31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 27 - U.S.B.

It was waiting for her when she arrived home: a brown manila envelope that she almost stepped on as she rushed through the door, out of the cold. Picking it up, she continued on her path to the kitchen, dumping it, and her bag, onto the counter. The kettle was put onto boil as she removed her hat and scarf in the living room. Hearing the kettle call her. she returned to the kitchen. A teabag, two sugars and milk added, and the drink she had been craving all the way home was ready. Mug in hand, she headed through to the living room, grabbing the envelope on the way. Taking a sip of tea as she walked, and wincing as it burned her tongue, she turned the envelope over in her hand.

The mug crashed to the floor, fracturing against the hard-wood, unleashing it's scolding contents, as Olivia froze in horror. 

'The Silver Vixen.' was scrawled in black ink, sending ice through her veins. 

The Silver Vixen was dead. Killed four years ago by The Crusader. Dead people don't get mail. Her alter ego may be alive, but no one knew that. No-one.

Tearing open the envelope, she emptied it and found only a U.S.B. stick and a note:

Love is giving someone the power to destroy you...and trusting them not to. 

It wasn't signed. That was never good. The Silver Vixen had trusted some, loved someone, and they had destroyed her. They were the reason that The Silver Vixen was dead. Olivia looked at the U.S.B. in her hand like it was a bomb moments from exploding. 

Her laptop seemed to mock her panic as it took an age to boot up. She twitched and fidgeted in her impatience. She hurriedly plugged the stick in as soon as the machine was ready. There were several files saved onto it, including some videos. She clicked on the first thumbnail, a video, and a face appeared on the screen. Olivia's heart stopped.

"Hey, Vixie," Olivia flinched at the sound of the pet name. An uncertain smile accompanied the voice she had both missed and resented, in equal measure, for four years. When had Purple Death ever been uncertain about anything? "Though, I guess you don't go by that anymore, huh? Faking your death was a mean trick, Vix. I mourned you. All five stages Well...six. If you count revenge. Killing The Crusader really helped my process. 

The Crusader: Hero of the Age. Supposedly, a hero to all. 'All' apparently did not include anyone in love with his nemesis. Used as bait and abandoned, she had begged The Crusader to save her. Begging was only marginally better than death...The Silver Vixen had gotten both. The Crusader had burned the lair down around her. The ghosts of those flames burned her skin, even know. The Silver Vixen had perished in those flames; Olivia Munroe had emerged from the ashes. 

"I made the wrong call, Vix." His striking green eyes bore into her from the screen. "I thought he would save you. You must know that. I never thought he'd leave you to die. I thought at worst he'd take you hostage. He was supposed to be a fucking hero!" Rage flashed across his face. After it faded, he was left looking defeated. "I'm sorry, Vixie."

Olivia hit the space bar, pausing the video, she sat there looking at his face. Even the mask couldn't hide his sincerity, or how gaunt and broken he looked. She reached out and ran her finger tips gently over the image of his face. She had loved him. She'd tried to prove it by letting him see her without the mask, and he had used her. Chosen his stupid vendetta again and again. She made him her King, while all he saw in her was a pawn. 

She hit the space bar again.

"I shouldn't have used you like you were disposable. You weren't. I wish I'd realised then, that you were more important to me than he was. I finally killed him, and it didn't matter. You were gone. Nothing, not even ending his life, was bringing you back." Purple Death ,sighed, shaking his head sadly, "I really thought he'd save him." His gaze returned to looking straight down the camera, "I had a plan to get you back, when he took you to get to me. It's what he was supposed to do. He wasn't supposed to let you die. He was supposed to take you, use you as bait and believe he'd won. That's why I made sure he knew that you were with me, that you mattered to me. I know you think that was just another trick I played. I did too, then, but Vixie, I promise you, it was all true. You mattered, I was just too stubborn to realise how much." 

The video ended.

Tears fell from Olivia's bright blue eyes. She had forgiven him some time ago, for the sake of her healing process. She had no idea that a part of her had still been waiting for him to say how he felt about her, for his apology. How much she had missed him hit her like a tonne of bricks. 

After a few minutes collecting herself, she returned to the files. The second thumbnail was for another video labelled 'My Confession', she played it, discovering that it was Purple Death reciting a list of everyone he had killed - it was a long list. She thought she knew his crimes, but there were a few that even she hadn't known about; there were a few that others had been credited for. Her breath caught when after the roll-call named The Crusader a.k.a. Jeffery Adams, Purple Death added: 

"The following human scum were killed in memory of my Vixie. Murdered by The Crusader, she never had the chance to finish her work of ending the lives of rapists and abusers. She was a vigilante, a corporal punisher, but she was never a villain. She was just messed up enough to love one." He then listed dozens of known and unknown rapists, pedophiles and domestic abusers. The first twenty were taking directly from the list The Silver Vixen carried. 

Olivia continued her way through the files: locations of his lairs, safe houses and hideouts; licence plates of all his evil plots; intricate details of his crimes; lists of his weaknesses, of which The Silver Vixen and her death was the top. The files were everything needed to either arrest him or take him down.

The last file was a third, and final, video. Olivia took a deep breath and played it. 

Again, it was Purple Death alone with the camera. 

"Four years ago, you told me you loved me and showed me the other half of you. You made me your weakness, and I made you pay for it. You trusted me when you shouldn't have, and I didn't trust you when I should have. I'm trusting you now, Vixie." Slowly, Purple Death removed the deep purple mask, revealing a face no-one but the mirror had seen for over a decade. 

"Olivia Monroe, meet Petrik Payne." The uncertain smile was back, and Olivia's heart ached a little, somewhere deep down. "Vixie...Olivia." He corrected himself. "I love you. Now, you have everything you need to destroy me, which you have every reason to do, but...I am trusting you not to." He moved, as if to turn off the camera, but stopped. "But whatever you decide, just get rid of the brown hair. We both know it's not you, Vix." The screen went blank.

Staring at her reflection in the black screen, she re-adjusted her hair and searched for the person she used to be; the woman he loved, the woman who loved him. Slowly, she peeled off the brown tresses. The wig had been itchy and cumbersome, but she had never been able to bring herself to dye her hair. She carefully laid down the wig. 

With her eyes glued to her reflection, she watched as her fingers slowly unpinned and removed her wig cap. After dropping it to the floor, she fingers gently pulled her hair ties from the ends of the two french braids that he long, silver hair had been in. Slowly, almost second nature, the braids were undone.   

Staring at the reflection, she realised the woman staring back at her was The Silver Vixen. Purple Death was right, the brunette look was not her, but Vixie's look, it wasn't her either. Not anymore.

The sound of her heeled boots marching over the boards reverberated around the auditorium. She stopped centre stage, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and leaning slightly on her left leg. Waiting. He'd appear soon. 

She was a vision, standing there, self-assured in a way she hadn't been since The Silver Vixen died. The brown wig was gone, hallelujah, but so was her natural, silver hair. Her head was now shaved on the left side and the rest was now a shocking shade of violet, cut short and swept over to the right. Looking at her in that figure-hugging dress, he was sure his mouth was hanging open. 

Minutes passed as he watched her get impatient. Minutes of him in shock that she was here, at how much she had changed, and at how little his feelings for her had. 

For almost four years, he'd believed her dead, and now here she was, mere yards from him. She was close enough to touch. Or she would be if he could just move. 

"Petrik." she yelled into the abyss of empty seats. His heart stopped at the sound of his true name on her lips. He shifted closer, still not revealing himself.

"Petrik. Show yourself or I leave." It wasn't an empty threat, he knew that much. With the grace of a cat, he swung himself over the edge of the balcony, and used the stone carvings on the wall to climb down to the stage.  

Neither said a word as he walked towards her. He wanted to run to her, but knew he'd get his ass handed if that wasn't what she wanted. He stopped about half way to her. 

Petrik barely registered her moving when the U.S.B. came flying towards him. His reflexes kicked in, grabbing the stick from the air like it was second-nature. 

"I don't need that." Her voice was cold, but he could almost feel the fire underneath. 

"Vixie." He breathed, "I...I...I'm sorry." 

"I know." Olivia's voice was still chilly. "Did you really think I would turn you in?"

"No. Truthfully, no I didn't. Exact revenge, maybe. But not hand me over. To the police, at least. But it was about trusting you. Showing you that I trust you. Making it clear what my priorities are now."

"You are still hiding from me. Purple Death is clearly still who you are, still you're number one. Yet again, I'm here as me and you're hiding behind an alter ego. What's changed? You finally killed your arch enemy, and I've been bumped up the list? What happens when another hero triggers  your obsessive need for battle? Do I go back to being a pawn, to being nothing more than bait?"

"No! Never. I wont risk losing you again." Tearing off the mask and suit, he stumbled to her. When he got to her, he ran his fingers down the sides of her head until he was caressing her face, slightly amazed that, after all this time, she was alive and her could touch her, hold her. He was even more shocked that after everything, she was letting him. Stroking her face with his thumbs, he looked her deeply in the eyes, holding her gaze.

"I love you. You are my priority. After I lost you, I realised what you meant to me, what I'd been willing to risk just to defeat the stupid hero. It was too much, I lost too much. I sacrificed too much."

He placed his forehead against her's.

"Please, Olivia. I love you, my Vixie."

She steeled herself, placing her hands on his face.

"I cant be with Purple Death. I don't trust him." Petrik gave out a defeated moan and slumped down. Olivia followed him to the ground, lightly stroking his hair as she continued, "But the man he has become, the one I always knew that he could be, that guy I can give a chance to."

Petrik looked up at her, shocked and searching her face for any clue that he had heard her right. He went to kiss her, but she stopped him.

"I'm serious, Petrik. You say goodbye to Purple Death or you say goodbye to me." He smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

"If you think that I'm letting you go for anything, ever, you're not as astute as you think you are."

After four years, and an attempt by Death to seperate them, Olivia Monroe and Petrik Payne kissed for the first time, and both were exactly who they really were.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 26 - Leopard Print

Ball scene. Couples mingle. Prince Samuel and Duke Henry are in the crowd. Women in gowns of pastel colours and men in traditional suits. A young woman enters, dressed in a black, corsetted, ball gown with leopard print detailing. She leans over and whispers into the ear of The Court Marshal.

Court Marshal: Lady Darcy Amelia Parker; daughter of Count Eric and Countess Alexandra of Athelney.

A few members of the crowd glance up, but not much attention is paid by anyone - except for the Duke, who cant keep his eyes off Darcy. 

Darcy walks through the crowd, and the Duke walks towards her. But Prince Samuel gets to Darcy first.

Prince Samuel: Lady Parker, how lovely it is to see you this evening."

Lady Darcy: Your Highness. (Darcy curtsies) 

Prince Samuel: I believe the dancing is to begin presently, would you do me the honour of being my partner for the first?

Lady Darcy: I beg your forgiveness, your Highness. But, I am afraid I cannot accept. I have already promised my first two dances. You have flattered me greatly, and I apologise sincerely, but I am a lady of my word."

Instead of looking affronted, Prince Samuel looks pleased by her response. 

Prince Samuel: I understand, I will leave you now. (Prince Samuel places a kiss on the back of her hand; Lady Darcy curtsies. Princes Samuel walks through crowd to talk to the Duke)

Prince Samuel: Lady Darcy has turned down my request to dance. Apparently, she has promised her first two dances to another man. She refused a Crown Prince to keep her word. I don't believe any other suitor will succeed in courting her.

(Duke Henry's eyes were locked on Lady Darcy, despite talking to the Prince. Her eyes are locked on his too.) 

Duke Henry: Lady Darcy Parker is a woman of integrity, she would not betray her word, no matter who it was for. 

Prince Samuel: No unmarried woman at this ball has promised a single dance to any suitor in hopes of securing a dance with the visiting Crown Prince. Yet, Lady Parker arrived tonight with two dances secured, and if I am correct in my thinking, the Lady is hoping that more shall be requested by said gentleman. (pause) She favours you. The band is starting up, you should go to your partner.

Duke Henry and Lady Darcy walk towards each other. The dancing starts. 

Prince Samuel begins to dance with Lottie Oakland.

(music fades; dancing stops)

Duke Henry: I am in need of some air. Would you care to accompany me to the garden?"

Lady Darcy: It would be my pleasure, your Grace. 

Duke Henry offers Lady Darcy his arm, she accepts. The walk away from the crowd. 

(Scenery changes from ballroom to garden.)

Lady Darcy: You leave in three days. Where will you travel to next on your mission to find the Prince a bride?

Duke Henry: I am hoping to return home once our time here is through. I continue to have faith that the Prince will secure is future Queen here and there will be no more need to search.

Lady Darcy: The Prince has not appeared to favour any young lady in our quaint corner of the world to any great extent. Although, in my most humble opinion, he and my dear friend, Lady Charlotte would make a fine pairing. 

Duke Henry: You may well be surprised, my dear Lady Parker, the Prince keeps much close to his chest. 

(Enter Prince Samuel)

Prince Samuel: I am sorry to interrupt but I was hoping for an audience with Lady Parker. 

Duke Henry: Lady Parker. (bows slightly and kisses the back of her hand) Your highness. (bows to Prince)

Lady Darcy: (curtsies) Your Highness.

Prince Samuel: You turned down a Crown Prince for a Duke, I cannot think of many, or perhaps even one other, young ladies who would make the choice you did.

Lady Darcy: I gave my word, happily, and a lady must stick to her word, and her principles. 

Prince Samuel: I heartily concur, and greatly respect you for what you did. But, I suspect, being your word was not the only thing you feel a strong sense of loyalty to. I suspect that you find Duke Henry a preferable partner to all others. 

Lady Darcy: Your highness is most perceptive. I supposed I do strongly favour him. I care for him deeply. 

Prince Samuel: You cannot be swayed? Not even by the offer of crown and kingdom? You have many qualities that suggest that you would make a fine Queen.

Lady Darcy: Your Highness, you honour me greatly. But if you mean to propose to me, I beg that you do not. You should have a Queen who can give all she has to her King and his people. I do not have that ability, my heart has already been given to someone else. If I may be so bold as to advise your Highness, you should marry one who loves the man, not the title. 

Prince Samuel: You really would make a fine Queen.

Lady Darcy: I believe I may be more suited to the title of Duchess. 

Prince Samuel: I have heard all that I need to. Lady Parker, I may never call you my wife, but I hope I may continue to name you among my dearest friends. 

Lady Darcy: It would bring me great joy, your Highness.

(Prince Samual leaves. Returns to ballroom. Walks up to Duke Henry.)

Duke Henry: You tried to sway her? 

Prince Samuel: Yes. The Lady entreated me not to propose marriage. She is completely loyal to you. Her heart is your's, she made has made it clear, she chooses you over the crown.

Duke Henry: She will not have to choose, she is to have both. It pains me to have deceived her so.

Prince Samuel: It had to be done for you to be sure. You desired a wife, not just a Queen. And now, the is no doubt. Lady Darcy will understand, she, herself,  suggested I find a wife who will love me more than my crown. I do not believe her being told the truth will alter her feelings or her wish to be your's.

Duke Henry: So, your doubts have been eradicated, dear friend? You were not so convinced just a short time ago.

Prince Samuel: I admit, I judged her by where she was raised. The young ladies of this community are so over-zealous in their quest to marry as high a rank as is attainable. I should not have judged her so, I should have formed my opinions on her, and her alone. You were correct in your belief of her feelings.

Duke Henry: So, we have found our Queen at last..

Prince Samuel: Yes, Sire, we have.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 25 - Used Tissue

A used  tissue danced across the stone slabs, carried by the coffee-scented breeze, as intermingling conversations vibrated through the air around her. Monica noticed none of it. She didn't feel the chill from the wind or the heat from the coffee cup in her hand. The tendrils of hair hitting her face in the wind and the pain from her finger nails digging into her palm, didn't register. All Monica could feel was her heart almost beating out of her chest and her mind racing, as a lump formed in her throat and her stomach knotted. 

She was back with him.

Monica could feel the familiar tide of desperation begging to pull her in and she could feel herself drowning in a sea of helplessness.

She looked across the table at her baby sister, her twenty-four year old, stubborn and broken baby sister. The person she'd always fought to protect.

There was so much commotion going on around the pair, but all Monica could see was the yellowing surrounding Phoebe's hazel eyes; the blue around her neck and the red etched on her cheeks and arms. The self-pity in her little sister's eyes devastated Monica, Phoebe used to be filled with so much life and light...and joy; it was heart-breaking to see that all gone. 

Phoebe sat staring at her sister, watched her process the truth that her bruises told; waiting for the reaction, like a deer caught in headlights waiting for impact.

"Oh Phoebe..." Monica thought she was going to break, her words were barely more a whisper. She reached across the table with both hands for her sister. Phoebe placed her shaking hands into her sister's open palms.

"Why?" Monica's eyes searched Phoebe's face, desperate to find an explanation. "Why would you go back?" 

At her words, Monica could see Phoebe start to shut down.

"No judgement, sweetie, I swear." Monica pleaded, "I just...I just want to understand. I really, I...really want to understand."

Phoebe eyed Monica suspiciously, but believing her sister's sincerity, began to unclench.

"I love him, Mon. I need to be with him." Phoebe's voice was small and neither sister was sure who she was trying to convince.

"Do you really need him, or is that just what he's got you believing? " Monica tried to be soft, but the venom was present in her voice.

"It's my choice, Monica! Back. Off." Phoebes's harsh, defensive tone hit Monica in the face.

"I know it is, but I'm not sure who has made it." Where once Monica would have been angry, now she was left feeling only defeated. After years of screaming matches over black eyes; interventions over domestic disturbance reports; tears over bite marks and scars and loss of contact because of his control, Monica didn't know what else to do. She didn't know how to save her sister. It killed her to admit that there was nothing she could do until Phoebe decided to get out for good. 

"Look, Phee, you know I want you away from him, and that I'd drag you kicking and screaming right now, if I could. But, I can't, so when you choose to get out, I will do whatever it takes to make it happen. I will be there every step of the way. You are not alone: now or ever. You hear me?" Monica's eyes bore into her sister's. "I just hope that time comes before he goes to far." 

Cracks splintered in Monica's heart at the thought, broken bones and images of her sister's bloody face raced through her head, and the terror was written all over her face.

"I can't leave." Phoebe couldn't even look at her sister as she uttered the words. "I just...I can't."

"Yes, you can. It's your choice. Remember?" 

A horn blared obnoxiously from the road nearby. Both women, and the majority of the crowd surrounding them, looked towards the noise. The face of rage personified glared at the women from the driver's window of  a blue Vauxhal Corsa. Monica glared back, while Phoebe fumbled around, collecting her belongings in a frenzy. She muttered a quick 'goodbye' to her sister and scurried towards the car, her head hung in penance. 

As she watched Phoebe's retreating form, part of her heart going with her, Monica couldn't quiet the worry that this could be the last time she saw her sister alive.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 24 - Telephone Cord

"So, you and Handsome are working out then?" Lizzie chuckled and rolled her eyes. Both girls' eyes drawn to the gorgeous ring on Lizzie's finger.

"It's Hanson, and you know it, Rach." Rachel chuckled again, and pointed out that the man in question was, infact, extremely handsome. Prompting Lizzie to retort with him being a great guy who was funny and smart, before conceding that those qualities were contained in one hell of a gorgeous body. The women continued giggling until they entered the station, where they stopped abruptly. There were people in there who were victims of crime, they needed the police officers to in control and professional.

Smiling politely at those they passed, the women made their way to their desks. On the way, Rachel decided a coffee was needed and, after offering to make Lizzie one too, she headed to the break room. Lizzie continued on her way, when she happened to catch a glimpse of a face through an open door. She did a double take and confirmed what she suspected: Zoe Fleeshman. There she was, projected on the large, white screen. Zoe's picture disappeared and was replaced with an image that had haunted Lizzie since childhood: a white telephone cord with a pink stripe down each side. Lizzie headed straight to the Captain's office. Minutes later, two male officers marched in.

Twenty minutes later, the four officers left the office, continuing to walk while notifying the necessary people that they were leaving to follow a lead. Rachel caught her best friend's eye as Lizzie followed the Captain through the station. Lizzie's look of panic and momentary paralysis at the door of Mitchell and Collins' temporary case headquarters had set of alarm bells in Rachel's head, but the look on her best friend's face right then set of so many more. Expressionless and stony, Lizzie was always professional, didn't show emotion at inappropriate times, but the current statue-like face meant one thing: Lizzie wasn't just trying not to show how she felt, she was refusing to feel it. That was never good.

As the group passed close to Rachel, Lizzie slowed.

"Tell Don 'I'm sorry', something came up and I'll see him Monday." Rachel looked confused.

"But it's only Thursday now." Rachel's brow was furrowed slightly. Lizzie shot her a pleading look and then powered after the receding trio. Rachel stood watching her disappear down the hall, trying to decide if what she was about to do was the right thing.



"You sure about this, Mills?" Captain Gellar's wirey, salt-and-pepper eyebrows were knotted in concern.

"No, but it is the best chance to close this case." Lizzie was steeling herself for what was about to happen. She was about to come face-to-face with him. Lizzie wanted to run away so badly, but if she did, more women would die.

"I still don't get why she's going in with our intel. It's not even her case." Collins stood with his arms folded across his chest and is nose clearly out of place.

"Why is she suddenly on the case anyway?" Mitchell piped up, sounding as peeved as his partner. Both men were directly addressing the Captain and acting like Lizzie wasn't even in the room. Which Lizzie barely noticed as she was stood in the corner, psyching herself up.

Captain Gellar was about to answer his officers' complaints, Lizzie straightened up and started staring down the two men.

"Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?"

"No." Came the curt responses, said in unison.

"Is it likely I'd be attempting to steal your case? Have I ever done it before? To anyone?"

"No." A more reluctant answer was given, again in unison.

"I am not on your case. I don't want to take your case. But I have this lead, your best lead, and I have it because I am the damn lead. I am your best way to get what you need. So just shut up and trust me on this. OK?"

"OK. We can do that." Mitchell conceded, thought his body language told her that if this didn't pay off, he would never let it go. Collins nodded stiffly. Lizzie turned to the Captain and he tried to gauge her mental state.

"Time to do this." Lizzie removed her engagement ring, "Just take care of this for me, please, Captain." And with that, Lizzie walked out of the room. She stood and waited at the next door on the left for the prison guard to unlock it. Taking one last deep breath, she walked into the room.

As soon as she entered, she could feel his eyes on her. It made her skin crawl. She didn't let it show, she had been trained better than that.

"Elizabeth," He beamed but there was a hardness behind his eyes.

"Officer Mills." Lizzie's highly professional tone contained no warmth.

"You took your mother's maiden name. Not suprising, I guess. You look just like her." Lizzie fought to keep her anger under control.

"I suggest you don't bring up my mother." Her professional tone remained, despite the fire raging under the surface. The man raised her hands in surrender, his hand restraints clinking against the table.

"Now, Mr Abrahms, I'm assuming that you recognise this." Lizzie slid the photo of the telephone cord across the table.

"Yes." Abrahms smirked, "Brings back good memories."

"This is your calling card. You murdered seventeen women with cords just like it and then left them clutched in the victim's hand."

"Don't need to tell me, Officer Mills." Abrahms interrupted her, his tone mocking as he addressed her. "I was there, I remember ever second."

"You, and you alone, has ever used this exact murder weapon."

"Have to be unique." He interrupted again, trying to bait her. "You really are the spit of her."

Ignoring his second comment, Lizzie continued.

"See, the thing is, this photo," she tapped on the photo still lying infront of him, "is not from your case file, it's from an open case of murders that have happened in the past few months."

"How confusing for you." He smirked, his love of out-smarting people beginning to show.

"Not really." His smirk faded, " It's your calling card but it was not released to the public, was even emitted from court records. So this copy cat would likely have to hear about it from you. You've always had this need to feel smarter than everyone, and one of your favourate ways to do this was to pass on your wisdom, so for them to get the MO so spot on, it's likely someone close to you. I'd guess someone quite a bit younger, young enough to be your child. Personally, I'd put my money on it being your former cellmate, Chaz Sykes."

"If you're so sure, why are you here with me? Why aren't you out getting him?" His smirk had returned.

"Oh, see, My Sykes has disappeared. He cannot be found at this time. Now, you've proved very talented at hiding people in the past. So, I'm going to guess you know where he could be. I'd say you gave him multiple places to go. I'm going to ask you to give me that information. Now." Lizzie's tone had not changed.

"Now why would I do that?" He seemed to be enjoying this exchange.

"Because it's me asking. You are a shitty human being, but you hit it well by being a pretty great dad. So, how about you let that facet of your personality take control and tell me what I need to know." There was a pause. Abrahms clearly hadn't been expecting that, but he composted himself almost instantly.

"Chaz isn't the one you want. Jason is. Jason is the killer."

That's when Elizabeth Rose Mills snapped.

"You don't get to say his name! You do not get to talk about Jason!"

"He is my son! I will talk about him if I damn well choose to, young lady!" His attempt to belittle Lizzie just spurned her on. She could see him getting desperate.

"Jason stopped being your son the moment you murdered mum." Her tone was ice cold.

"Doesn't mean it wasn't him that I passed on my secrets to."

Lizzie knew it was Chaz Sykes, the only thing she knew with more certainty was that it was not Jason."

Lizzie sat down, staring her father in the eyes, knowing she was about to completely obliterate his lie, and his feeling of superiority. He'd ages fifteen years; he'd lost some of his imposing presence and his ability to command a room. Or maybe it just couldn't affect her as much anymore.

"Jason is dead." Lizzie watched the wind leave his sails, and his confidence evaporate.

"Why wasn't I told." Abrahms exploded.

"I made sure you were never informed." Lizzie's professional tone had returned.

"You had no right, you fucking bitch!" Launching himself up, he went for Lizzie to very little effect. Lizzie just sat there, unflinching.

"I know that it was Sykes, because he did what you did. He killed his woman first." Lizzie slid another photo across the table. He was still standing, snorting like a fired up bull, his face growing redder by the second.

"This is Zoe Fleeshman. Sykes' girlfriend before he was arrested. All the other girls," Lizzie slid several photos, one by one, across the table. "They all look rather similar to her. Just like all your victims looked eerily like mum."

"|How did Jason die?" He was still leaning as far across the table as he could, trying to intimidate her. It wasn't working.

"I need the locations of the places Chaz could be hiding. And, if you're feeling particularly generous, an admission that you advised Mr Sykes on methods of murder."

"I demand to know how my son died." He was roaring at the top of his lungs. Lizzie looked up at him, unblinking, staring him down.

"You are in no position to demand anything. Either as a prisoner or as a father. Now, sit your ass back in that seat, and tell me everything I need to know about Chaz Sykes."

Abrahms lowered himself  back down into the chair, lost in thought.

"But he was my boy." His voice had lost all of its aggression. The words were almost lost in the whirring of the cogs turning in his head.

"You do not get to call him that anymore. You killed his mother." He looked up at Lizzie, barely focusing on her. Lizzie was thumbing through her files. With a slight start, she began re-reading the same page and then again, running her finger down the page.

That's when it clicked.

Lizzie collected her files and walked to the door. She buzzed to be let out, just before leaving, she paused and addressed the man restrained to the table.

"Jason killed himself because he couldn't live with being the son of a serial killer. Jason is dead because of you." And with that, she walked out the room, and away from him for the last time.

Walking back into the observation room, Lizzie handed the files to Mitchell.

"I know where Sykes is hiding. Pen and paper, please." She held out her hand. Collins placed what she needed in her waiting palm. As she wrote, she explained.

"It was the mention of Jason and the 'my boy'. There was a cabin near Lake Barney where he'd take Jason, his boy, never me, didn't stop me following them and finding out where it is." Handing the paper to Collins, Lizzie turned to the Captain.

"The address wasn't in the files because he didn't own it, it was abandoned and Abrahms just used it, even did it up. It's likely still livable and safer than anywhere, as it couldn't be linked to him."

The Captain motioned to Collins and Mitchell:

"Let's go." He looked at Lizzie who shook her head slightly. The men left.

Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief, when she looked up and saw blue eyes full of concern.

"So Kevin Abrahms is..."

"My father, yes." Lizzie finished. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just...I..."

"You don't need to. OK? It's your past, if you wanna leave it behind and never talk about it, that's what you do. But I'm here if you ever want to tell me. I just need to know how you are now."

"I'm doing...shitty. I never wanted to see that man again. And for him to accuse Jason..." Almost at breaking point, Lizzie fell into Officer Hanson's arms.

"You wanna talk about Jason?" He asked, gingerly, as he gently stroked her hair. "I didn't even know you had a brother."

"He was five years older. When Dad went away, I was so young and I looked more and more like mum as I grew up, so no one made the connection with me. But Jason, he looked so much like my dad, like a carbon copy, everyone knew who he was. The shit that got yelled at him from strangers, he was run out of towns, always having to move. The amount of times he ended up in hospital because someone had attacked him in retaliation for our father's actions."Then, in a small voice she added, "I was the one who found him."

"I think we should go home. Captain said you've got the next week off. No argument." Lizzie nodded, too drained to do anything else.

Pulling back a little, he offered her the engagement ring, she smiled and held out her left hand. He slid the ring back into it's rightful place. And, with her loving fiance's arm around her, Elizabeth Mills walked away from the man she once called 'Dad'.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 23 - Lemon Wedges

Dex hastily looked at his watch. Forty minutes. He'd been gone for forty minutes. This was not good. The hormonal storm had already been in full swing when he'd left, by now it would likely be a hurricane. 'Just don't let her be crying.', he begged internally. The yelling her could handle, along with the screaming and the death stares. But the crying, the crying made him ache. He'd always hated it though, seeing her cry, even before all this. Over the years, he'd thrown a few punches into the faces of any guy who made her cry - one for which was her brother's. But, now, with everything that had happened the past year, he was even more protective of her, and it got to him even worse than ever when he couldn't fix everything for her. Like tonight, he was hoping he could get what she wanted in no time at all.

It had taken him three corner shops and a supermarket, but he had them. Hopefully, it was still what she wanted, Dex wasn't sure he could make it through another scavenger hunt tonight (or was it this morning?), either way, he prayed she'd be satisfied long enough for him to sleep.

When he finally reached home and walked through the door, Dex was about to call out when he realised something: the house was silent and dark. The TV was off, as were all the lights, there was no music playing. More surprisingly, there was no sound of a pacing pregnant woman. There was not a single sound, except his breath and the rain.

Rain? But it hadn't been raining outside.

It took Dex's exhausted brain a few moments to click: Elsie was playing her rain sounds. Maybe it had soothed her enough for her to get some rest. He hoped so, she needed it, the baby had been using nights to throw ragers in her womb for the past week. As hard as the past few months had been for him, he knew they'd been worse on Elsie. Making as little noise as possible, Dex went to the kitchen and began preparing his offering to her hormones.

Once it was ready, he made his way upstairs. The bedroom door was open and Dex stopped for a moment and leaned against the door frame, admiring the sight of a peacefully sleeping Elsie and his gaze was drawn to her hand that was draped protectively across her round stomach. His best friend, and his baby, both at rest. Dex couldn't help but smile at the sight. Dex had never imagined himself becoming a dad, it just wasn't something he'd thought that he wanted. Then Elsie got pregnant. From the moment he had found out, Dex had been one-hundred percent committed to raising the baby. Whether fatherhood was something he wanted at the time or not, it didn't matter. It wasn't about him anymore, it was about the baby. The baby and Elsie. He had to do right by both of them.

Grace was bound to be pissed. He hadn't heard from her but was sure she knew by now that he was possibly days away from officially being a dad. She'd spent a year trying to 'accidentally' get pregnant, lying through her teeth about being on the pill, with no success, and then he spends one night with Elsie and it happened. And, as unconventional as the circumstance and their set-up was, Dex was so happy with how it had worked out.

Dex placed the plate of lemon wedges on the bedside table at Elsie's side of the bed. It used to be his bed, now it was their's. It had just seemed to make sense for them to sleep in the same room, between the Braxton Hicks and the cravings at all hours of the night, they both slept better knowing Dex was there if and when he was needed. Smiling, he gently placed and hand on the bare skin of her rounded  belly that the pajama top wasn't covering, stroking gently with his thumb. Softly, he kissed next to his hand and looked up and Elsie. Everyone had always said that they should be together - or that they secretly already were - but both he and Elsie had adamantly insisted they were wrong. But, lately, Dex had been thinking that maybe everyone had been right all along.

As gently as he had kissed her belly, he kissed Elsie's forehead and walked around to the empty side of the bed. Curling up under the duvet, facing Elsie, Dex finally drifted off.

A few hours later, the sunlight streamed through the window and woke Elsie. Lazily, she stretched and slowly opened her eyes. She was greeted by the sight of a cling-filmed plate of sliced lemons. With a little difficulty, Elsie sat up and looked behind her at Dex's sleeping form. He really was a great guy and he had been taking such amazing care of her throughout the entire pregnancy - and their friendship, to be honest. It had been his idea for her to move in so that he could be there for everything, and, when the baby arrived, he or she could live with both parents. The arrangement had worked out so well, so far.

Although, it was one thing that they were living together, but if anyone found out they  were sharing a bed, Dex and Elsie would completely lose their ability to deny any sort of romantic relationship. Not that anything romantic had ever happened...well, except the night that they made a baby. But that was just a one time thing. Her eyes started to linger on his lips, remembering how the tasted, and she thought, yet again, how much she wished it would happen again, maybe on a regular basis. There had  been too many nights where all she wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms. Falling for him had never been part of the plan. Although, there were worse things than having feelings for the father of your child. Ideally, this would happen before conception, Elsie was aware of that, and she didn't want to mess with what was working so well, but still, she could hope.

Not wanting to wake Dex, he deserved to get as much sleep as possible, Elsie awkwardly pushed herself up off of the bed, picked up the plate, and padded off down the hall into the newly-painted nursery, sucking on a lemon wedge as she went.

Dex found her a short while later, still in the nursery, carefully folding the smallest clothes he had ever seen, placing them neatly into the chest of drawers, humming softly to herself. She seemed so serene. Dex longed to walk up behind her, wrap his arms around her and kiss the side of her head. But he didn't.

"Nesting, again?" he teased.

Elsie turned and smiled warmly at him, Dex could have sworn that his heart skipped a beat.

"I'm just putting away the gifts from the baby shower...so yes." Elsie returned to baby-grow organisation."Could you do me a favour? I tried to set up the mobile, for the crib, but it was fiddly and stressed me out. Could you maybe build it and put it up? It's tangled up in the crib." Without looking away from the dresser, Elsie gestured at the location.

"Yeah, of course." But Dex didn't move immediately, just stood there, unable to take his eyes off her. Three little words on the tip of his tongue, but instead he uttered. "As you wish."

"You'd better be careful, quoting that movie, you could get a girl all worked up." Elsie turned slightly to look at him, her gaze catching his, a slight blush began to appear on her cheeks. Feeling flustered, Elsie quickly turned around, and in the same haste, Dex set to work on the mobile.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, both wondering if the other felt the same way they did.

"When you think of the future, you know, you, me and the baby, do you see other people there?" Trying to seem nonchalant, Elsie didn't look up or pause from her task as she spoke, and waited for a reply.

"What do you mean?" Dex wondered if she was talking about what he thought she was. Had Elsie met someone?

"I mean, we aren't, you know, together. So, I guess, it's assumed, eventually, one or both of us will...meet someone. I was just asking if you picture those people when you thought of the future." Elsie had tried desperately to keep her nerves under control. She wasn't sure it was working.

Dex thought about playing it cool, hiding the truth, but he couldn't bring himself to, not anymore.

"No, I don't. I don't see anyone else, just the three of us...well maybe, sometimes four." Dex admitted, watching for a reaction.

"Four?" Elsie looked at him, trying to figure it out, "Who is the fourth?"

"A second kid, one day, maybe." Dex shrugged, suddenly so nervous. He thought he saw Elsie's shoulders sag a little, but he couldn't be sure.

"Well, you'd need another baby-mamma for that, so you must see another woman there in some way."

Dex looked at Elsie, his face softened, he stared right into her eyes and smiled, filled with more hope than he'd ever felt before.

"No, Els, I just see you. You, me and any babies we make. That's what I see. Rings on our fingers; tucking our kids up in bed; snuggling up next to each other in our bed. That's what I see. It's what I want. I'm sorry that it took me knocking you up for me to see that everyone has been right for so long, I'm completely in love with you." They stood there, never breaking eye contact, surrounded by a pause as pregnant as Elsie.

"Dexter, I can't exactly run into your arms, so would you come over her and kiss me, please?" Elsie giggled as Dexter all but ran to her.

"I love you." he said, as he brushed her hair back and brought his lips to her's.

"I love you too," Elsie sighed against his lips.

Suddenly, she broke this kiss, a huge grin spread across her face.

"Bubba's kicking. A lot. Here..." She took Dex's hand and placed it on the bump. "Can you feel it?"

"Think someone's happy mummy and daddy finally got their shit together?"

"Dexter!" Elsie laughted, "Language."

The both leaned forward, one hand each on the baby bump, until their lips met, as their unborn child kicked away, wrapped in their idyllic first moment as a family.