Caroline

I sit in the room. It's cold and unfriendly, but I don't know exactly what I expected. It's not like the police want people they're interrogating to be comfortable. I glance to my right at the two-way mirror, wondering who is on the other side. I remember watching reruns of detective shows on TV and there is always someone behind the screen, someone the person being question doesn't expect to be listening. There is always some big secret revealed in the end. A third act twist. A poor, unfortunate victim caught in the cross fire, finding out that the person they thought they could trust was lying to them all along.

A shiver runs down my spine and I think of Klaus. He'll make everything okay. All I have to do is stay calm and get out of this room and his arms will be there waiting. He'll hug me and we'll go back to the hotel, grab our things, and run away from this place and the detectives Salvatore. Somewhere warm this time, I think.

The door clicks and opens, and in walks Stefan. He's no longer the nice, unassuming guy I met in the line at the gas station. Maybe I just can't see him that way anymore. I notice a swelling cut on his lip and realize he must have spoken to Klaus first. I wonder what he said to him to elicit a violent reaction, and then I remember Klaus' eyes when we first saw Stefan in the gas station parking lot. These two know each other. They have a past.

"Caroline Forbes. Age twenty four, from Mystic Falls, Virginia," Stefan is reciting information about me from a file in his hand. It's anything and everything he can find out about me from a public file. "It says here you're a murder survivor."

I flinch but grit my teeth and attempt to keep my expression neutral. I'm a terrible liar, but I know that he'll try to use anything and everything he can to crack me. "That's right."

"They never caught your almost killer." It's somewhere between a question and a statement.

"No," I say, again choosing to go with the truth. But it was true. The cops never did catch Kol.

"Do you ever wish they did?"

I look at him, the way his brows lift a bit and his head tilts in my direction. He's asking me to trust him; to confide in him. I try to think of the way the girls on the detective dramas answer.

"Yes," I hear the answer come out, "I was lucky. I can't imagine all the girls who aren't as lucky as me."

Stefan nods as if he agrees. He pulls out a photograph and slips it onto the table towards me. I look down. It's of a young girl, around my age I guess, with dark brown hair and eyes. Her full lips are smiling, laughing at whoever is taking the photograph. She's pretty.

"Faye," Stefan says, " she was one of those girls. The unlucky ones." I look down at the photo. The girl is beautiful, but she's not Kol's type. I can tell just by looking at the photograph that she is strong and smart and not at all like the girl I was when Kol chose me. My eyes flick back up to Stefan's and I note the hint of sadness around his eyes as he continues speaking. "She was kidnapped, tortured and killed, almost similar to your experiences, I imagine. She was my sister."

I blink, surprised and see the full expression of sadness in his features now. In spite of our surroundings and the situation, it tugs at my heart. "I'm sorry," I say to him, meaning it. He nods again and we sit in silence. I look at Faye's photograph again and wonder about her. I wonder if Stefan became a cop because his sister died, if that's what drove him to it, to cope. The way that I was driven to my life with Klaus to move on. I wonder if her killer was random, or if it was someone she loved. I don't know why all of this occurs to me, but I can't figure out why he's telling me about his sister. We didn't kill her.

"Did you catch her killer?" I ask.

"Once. Almost," Stefan says, "but he got off on a technicality."

"That sucks," I say. It sounds unfeeling, but there's no reason I should be on his side.

"It does. But we caught him again. And this time justice will be served."

I open my mouth to ask why he is telling me all of this, but my jaw hangs open as I realize the point of it all. It dawns on me, what he's implying. I close my mouth and look at him. The meaning passes over his face and he wills me to understand.

"You think Klaus—"

"I know Klaus did it," he interrupts, "and I know he murdered those other people."

For a brief moment I think about throwing myself under the bus and confessing, but then I realize that Stefan is lying. He wants me to give something away, to make it easier for him. But I won't.

"It's sick that you use your own sister's death to manipulate people," I reply, "what kind of person are you?"

"You don't believe me," Stefan says unsurprised, "well…"

He takes out another photo and slides it to me. It's another photo of Faye, this time of her corpse, taken by a crime scene photographer. It's gruesome and makes my stomach churn.

"Look familiar?" he asks.

I look closer at the photo. And that's when I notice. I think back to last night, the way Klaus killed the woman. It seemed like such an odd ceremonial way to kill someone, not our style at all. I look down at Faye's dead body and notice that the fatal wounds are an exact match for the ones I saw Klaus administer the night before.

I try to school my features back to neutral as my eyes meet Stefan's again, but it's too late. He's seen. And now he's begging me to go along with him.

"I'll keep you safe Caroline," he promises, "I won't let anything happen to you. How long do you think it can go on with Klaus before he does the same to you? He murdered Faye because she upset him. Because she rejected him. What will it take to set him off again?"

We're in the motel, Klaus' lawyer having gotten us out of jail for the time being, but we're not allowed to stray far from where we are for now. Stefan's words have been gnawing at me since we left the station, growing in me like a parasite, consuming my insides and leaving me feeling empty.

I want to look at Klaus, but I can't. His touch on me is firm, possessive, and I wonder if he knows that I know. If I meet his eyes, I'm sure there will be no doubt.

He's sleeping next to me, his bare chest rising and falling in peace. Tiny stripes of light cross his body from the orange light bleeding outside bleeding through the blinds. I can't sleep, so I just watch him. I stare at him as if some words will appear on his body, answering all the questions running through my mind.

It occurs to me that Stefan is only one side of the story. That Klaus has a side too, but I don't know how to ask for it. I don't know how he would react.

I slide out of bed and head into the shower, deciding to let the hot water work out my problems and help me relax. Standing under the spray, I close my eyes and let the water soak my hair and cascade down my face.

Klaus doesn't say anything as he enters. I hear the door open and shut and the rustling of clothes. A few moments later he's behind me in the shower, naked, his fingers trailing down my back. The touch makes me shiver, with desire, with fear, I can't decide which emotion is stronger.

When I turn around and look at him, his eyes darken, like a storm cloud about to burst. My hands are folding together at my chest, my fingers threaded and I take a deep breath.

"Faye Salvatore," I say. I don't phrase it like a question, I don't give him a warning, and I see the reaction. It's like a shimmer. I've known him for so long now, I can spot it. That moment when he shifts between what he feels and what he wants someone to see. It's enough for me.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about her?" I ask. "I thought we didn't have secrets." Klaus looks at me, and his silence is only making me angrier, because it only confirms everything that Stefan said. Everything I didn't want to be true. "You did to her what Kol did to me! You did—how could—I—" I'm shaking now and my voice is breaking. Klaus' hands come to my face and slide up into my wet hair.

"I'm a killer love," Klaus says, "you know this."

"But—"

"I'm a killer," he repeats, "and nothing more." Somewhere in my hysteria, I understand what he means. He didn't do the things to Faye that Kol did to me. The unspeakable things.

"Please just tell me," I beg.

"Remember what you told me about Kol? The worst part of it?" Klaus asked, his hands still holding my head in place, still making sure that I'm looking into his eyes.

"That I thought he cared," I say, "that he made me feel special."

Klaus nods. "Faye made me feel special. She made me think she cared."

I look into his eyes and see my reflection there. We are a pair. We understand. I step toward him and my lips find his. Then his arms leave my head to wrap around my waist and our bodies mold together. It's the safest I've felt all day. As his mouth slants over mine, my body hums to life and I let him kiss away the demons, like I have so many times before.

We are awake late the next morning. I'm draped across his chest and he's holding onto me tightly. We dress and I crack a joke about hating the trashy motel room, saying that I much have preferred a night in jail. Klaus smirks and it pulls at my heart.

"I don't know about that," he says as he pulls on his shoes, "no co-ed showers." I duck my head and smile to myself as moments from our passionate night flash through my mind. "Coffee love?"

"Tea this morning, I think," I say knowing that he'll have to go a bit further to retrieve the good stuff. The nearby convenience store won't have what I'm craving and I know he'll go the extra few blocks to make me happy.

As soon as he is out the door, I dash to the nightstand, pulling out the motel stationary inside the drawer and clicking the pen. I scribble a letter as fast I can, every second counting. Tears burn my eyes, but I hold them back. I have to do this. After everything I've learned, I don't have a choice. Once the letter is finished, I fold it up and place it on the table.

I open the door to our room and see that the coast is clear, darting away from the motel as quickly as I can and out toward the main road. It seems too good to be true when there is a cab passing by as I approach. I wave my hand and the driver stops, waiting for me to get in.

"Where to?" he asks.

I gulp, and notice the rosary beads hanging in the rearview mirror. God had never crossed my mind that often, especially in the last couple of years, so I hoped he didn't mind the quick prayer I sent up to him at that moment.

"Police station, please."

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