost indignantly, and she heard a relieved sigh outside. A sigh she remembered.

"I thought it was you. Are you alright?"

"Fine," she replied, but she couldn't prevent her voice from shaking.

"You sure?"

"Certain," said Tina, reluctantly clambering to her feet and taking one last, slightly vindictive, swipe at her mouth before drawing back the bolt on the door and traipsing out to face Mike. Her former flame was thinner than she remembered, and not in a good way; she was pretty sure his collarbone shouldn't jut out like that. Furrows ploughed deeply into his forehead and his eyes were marred by heavy shadows and a deadened sadness in their depths. However, when Tina gave an awkward wiggle of her fingers, his relieved grin was the same one he had worn in high school.

"Glad you're OK," he said quietly, avoiding her gaze. "I've been in for questioning too, I'd just been let out when I saw you run in here. Figured whatever had happened got you pretty worked up since you didn't even notice it was the gents."

"Oh my-"

"It's fine, there's nobody else in here," Mike said gently as Tina flushed a rather flamboyant shade of red. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking that is?"

Tina hesitated. She had the feeling that she wasn't supposed to repeat what the investigating officer had told her. But on the other hand, Mike was bound to find out soon enough- the police wouldn't be able to suppress the media much longer- and he and Matt had been so close at school. Tina remembered how Mike used to tell her stories of the scrapes they'd gotten themselves into in elementary school and junior high, and how she'd helped him set up his webcam when they got home from Asian Camp so that they could stay in contact after Matt moved to Indiana. Matt had been Mike's best friend, the one who taught him his first tentative dance manoeuvres and the one who had agreed to try out for football with him even though he was more interested in joining the Black Student Union. Mike deserved to know.

Determinedly avoiding Mike's gaze, Tina gulped. "Matt's dead. Zizes too."

Silence.

Tina nervously tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and chanced a glance upward. Mike wasn't looking at her- he wasn't looking at anything. His gaze was caught in some in-between place and he was trembling from head to toe. Tina realised with horror that the only time she had ever seen him look even remotely like this was when she had broken up with him. That remained her biggest regret in life: breaking up with Mike Chang the night of the homecoming dance because his mother had tried to force her into a more traditionally Asian dress. But this was worse, a hundred times worse. Tina felt sure he would faint or be sick. Or both.

"Mike," she said gently, placing a hand on his arm with ginger concern. "Mike, I'm so sorry."

"A-are you sure?" he whispered, and she nodded. Mike seemed to sag and before she knew what was happening he had collapsed against her, his face buried in her hair and his breathing ragged. Tina felt his emaciated form send shaking sobs rattle through both of their bodies and her heart twisted in her chest.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, over and over again until his sobs subsided somewhat and she was left with a subdued, numb Mike Chang curled against her, breathing unevenly. It was weird; the events that had led them to this place, this moment, were so hideous and yet there was something familiar, almost comfortable, in the way their bodies curved to accommodate each other. "So, so sorry Mike."

"I can't stay here anymore," he whispered back, his voice a broken whisper. "I have to get out of this place, away from all this. I have to get back to New York."

"Mike, you're not thinking straight," Tina said gently, running her fingers through his hair. "Come on, you just need to calm down and we'll... we'll sort something out."

"Everyone's dying Tee!" Mike countered, his voice an octave higher than usual with a cocktail of conflicting emotions. "Matt and Jesse are both dead, I'm the only one left from my house. What if I'm next? Or what if... what if you are? I-I can't bare to stay here, I just... I can't."

Tina pulled away from him a little and saw no hysteria in his eyes. Just blazing fear and determination.

"You really mean it," she whispered in disbelief. "You're actually going to try to outrun this thing."

Mike nodded frantically and put his hands on Tina's shoulders. "I am. Matt only went as far as Fairfield, he didn't put enough distance between him and this horror. But I'm going to go to Columbus, get on a plane to New York and I'm never looking back."

"You think it'll be enough?" Tina asked, almost hopefully. She knew it was ridiculous, but already she was envisioning the life Mike could lead, far away from this death and destruction. Unafraid to look over his shoulder, because in a city of over eight million people, who could find him? No need to scrutinise every stranger's face, no need to wonder if he was about to become their next victim. Sure, the shadow of what had happened here would hang over him, but he wouldn't have to live in fear. He could be free, in as much as any of them could be now. The idea set a thrill of electricity through her and she realised immediately why.

"You're definitely going?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"I'm taking my hire car to the airport as soon as I get home."

"Take me with you."

"I- what?"

"Take me with you. To New York."

"I- are you sure?"

"Positive," she said fiercely. "Please, Mike."

Mike seemed to deliberate for a moment, and then sighed. "Fine."

"You mean it?" Tina asked, hardly daring to hope.

"I've never been able to deny you anything Tina Cohen-Chang," Mike said softly, and he wrapped an arm loosely around her shoulders in an affectionate gesture. Tina smiled and reciprocated with a brief squeeze of her own.

"Thank you Mike. Really. I... I've missed you."

"Alright, alright, there'll be time for a soppy catch-up later," he huffed, but he smiled slightly out of the corner of his mouth. "Let's just do this."

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Finn Hudson stood on the front porch of the Hummel-Hudson house, pacing anxiously. Rachel was still being interviewed, as was his mom. Burt was trying unsuccessfully to convince the two detectives in the front room to let Kurt have a grace period before they started pestering him. His stepbrother had been holed up at the hospital with Blaine for days now, Rachel seemed to be avoiding him and what with his house resembling something out of CSI, Finn was starting to freak out. He was supposed to be a leader, but he was at a loss for what to do.

"Grilled cheesus, what the hell is going on?" he muttered distractedly as the voices inside became consistently louder. That was all they needed, for Burt to have another heart attack.

He was almost grateful when his cell phone rang. Kurt's name flashed on the screen.

"Dude, I've been waiting for you to call!" he exclaimed in relief, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "How's Blaine? Is Britt still with you? Are you OK? Should I come over there?"

Kurt's tired, weary sigh fluttered down the line and Fin could see his brother curled up in a chair next to his husband's bed, his hand clamped so tightly on Blaine's that it could cut off circulation in both of their arms.

"The same, yes, I honestly have no idea, yes please," he rattled off. The answers were devoid of emotion, the same responses he had been giving for days. It made Finn sad to hear his brother sounding like a ghost.

"Alright dude, I'll just grab a jacket and I'll be right over," he said in as cheerful a voice as he could manage under the circumstances, determined to be strong for Kurt. "I just want to ask Rach-"

BANG.

"Kurt, what was that?" Finn asked worriedly. His brother didn't respond. "Kurt, what's going on man?"

BANG.

"Kurt?"

Another bang. Whispered voices. The sound of the phone clattering to the ground.

Another bang.

Silence.

"Kurt?"