The Silent Earth (Sequel To Cut To The Bone) free porn video

The Silent Earth. Rose sat on a bench in the courtyard outside the hospital. It was hot and dusty, but as she looked westward towards the descending sun she estimated there was only an hour or so of daylight left; it would get cooler then. It had been a long day, like most of them were. She was still in her surgical scrubs, and knew she could really do with a shower, but was eager to read the letter in her hand. She'd been operating since Sunrise, but was done now. She was glad for the solitude, and the impending African sunset was always her favourite part of the day. It had been six months now since she'd left home, and on days like today, Rose really couldn't see why she couldn't just stay forever. She loved being here. She loved what she did. How many people could truly and honestly say that? Most pointedly though, she felt she belonged here. Back there, in the western world, there didn't seem to be a place for her anymore. She had been forced to reinvent herself, and she had, but it was only here that she truly felt this had meaning. As far as the world knew, a story which Rachel continued to propagate incidentally, David Summers had left for Africa some 18 months earlier and was there still. It was in a sense true now, at least for the last six months, but of course David Summers was no more. Steve's explanation was that people who knew Rachel, from her time with David, and similarly vice versa, people who knew David from his time with Rachel, would ask of her. "How's David? Is he ever coming back?" To which she would answer. "Good as far as I know. He's still in Africa. But we've lost touch." For that, and other reasons, so few people knew the truth of what actually became of him. When Rose had got out of Rehabilitation from her gun shot wound, which was far more about psychological rebuilding than actual physical healing truth be told, she'd made the conscious decision not to try and re-enter David's life. All of David's friends and colleagues remained oblivious to all that had transpired. Rose told herself that was as much for their benefit as hers. Of course she didn't want to have to rehash the horror of it all with them, nor did she feel comfortable with confronting them as a transgender person, and having to be judged and appraised by them as that. She feared their rejection above all else. Maybe it was an unfair lack of faith in them, but if the surgical college was any guide she had cause to have such pessimism. When they had begrudgingly re-elected her to fellowship, with her new name and gender, she was concerned they may use her as a publicity pawn. Look how progressive we are, with our transgender surgeon. But it was the opposite. This bastion of patriarchy strongly preferred she didn't exist, and steered clear of any unwanted attention. They were salivating with pleasure when they learnt of her intent to abruptly take her surgical skills overseas. So everything about her was kept very hush hush. It was almost as if they were saying, well we don't discriminate, because the law won't allow us to, but we don't have to be happy about it, so please quietly disappear into the night. On the one hand she resented she had been so obliging, but on the other anonymity served her well. So here she was, operating out of a rudimental community hospital in middle Africa. Simply Dr Rose. Adored by locals and fellow MSF volunteers alike. And she adored them in return. She didn't have to be someone who'd undergone untold and unspeakable terror here. No-one knew that. So on some level it just didn't matter. It didn't actually happen. And it was the ability to frame that mindset that gave Rose the impetus to just do what she did best. And as a by- product of that actually rediscover the joy of what it is to just live. Of course she still maintained one secret link to her past, if not so much to her former life, but to her escape from evil, in the form of frequent emails, and now on this occasion, an actual airmailed letter. A letter from Steve Manders. It was not insubstantially thick, and Rose figured she knew why. She opened it and proved herself correct. Wrapped inside the hand written sheets was a small batch of photos. She prioritised reading over studying the photographs, and placed them gently on the bench beside her. She unfolded the paper and began. Dear Rose, How unconventionally old school is this? As hard as you may find it to believe, I still remember a time when police reports would be hand written, at least in the first instance, before being typed later. I'm making privileged assumptions here, but I imagine where you are has similar retrograde tech. Hand written operative notes rather than the Electronic medical record you may have been accustomed to where you used to work? Now I'm sure by the time this letter wends its way to you we'll have exchanged several emails so anything here will be out of date, so I'll specifically stick to topic and purposefully avoid mention of it elsewhere, at least until I'm sure you've received this, otherwise what's the point? Firstly, no request is too outlandish from the woman who saved my life. Sure it was a little mystifying at first, but it's not like I don't know you by now, and have some sort of inkling how your mind works. It is part of my job of course, to have at least some understanding of human behaviour. Again, perhaps a reflection of my ignorance, but I wasn't sure how easily you'd be able to print out photos where you were, hence the hard copies, specifically I suppose for the purpose you intended. I have included a few cheesy posed portraits of me, with scenery in the background, plus some action shots. Proof of my manliness really. I like the one on the shooting range. It occurred to me though, for the purposes of your ruse there are no couple shots. Had I been organised I would have got you to send me some of you, and I could have got you photo shopped in. We still can of course if you wanted to go with that, but I do have reservations which I'll highlight shortly. In any case I have enclosed a photo of Rachel and me. If you really want to you could cut her face out and put yours in. I mean with regards to the photo that is. I don't want to give you any Kara Steele type ideas. (Now I feel awkward. I don't know if jokes like that are appropriate yet or whether they ever will be.) Rose smiled. It wasn't laugh out loud worthy, but if she wasn't amused by that then it would have reflected she was still more damaged than she let on. He was trying. It reminded her that she may feel like a bit of a minefield to him. Does he need to tiptoe on egg shells around her? Although if he felt that then maybe figuratively rubbing his 'manliness' in her face would be a contradiction. He probably just didn't think that through. Regardless she would be sure to emphasise in her next email she wasn't so delicate that black humour about her torment would have her rocking back and forward in a corner. She read on. And then there's the other photo. I'm not sure if you'd want it. But I just had to include it. Something told me I should. You could throw it away if you really can't bring yourself to look at it. Good lord, Rose thought. I hope it's not a dick pic. If it is I've totally brought this on myself. It did give Rose pause to reflect on what this letter was all about, why she had insisted Steve send her photos in the first place. In every other room, in every other hut, of the MSF volunteers sleeping quarters, walls were adorned with photos of friends, families, loved ones from back home. Rose's bare walls had become a talking point. Don't you have anyone? Surely you must! What are you hiding? Are you running from something? It made her wonder if people thought she was using MSF as a substitute for another French organisation. The Foreign legion. And were they right? Was she not, at least in part, running away from a broken heart? Regardless, it meant questions. It meant people prying into her past. She doubted anyone would be truly nosey enough, but what if someone tried to hunt out her back story, and somehow found the truth. Would the fallout from that ruin things for her here? Take away the safety and harmony she had built for herself? The friends she had made, people she cared about. To think of that chilled her. For aside from these people here, she only really had one friend now, back in the world she left behind. So she asked that friend, to be her fake boyfriend. Send her some photos that she could put up. To normalise her. To stop the questions. Or more specifically, re direct them. Of course she appreciated the awkward irony that he was the boyfriend of a woman she once had loved. But Rachel was not her friend, she?d made that abundantly clear. Trying to kill you at every opportunity kind of clarifies that. There was no doubt in Rose?s mind though, that Steve was. A friend. A good friend. He had emailed her frequently since her arrival in Africa, and she him. Of course they successfully danced around the one thing that bound them both, Rachel, but they became friends completely independently of her. It did trouble Rose, that she and Steve were friends without Rachel?s knowledge. She did not want to drive any sort of wedge between them. She would loved to have been open about it. She would loved to have won Rachel?s friendship back too more pointedly. But that seemed distinctly unlikely. Yet in those first few weeks in Africa, before she knew anyone, she was so desperately lonely that Steve?s emails were her most longed for and treasured gifts. So she chose to be selfish. And hoped they would avoid detection. But if they did, Rose figured the worst that may happen would be Rachel telling Steve to stop. She wouldn't punish him any more than that surely. Specifically she wouldn't end their relationship over it would she? What if she thinks that?s my intent? She found herself wondering fearfully. To steal him from her. What wrath would that unleash? But can she actually hate her any more than she does already? Rachel cannot seem to accept that looking like Kara Steele doesn?t actually make me her. It was a headache Rose didn?t want right now, so she continued with the letter: I get that you want to blend in Rose, and a fake boyfriend gives you cover, but as someone who recently wasn't being themselves, shouldn't you be avoiding that again at all costs? I suggest sticking up the photo of Rach and me and should anyone ask just tell them the truth. That we are your friends from home. Okay well half truth. But you never know. I?m working on her. On that note, perhaps it is the unique intimacy of a hand written letter, and that you have specifically avoided asking in our emails, but she is well. At least as well as one can be when they are governed by a sole purpose. Yes; she remains fixated on finding Vincent. Her frustration grows as the trail remains cold. I guess he really is nothing without Kara. Hence his apparent dissolution. But to be honest with you, up until your video, we'd never paid him a lot of heed. There is no doubt in my mind she is so obsessed in her pursuit of him because of what he did to you. What he did to David I suppose. She can?t seem to make the connection that you and David are the same person. Maybe when Vincent is caught she might be more receptive to that notion. Rose considered as she read that. In a lot of ways Rachel was correct. David was a happy, confident, self assured man. Rose was a frightened, insecure, self conscious woman. Two people who couldn?t be more diametrically different. Reminding herself of that just solidified Rachel?s righteousness really. How could Rose realistically expect Rachel to look at her and see the man she once loved? All she sees is a broken woman with the face of someone she truly does hate. None of this was new. Stuff she hadn?t ruminated in her mind thousands of times since she reclaimed her identity from the Kara Steele she thought she was. And it would not change. Steve?s optimism was sweet, but terribly misguided. Anyway, I know far better than to tell you what to do. At least you?re like Rachel in that regard. Just consider it okay? Keep being true to yourself Rose. It?s the one thing that?s really working for you. Regards Steve. Rose folded the letter up and was about to reach for the photos when a shadow loomed over her, all the more impressive for the twilight. "Hey. Whatchya doing?" Rose shaded her eyes with her hand to get a better look at the person before her, but she had recognised him on voice alone. "Hi Josh. Just reading a letter from home." Josh was the ?new? guy. Rose wasn?t sure she?d even been there long enough to consider anyone the new guy. But it was 6 weeks compared to her six months, so she went with it. He would remain the new guy until such time someone else arrived to earn that mantle, just as it had been for her when she first landed. "Cool." And he moved to sit beside her, but spied the photos before he sat. "What?s this?" he asked as he scooped them up. "Just photos from home," Rose replied. She had to consider whether she should snatch them back from him, but this would appear overly defensive. Still she looked on anxiously as Josh began to flick through them, still uncertain as to the content of the questionable photograph that Steve had agonised over including. The first few were of Steve, just as he?d promised. As expected, and really as desired, this prompted Josh to ask exactly what Rose had hoped. Although the thing that was not predicted was the loaded intonation by which Josh asked it. "Is this your boyfriend?" All Rose had to do was affirm it and before long the whole camp would know. Everything was working out perfectly. She had the protection she so eagerly sought. But she found herself reflecting on Josh. The way he had asked the question. The way he looked at her as he awaited an answer. And it was all very well for her to say she didn?t know who she truly was, or what she actually wanted, but there was certainly no way of ever finding that out by hiding herself in a fictitious relationship. "No. He?s just a friend from home. That?s his partner there." Rose was able to add in timely fashion as the alluded photo of Steve and Rachel together came to the top of the pile. She had second thoughts the moment she?d aired it. Still it was done now. She just had to live with the consequences of it. It still felt like something she had governance over though, so she could just congratulate herself for heeding Steve?s advice and staying honest. By then though, Josh had moved onto the next photograph, and when Rose saw it she knew it was the contentious one, for she found herself let out a little gasp and then rapidly redraw air. It was a close up of Rachel, somewhat in silhouette, gazing off at object unknown, with both the light and the wind having influence on her hair. She looked more beautiful than perhaps Rose had let herself remember. "Well that?s a bit gratuitous isn?t it?" Josh made comment on the photo. "You?re so much prettier than her." "No. I?m not!" Rose snapped unthinkingly. It was only when she saw Josh?s wounded look that she realised he had been trying to pay her a compliment, but she had interpreted it as a slight against the woman she loved. Or used to. She knew she had to be quickly conciliatory. "I?m sorry Josh. She... They?re both my friends. I think she looks really beautiful in that photo. I was just a bit jumpy when I thought you were denigrating her." He seemed appeased by her words. Or perhaps it was her warm smile and gentle apologetic touch that accompanied her humble concession. "Thank you too," she continued. "For saying I?m pretty. Even though I probably look like I?ve scrambled through a brambly hedge after operating all day." "What?" Josh looked completely baffled. "It?s just something my mother used to say," Rose explained. It lead her to wonder though. Does he really think I?m pretty? Or is that just a play. I mean there aren?t a lot of single white females where we are, so if that?s what he?s into maybe I?m the best of a limited lot. Rose had never really thought too much about her sexual desirability in the body that was now hers. She looked just like Kara Steele. And she hated that. But at that moment she tried to channel her inner David, or even if that was no longer possible at least remember what he thought once. Ten years ago, as University students and then surgical trainees, Kara Steele was a beautiful aloof Goddess that was quite happy to break hearts and crush souls. Men adored her, but she cared naught for them. David had never been sucked in by her beauty. He identified the pathology that lay beneath it. Maybe not to the extent that became evident, but enough for him to realise that Kara Steele cared about no-one but herself. How cruel it was then perhaps, that someone who was one of the few who was able to read her, was forced to become her. The point though, Rose redirected herself, is that Josh may well find her attractive. And if that is the case, as is seeming to be increasingly apparent, what am I going to do about it? "You look fine." He spoke as if on cue. "And I was thinking as we don?t have to operate tomorrow, tonight might be a good night to share the bottle of vodka I brought from home." As a young surgeon David had learnt the rules early. Don?t screw the crew. Don?t shit where you eat. All the other metaphors you care to name. But essentially they all meant the same thing. Don?t complicate your life by dating, and perhaps inevitably breaking up with someone you work with. But this was different. Living in a microcosm. And Rose knew, by her reaction to that photo, that the only sensible thing she could do, to move on from Rachel, is establish some feelings for someone else. That?s not to say Josh was that someone else. But he was here. And this was now. And two vodkas in it?s probably going to happen anyway. So the window for a rational decision was soon closing. Rose remembered all too well how much she had grown to enjoy sex as Kara. Yes she was a mindless automaton convinced she was someone she wasn?t, and had been raped repeatedly till she no longer recognised that was happening to her. But this was her now, having agency. Making a choice. So she chose Josh. And vodka. And maybe foolishly optimistically, decent sex. "Sounds good," she replied. "But I still need to freshen up a bit first. I do want to look somewhere vaguely as pretty as you think I am." Leaving herself wondering if that statement was too much? "Okay then. Well come to my hut whenever you?re ready." That?s it? She found herself thinking. A booty call. No buying me dinner first? (Not that there was anywhere nearby where he could, but that wasn?t the point.) Where is the wooing? And why do I want to be wooed? Oh God Rose, you?re behaving like it?s your first time! But in a way she figured it was. She wasn?t David anymore. Nor was she Kara. This was the first time having sex as Rose. And with this in mind maybe it was unsurprising she wanted hearts and flowers. But it was time to be a realist. Or even a pragmatist. In a beautiful yet impoverished part of the world, vodka and sunsets are about as romantic as it gets. After her shower she scrambled into her best underwear. She couldn?t really call it lingerie. She hadn?t factored anything like this in when she packed for overseas. Still it was pretty albeit practical, and a matching set. She threw on a dress and rummaged through her makeup bag to put together a decent ?night out? look. "Here goes!" she announced to the Kara Steele lookalike in the mirror when she was done, and it was only then that a morality crisis arose. It hadn?t occurred to her up to that point. She was truly surprised it hadn?t, but perhaps a little pleased. It was over eight months since she?d been shot. And six months since she moved to Africa. She felt used to be being a woman. She thought of herself as a woman. But of course she was a transgender woman. And Josh doesn?t know that. Nor could he know. For if he did then everyone would. She did not want this to be a part of how she was defined by the people here. She wanted to blend in. To be normal, or their definition of it anyway. But she found herself torn. Is this an acceptable level of deceit? Josh will never be able to tell, so maybe it?s okay to withhold this possibly salient point about her. What he doesn?t know can?t hurt him and all that. Besides, it?s not like it?s anything serious. It?s just sex after all; and he?ll be getting everything he?s bargained for. She agonised and vacillated as she gazed at her own reflection; the perfectly normal looking female before her; before concluding on a resolution. Some things, she decided, are best left unsaid, for everyone?s sake. And then, being able to make some sort of compromise with her conscience, she took a deep breath, and headed out the door. *** She was so unseasoned. Alcohol had not been a part of Kara?s torture regimen, and Rose had really had little cause or opportunity to drink once she had recovered from her chest wound and moved overseas. In fact, she was fairly certain the last time she?d had an alcoholic drink she was still David. And that was nearly two years ago now. So the predicted two vodkas was really all it took. She was heady and dizzy and woozy all at once. One more and she was in danger of passing out, she felt, and things wouldn?t be consummated. So she reined it in. But she was already completely disinhibited. And whilst it was an inevitability from the moment she entered the tent, her coyness gave way to general lust, so that at the first sniff of an appropriate opportunity she pounced on Josh like a jungle cat. Between the kissing and the general groping there was a frenetic disrobing. Rose was committed to the task with enthusiastic efficiency. She had the good sense to know that the absolute one thing she shouldn?t be doing right then is think. To regain this integral part of her humanity she had to be, ironically, almost animalistic. Sexuality, intimacy, were fundamentals to re-establishing a sense of self. But the sight of Josh?s now naked body made her momentarily shudder. For it reminded her of Vincent. Vincent was, till then, the only man she?d slept with, and it was the only frame of reference she had. She felt that perhaps it was all a trick of her mind in this charged moment. Men came in all shapes and sizes. But of course she would compare, and in the achievement of her goal right now they were perhaps all generic. Once Vincent was in her mind though, it was hard to get him out. And thinking suddenly became unavoidable.? Sex with Vincent, as Kara, was so carnal. Violent almost. Well certainly in the beginning when it was completely involuntary, but even when she was consumed by her Kara personality it still felt like an outlet of rage and hate. Rose didn?t want sex to continue to be equated with that in her mind, but as Josh flung her down on the bed like a rag doll she knew that tender love making was the furthest thing from his mind. Arousal came easily to her, she had been trained to like it rough, and the male body that she was exploring with her hands and mouth felt so familiar. To try and shift the recurring vision of Vincent from her mind she searched her memory desperately for the only other man she had seen naked repeatedly. She did not appreciate till too late that bringing him into the bedroom as well at this crucial moment was pure folly. Was David?s body not dissimilar to the one on top of me right now? She asked herself in convoluted fashion. And it was still good, wasn?t it, with... with whomever, without being so physically vigorous and, well, painful. As if to emphasize the point of difference Josh had pulled her shoulders up off her bed, where she lay on her back, as he continued to thrust his tongue deep in her mouth, then he had forcibly pushed her back down with an audible thud. "Oww!" Rose cried, momentarily prying her lips from his. She was briefly winded. "Just making sure you were still here," Josh stated unapologetically. "Your eyes were glazing over." "Sorry." Instead she was the one apologizing. "I guess it?s the vodka. I?m feeling pretty spacey." "Well we better get on with it then. I don?t want you unconscious for this!" "I?ll be fine," she lied. She didn?t really feel fine any more. "But maybe we can dial it back a little?" "Nonsense babe. You?re ready for it. You?re nice and wet down there. So here goes!" He thrust his penis inside her forcefully. Rose winced a little at first. As a transgender woman who hadn?t had sex for some time she?d had to rely on her dilator and her vibrator to keep things from tightening up too much, but a pulsating penis being rammed inside her was a very different experience to that. The pain eased though, to be replaced by a gnawing regret. "There. How?s that babe? I know you love it." Oh great. Rose thought. A talker. She felt she could do without the running commentary. Like she had hypothesized, it kind of was her third first time. With this in mind she just had to lower her expectations. Let him get his jollies. Then get off me. It?s not his fault I?ve over analysed things and put myself off completely. If I just refocus maybe I can get back into it. What would Rachel have done? Oh fuck. Rose crumbled. As if thinking of David wasn?t bad enough. Now I?m thinking of Rachel with some sort of sisterly kinship, trying to imagine how she may handle an inept lover. Josh?s hand tightening around her throat quickly put paid to those thoughts. Rose gasped and used both her hands to force his off. "Josh!! What the fuck are you doing?" "I was losing you again. And asphyxiation is supposed to be auto erotic. I thought you might enjoy it." "No! I?m not enjoying it. I think we should stop." Absolutely all desire had evaporated now. What an arsehole, Rose thought. What on Earth was I thinking? Josh was still inside her but he had stopped thrusting. She tried to wriggle away from him and in the process extract his penis from her vagina. But he resisted and pushed himself further in. "Oh no you don?t! You?re not going anywhere. I?ve waited a long time for this," he said menacingly. Of the flood of emotions that washed over Rose right then, fear was only a small part. Yes, she was pinned under a man. Physically stronger. Whose sole motivation right then was sexual release. But her predominant feeling was anger. For letting herself get into this vulnerable position. Ill thought out desire, and thinking she was ready for something she clearly wasn?t. She needed to take control of the situation. "Joshua! Listen to me. You no longer have my consent. I?m telling you to stop. Should you proceed it will be assault. Do you understand?" She articulated as slowly and clearly as she could, in spite of the seemingly ever growing affect of the alcohol. Josh looked at her for a moment, seemingly stunned, but then his face metamorphosed into a sly grin, accompanied by a soulless laugh. "Well that?s more like it. I was beginning to think you?d actually been consumed by this pathetic Rose persona. But we both know who you really are." "What on Earth are you talking about?" Rose felt the disquiet growing. Was Josh just insane? Or? "It?s so good to be inside you again. Kara!!" Time stopped. In fact it seemed as if the rotation of the Earth had itself stopped. "Vincent?" It squeaked out as realisation hit her. And it would be fair to say the only emotion Rose Summers now felt right at that moment, was terror. *** When Rose returned to consciousness it was pitch black. Of course it was night when she was last aware but this was a different kind of dark. She recalled the last thing Vincent had said. Still on top of her. Still penetrating her. "You?re not the only one Kara gave a new face to darling." He laughed. "But I still can?t believe you were too stupid to know it was me. Although I had counted on that. Anyway, the sedatives in your vodka should really kick in soon. Don?t worry if you pass out. I?ll just finish without you." Rose was rendered too frightened and felt too powerless to resist then, and had indeed drifted out of consciousness lying frozen with fear with Vincent still grinding away on top of her. She was aware, now that she was lucid again, that her arms were pinned by her sides. Her legs also forced together. She was still naked. But the dark was so disorienting. She tried to sit up but her head hit hard against wood only centimetres above her face. It was unexpected and smarted considerably. As she struggled to free her arms she realised she was wrapped, somewhat mummy-like, in a sheet. The one off Josh's bed she wagered. If she shimmied about enough she figured she would free her arms. In the process of unsuccessfully attempting to do so she came up hard against wood again. First to her left, then to her right. Again seemingly inches from her prostrate pinned body. The dawn of realisation washed over her with such sickening dread she almost vomited at the revelation. She knew where she was. She knew how she was going to die. She knew that she would in a matter of minutes. And there was nothing that she, or anybody else could do about it. She had been buried alive. *** 6 months earlier, Rose, brand new arrival, was given a tour of the field hospital by Sampson, a short man with a beaming smile. It was near the end of the tour, which had already been an eye opener for a surgeon used to fancy equipment and optimum conditions, as they rounded a corner outside the building that the reality of where she was truly struck her core. Piled high. Almost to the height of the roof. Scores, probably hundreds of bare wooden boxes. Their shape, their purpose unmistakable. Rose?s mouth hung open in stunned dismay. Sampson saw her reaction and felt the need to explain. "In case the Ebola comes back," he remarked. "We?ll be ready. Last time there were bodies in the streets." A comment like that would normally beggar belief. But as part of her induction Rose had seen medical reports. She had seen photos depicting exactly what Sampson described. Seeing all those coffins chilled her. She could not bring herself to go around that side of the hospital again. And she prayed with all her heart that they would never be needed. But now she realised she was in one. Just like something from a horror movie, except this horror was her real life. It took all her might to not succumb to the rising panic. She could easily let herself do that and for a moment thought perhaps she should. She could scream and shout and bang on the roof. But all that she did would be silenced by the Earth. Then her oxygen would simply run out all the quicker. But she didn't want her life to end that way. She wanted composure. And to have control over her final thoughts. Vincent?s words echoed back into her mind. What he had said when he had his hand around her neck. The autoeroticism of asphyxiation. A preview of his plans for her. To be honest with herself suffocation wasn?t the most horrible way she could imagine. As the oxygen tension lowered she would gasp for air, but with her already weakened heart desaturated blood would rapidly precipitate a fatal arrhythmia and she would be unconscious in moments. Dead soon after. In fact she should be surprised she even woke up from the sedatives at all. But she figured Vincent had engineered that. This was what he?d hoped for. Rose terrified at the very end. She was scared. She couldn?t deny it. But she was not crippled by her fear just as she wasn?t overcome by her panic. It was perhaps a morbid fatal resignation. She was sad. Defeated and full of self pity. But also a little mad. She had never considered that Vincent would come after her for revenge. But then neither had Steve or Rachel. If they had they would have used her as bait, rather than leaving her alone and vulnerable on the other side of the world. Was she naive? She had killed his lover after all. Shot her right through the heart. Why had she not factored that someone as malevolent as him would want vengeance? And what now, after me? When she disappears, as she imagined she?d been buried somewhere remote and unmarked, never to be found; would Steve work it out? Would they be back on Vincent?s scent? Or would he go after them? It was pointless and painful to think about that. Nor did she want to recall her respiratory physiology to estimate how much time she had left. She did want to free her arms though. Not die all wrapped up. So she flailed around to extricate herself from the sheet. It was sudden when she finally broke her left arm free and banged it hard into the side of the coffin with a hollow thud. In response to that, Rose afforded herself the luxury of a large intake of air. For it was then she realised her life was perhaps? not as forfeit as she had conclusively thought. She still had a chance. As a medical student Rose was taught about percussion. Tapping on a chest to work out if a patient?s lung was full of air or fluid. In a world where a chest X-ray was always mere moments away such skills were superfluous and forgotten. But since arriving in Africa Rose had relearnt to rely on her clinical examination skills, and she had proven herself useful at camp by also using the same technique to be pretty accurate at determining the level of water in the tanks. She knew right away there wasn?t dirt on the outside of her coffin. There was air. She wasn?t buried alive. At least not yet. Once her other arm and then legs were free she began pounding on the coffin. They were flimsy things, nailed together. Not really designed for the purpose of keeping someone in. As she kicked away, in spite of her belief, she could not totally discount that she was about to crush herself with dirt once she breached her own casing. Choking on dirt to die seemed worse to her than running out of air. But she had to trust what she felt she knew. She was breathless from exertion by the time the coffin split apart. It was covered, draped in heavy blankets designed to prevent light through cracks. Seeing them, and starting to force her way through them, made Rose realise Vincent had wanted her to think she was indeed buried alive. She rolled out of the coffin onto hard concrete floor. Ice cold on her naked skin. She was still trying to orient to her dimly lit surrounds when she heard the slow clap of sarcastic applause. Vincent was sitting in a chair in the corner of what was a fairly bare room, smiling maliciously at crumpled nude Rose as she crawled herself free of the shattered panelled shards of wood. "Just like a zombie movie." Vincent laughed. "So tell me Rose. You?re looking kinda blue. Are you still alive?" Rose had chest pain and was gasping for air. She was, alive, but for how much longer she couldn?t be sure. Vincent threw her dress and underwear at her. "As lovely as you are naked, it?s distracting. Put your clothes on. We have much to discuss." Rose?s breathing had eased a little such that she was able to pull herself to a stand. She complied with Vincent?s instruction. She felt extremely vulnerable without clothing. It seemed a futile consideration when she thought about her history with this man, but being dressed would make her slightly less powerless. She turned away from him to dress. A feeble effort that seemed to both please and amuse him. "No need to be so coy Kara. With all that we've been through, I know that body pretty well." "I'm not Kara," Rose spat. "Well we'll see about that won't we?" he remarked snidely. "Now come take a seat." He indicated an empty chair opposite him. He sat back, smugly, nursing the bottle of vodka he had used to drug her. Rose, now dressed but still barefoot moved slowly and silently towards Vincent, and sat where he had indicated. "I must say. I was suspecting more screaming. And clawing and scratching. How'd you know you weren't buried?" "It's not important." "Fair enough. Clever girl though." "Don't patronise me!" Rose hissed. "Feisty. Well that's a Kara trait. Not a Rose one." "Perhaps it was a David trait." "Oh honey. He's long gone," Vincent mocked. "Well is that still how you're planning to kill me?" She indicated the pile of wood. "If so you'll need a new coffin." It was false bravado, but at that moment bluffing was one of the few tools she had. "Maybe not so clever after all. If I wanted to kill you that way you'd be in the ground right now. This was just about re-establishing the hierarchy. You need to know I own you Kara. I can do with you as I please. You have strayed a long way off course. It's time to guide you back." "I don't know what you think you can do to me Vincent. That you haven't already." "That, my dear, shows a distinct lack of imagination." "Well. I'd rather die than go through what you did to me last time. I have nothing to lose anymore. You've seen to that. So I'll kill myself before I let you torture me again." Rose was serious. She hoped Vincent realised the same. "I think you'll find that's not an option." He dismissed her comment. "We'll see," she mumbled. "Enough talking now woman. It's time for listening." Vincent was impatient. "Whatever." Rose returned the aggravation. "Now. Where to start." Vincent regrouped. "I suppose you need to understand the original plan. After all, to know where you are going, it helps to remember where you've been." Rose said nothing. She allowed him to continue. "Kara?s vision was always to have you kill Rachel, and then Steve Manders kill you. And let?s just say, it?s really not too hard to find a forensic pathologist who is our kind of ?people?, so once your body was at the coroner?s office there would be no questioning you were the real Kara Steele. So no-one would be looking for Kara any more. But they would still be looking for me. So Kara pre-emptively gave me a new face. I must say, there was a temptation for me to assume the identity of David Summers. I mean the position was vacant after all. I?ve got to admit it was a deliciously enticing option. But I?m not a surgeon like you and Kara, and it defeated the purpose a bit. We wanted a fresh start. Where no one would be hunting us. In a new country. So we could do whatever we want. Where we could hunt and kill unimpeded. But of course, thanks to you it all went wrong. Rachel didn?t die and you went to the hospital instead of the coroner, where your old identity was discovered. You ruined everything. And you killed Kara." "You?re welcome." Rose used bitter sarcasm to good effect. She wanted to provoke him. Vincent tried to ignore her, but he couldn?t completely. "For 12 months we transformed and trained you. Deleted David and made you Kara in every conceivable way. I was so sure you would complete your mission. Perhaps I was too arrogant. But I know exactly where I went wrong. And it won?t happen again. This time, when you become Kara again, there?ll be no relapses. No going back." "I?ve already beaten your brainwashing once. What makes you so sure I can?t again." She steeled herself with defiance. "Seriously? Look at you. You?re pathetic. A meek little nobody hiding away in the darkest parts of the world. David Summers was a confident self assured human being. But even more than that. He had a woman he loved and who loved him in return. I know he used that love. The power of it. To resist all that we did to him. And ultimately it allowed you to escape our control. But you don?t have that now. You don?t have anything like that to shield you this time. Rachel despises you. She wants to kill you. And who could blame her. You?re an insult to the memory of David Summers. And as for your pathetic little crush on Steve Manders. Your only friend in the world. And that?s solely out of pity. Imagine if he knew that every time you got off it was fantasizing about him. Imagine if Rachel knew!!" "I don?t...." Rose began to adamantly defend. "Deny it all you want. We know it?s true. But he?s the boyfriend of your ex. Can you not see the sickening irony of that? It?s delightfully perverse. So really, I?ll be doing you a huge favour, when I make you Kara again. I think we both know deep down that?s what you want. To not be scared. To be powerful and beautiful and to reign. I can and will give you all that." "I won?t let you turn me into a monster Vincent. I?ll fight you every inch of the way." Rose stated, but it was now unconvincing. "I don?t believe you have any fight left in you. And you know every word I say is true. Do you enjoy being Rose Summers? An insipid woman with a broken heart." Rose felt a deep emotional pain. Vincent had used virtually the same words, comparing her to David, as she herself had done. This was perhaps solidification of her beliefs. David Summers was a better person than she was. She was a mere shadow of him. A ghost even. And Rachel had predicted this precisely. Steve had told Rose that Rachel wanted to lock her away forever or preferably kill her to prevent her ever turning back into Kara Steele. And now it was going to happen. She was going to become Kara Steele again, and there was no way to prevent it, save her death. Rose responded to Vincent therefore, only with a demoralised, defeated silence. "I didn?t think so. But I?ll give you some much needed motivation just to be sure. You?ve figured we?re away from the hospital, I guess. But not so far. I can go back there in a jiffy. If you are at all uncooperative, offer me the slightest bit of resistance, I?ll have myself a little bit of a day trip. I?ll go back there and slaughter every single member of your MSF team. And that?s the thing with do gooders; they are such nice people. They die so obligingly. And it?ll all be put down to some angry warlord no doubt." "You wouldn?t!" Rose was panicked. "Let?s assume that?s rhetorical. You know full well I can. And will happily. Just give me a reason. So their lives are well and truly in your hands." "How do I know you won?t just kill them anyway? Or when I?m Kara again, have me do it." Oh God! It was all she could think. "Well you don?t. But if you don?t cooperate, they will die. And if you do, you have my word they won?t be harmed, either now or later. So you?ll just have to take it." Rose knew his intent was serious. She couldn?t risk their lives. And she had to make it clear to Vincent she would comply. "Okay. I?ll do whatever you want. But will it hurt less, this time? If I don?t resist it?" "Well that?s the spirit. We do have to erase Rose. But that won?t take long. You?d agree she?s really not much. And then we have to see what you have retained. Reawaken you. But it will hurt. Greatness is not achieved without pain. And frankly I do like hurting you. You did kill the real Kara after all. And you need to be punished for that. But here?s hoping when I?m done not even I?ll be able to tell the difference. I?ll make you whole again, Kara." "Well if you really don?t want to kill me, I wouldn?t want to hurt me too much. My heart is pretty weak from 12 months of torture last time. It?s why I go blue. Alcohol helps. I take it there?s no sedative in that," Rose asked indicating the half full vodka bottle Vincent was occasionally swigging. "No. It was in your glass." "Then can I have a bit?" She could do with a bit of numbing, she figured, for what was about to happen. "Like last time, you need a degree of lucidity for my processes to work, but as we are celebrating your rebirth as Kara a little bit shouldn?t hurt. But don?t think about skolling the lot. I?ll just pump your stomach." "I would have thought you?d recall from your hut. I only needed a little bit. And that was even before the sedatives took effect." "That?s true. And you?ve given me a great idea for a good way to start. We?ll fuck again. But this time you?ll cooperate. And participate. Nothing will bring out the Kara in you quite like a good fucking. Except maybe killing. But we?ll get to that later. In fact your first victim is already outside. Tied up in the truck." Rose?s eyes widened. "Who?" "The little hospital janitor man. He caught me loading your coffin into the MSF truck." "Sampson?" Rose asked fearfully. "Yes. That?s him. But first drinking. Then fucking. The killing will be dessert." He leaned forward from his chair and handed Rose the vodka. She took a swig. She could picture Sampson?s trusting friendly face. His perfect white toothed smile. What would his expression be, she reluctantly pondered, when he dies. Were I to kill him? When I?m Kara again. She hoped it was something she did not get to find out. "So you?re saying. Everything you taught me is still inside me?" She reluctantly asked, to ensure she understood. "Without doubt!" he confirmed, almost proudly. "So you just have to unlock it? By brainwashing me. And torturing me?" "Exactly. See you?re catching on. That?s my Kara." "So I?m still a trained killer?" "Exactly! And later on, depending on how things are going, young Sampson is going to find out exactly what a ruthless killing machine you are." "So if I am a ruthless killing machine," Rose clarified, initially slowly, before continuing rapidly. "Then maybe you shouldn?t have handed me a weapon." Rose felt a sting as sharp shards of glass penetrated her hand when she smashed the vodka bottle against the wall beside her, but it was a mere trifle. All that remained of the bottle was the neck of it. Tight in her grasp. She knew instinctively that the jagged edges of its remnants would be enough to do what was required. Just as she had surprised Joshua earlier, by leaping at him, with very different intent, so she did again with Vincent. The stunned expression was the same though. As Rose traversed the small distance between them he reached beside himself hastily for a weapon concealed on the chair. Gun? Knife? Rose didn?t know. Nor did she care. She was prepared to die. She had thought it inevitable moments earlier when she?d woken in a coffin. But she could not die without killing Vincent in the process. The lives of Simpson, and her whole MSF team depended on it. It is easier, she told herself in the moment, that I am a surgeon. For she was used to cutting skin. But this was unlike anything she had ever done before, as she rammed the ragged glass cylinder into the anterior triangle of Vincent?s neck. It was all there. Carotids, jugulars, the lower cranial nerves, not to mention the trachea beneath. She plunged the glass into all of them. A shot rang out. She didn?t know if she was hit. She couldn?t feel anything. Blood spurt forth all over her. Just as it had done when she had murdered the nameless man. He haunted her still; but she could not be distracted by his sudden looming presence as she plunged the glass into Vincent?s neck again and again until it was a macerated mess. At some point Vincent must have dropped the gun, because he raised both arms to fend Rose off. But he was already considerably weakened by the initial blows and Rose?s fervour meant she was not easily deterred. His grip quickly slipped, and his arms fell limp by his sides. All bleeding stops eventually. A quote from a book David had read as a medical student. And it was true. Blood no longer poured from Vincent?s body. He was dead. But Rose was bleeding. Her own blood intermingling with Vincent?s, which was all over her, she was dripping with it. It covered her face, it was in her eyes even, which stung. She knew she had been shot again, once her own frenzied attack had concluded. She was becoming an old hand at it. She took stock. Was it fatal? With her heart and lungs the way they were it wouldn?t take much. The bullet had pierced her side, through her hip, and blood was only oozing out, rather than flowing. It was potentially survivable. But she had no idea where she was, and felt too exhausted to do much. She staggered outside to the parked MSF van. Opening the back she found Sampson inside, as Vincent had stated, alive but gagged and tightly restrained. Rose struggled to remain conscious as she freed him from his binds. He ungagged himself, but before he could speak, Rose whispered breathlessly, "Sampson! I need help." Then she collapsed. *** She drifted in and out of consciousness on the way back to camp, in the back of the MSF van. Once there Sampson blasted his horn to rouse people. A crowd assembled, alarmed by the sheer magnitude of blood all over her, unbeknownst to them only a small portion of which was actually hers. But Rose was quickly taken to the operating theatre. She regained enough lucidity to direct her attention to Jacques, the other surgeon. "No general Jacques. I have a weak heart, I won?t survive it." "You cannot be serious Rose," he said with his lilt. "You have a bullet in you." "Just sedation. And local. Then pull it out." She had just survived being knocked unconscious, but a full G.A. with propofol and sevofluorane was a different matter all together. "But I need a field. I need to see. The hole needs to be bigger." "Please Jacques. Just do your best." As they injected her with a sizeable dose of fentanyl and a moderate amount of midazolam Rose thought of something, in her last conscious moments, that Steve had said to her six months earlier. He told her she was a survivor. He was right. Vincent was so sure Rose hated what she had become. And for a while he may have been correct. But not now. Not at all. These people were her family. She had saved them. And now they were saving her. She would not let herself die today. Not only had she killed Kara, and Vincent, but she was determined to beat them too. She was going to live. She was going to win. Sampson hovered close to her. He had assumed some responsibility for her, she figured, after she had unbound him, and he had driven her back to safety. "I?ll be okay," she said to herself as much as him. Then drifted off to sleep. *** "The bullet?s out." Jacques announced. Pleased with himself. "Nothing major that was damaged." He said in a convoluted way. Rose was still dazed, and ginger, but Jacques? words were a great relief. She had, as expected, a bandage around her middle, but then she noticed another covering her right hand. Rose was overcome with sudden angst. She had completely forgotten about her hand, cut by the broken glass of the vodka bottle. What if she?d damaged a nerve or tendons? What if she couldn?t operate? What worth was she then, as a human being? But she quashed those thoughts as quickly as they surfaced. She was more than that. She knew it now. It, being a surgeon, was one of her identities, but far and away from her only one. "My hand?" She looked at Jacques uncertainly. "Is fine. Some nasty cuts. But, de rien." It was a relief nonetheless. Her furrowed brow eased somewhat. Jacques smiled at her, and although she was in pain, she smiled back. Just then, before there could be even a moment of restitution, Sampson came bursting in. "I?m sorry Doctor Rose, I tried to stop them." He was followed by two local police officers. "What is this?" Jacques exclaimed. "She needs to come with us," one of them announced. "But she?s injured. She needs to be in hospital." Jacques agitation quickly surfaced. "She?s been charged with murder. We have to take her to the station." It seemed to be not up for debate. It was only then Rose fully appreciated her predicament. She had, as far as everyone was concerned, slaughtered fellow MSF volunteer Joshua. There was no way she could prove he was Vincent. And that would have no bearing here anyway. It?s not like they could do DNA testing on the body here, so remote as they were, or even access some sort of global fingerprint data base. And Rose had no idea if either of those things were on file anyway. Hadn?t his relative anonymity been one of the reasons he had been so hard to catch. She may never be able to prove this wasn?t some random stranger she had killed. An innocent health worker. And even if she contacted Steve, and assured him this was Vincent, would he believe her? He?d have very good reason to doubt her mental stability. And what if Rachel was whispering in his ear about the possibility Kara had resurfaced in her. Rose?s bleak future once again began to crystallise before her. She was about to spend a very long time in an African prison. And there was one thing they were very likely to find out about her. One way or another. And that was the fact she hadn?t always been Rose Summers. She truly wasn?t sure how progressive they were here about transgender people, as she had been purposely passing herself off as a cisgender woman. There was a distinct possibility she could end up in a men?s prison. And she would die there. Not before being defiled no doubt, in numerous, unthinkable, uncountable ways. All she could think then was, and here I was so desperate to live. For what? For this? She pulled herself out of bed silently, save for a wince. "It?s Okay, Jacques, I?ll go with them," she conceded. Then, with the curtains drawn she slid on some scrubs Sampson had secured for her, and went cooperatively with the police. Rose knew that Sampson had slid something into the pocket of the scrub pant, before handing them to her. It was a quaint and considerate gesture. Even if it was possibly a little misguided. He was a very kind man. As she was placed in the police wagon she saw that Sampson was still close by, tagging along uncertainly. She didn?t have much hope, but it was worth a try anyway. Steve was the only one who could possibly save her. And she had to believe he would care enough to try. "Sampson!" she called him over. "Please do something for me." He indicated his eagerness to help. "Please contact Detective Steve Manders. He?s with the homicide squad back home where I?m from. And tell him this. ?Vincent is dead. I killed him. But I?ve been arrested and am going to jail.? Ask him to please help me Sampson. He?s my only hope." "I will Dr Rose. Of course I will." His smile was more pained now, etched with concern. The policeman closed the car door, and she was driven away. *** Rose was sick of being frightened. It did not prevent her from being in that state, but it certainly annoyed her. She was seated on the concrete bench of the holding cell. She realised it was just an insane belief that if she put as much distance between herself and the other prisoners, she would be safer, but she did so anyway. As the only white woman in the cell she felt this exposed her to more victimisation. The locals imprisoned with her cast furtive glances at her from time to time, but had thus far let her be. She knew she was the weakest person in the prison. With a sickly heart and an abdominal wound, not to mention a relatively incapacitated hand, she was completely vulnerable should anyone choose to take issue with her. Yet she figured she was potentially the most dangerous woman in the room. With an assortment of petty criminals and hookers she was possibly the only murderess. In fact, with three kills now to her name, she was, by definition a serial killer. It made her think that Kara and Vincent had succeeded in at least one of their goals. They had indeed made a serial killer of Rose. Maybe not in the way they expected, both of them dead by her hand. After a few hours the largest and most menacing of the women sidled over to her. Towering above Rose?s seated frail form. What do they call them in the movies? Top dog? Rose expected she was about to be made an example of, for the sake of all. "You the Doctor from the camp?" she grunted gruffly. "Yes. I?m Rose." It was probably stupid, but Rose thought if she could personalise herself, give herself a name to her assailant, it may soften the treatment a bit. "You killed a man?" "Yes." What else to say to that. "Why?" Well that would be quite an answer wouldn?t it? Because he was a serial killer who?d already taken everything away from me, and was about to do that all again. As well as kill everyone I knew and cared about. "Because he raped me." It seemed simpler. "Fair enough," she concluded. And wandered back to the women on the other side of the cell. And that, it seemed to be, as they say, was that. *** After 48 hours Rose had well and truly integrated. Women had come and gone, some charged and released, others bailed out. Rose had still heard nothing of her fate, in spite of inquiring frequently. Meanwhile she had become something of a novelty. These women had little access to medical care, and little health knowledge, so they had questions and ailments to be discussed and appraised. She felt safe now, and these women closed ranks around her. If she ended up in a female prison, she began to envisage she would survive it. Would that be too much to hope for? On the third day, whilst in the midst of a little clinic she had organised, a police guard called to her from outside the holding cell. "Dr Summers. A detective from overseas is here to see you." Rose?s heart leapt. Steve was here. He had come. Maybe he could save her. She stood eagerly and the crowd of women around her parted dutifully. She looked towards the cell door, and beyond the policeman standing there, to the detective standing behind him, and her heart was crushed. Steve had not come. Staring at her, with a look that may have been pity, but more likely disdain, was a different detective. Standing before Rose now, was Rachel Spencer. *** "Is there somewhere I can go?" Rachel Spencer asked of the police officer. "To interview her in private." "By interview," Rose asked snidely. "Do you mean interrogate?" Rachel ignored Rose and the policeman indicated he had such a place, leading them to a little room with a table and two chairs. Rose sat in one without being asked and the policeman exited, shutting the door behind him. Rachel remained standing though, simply un- holstering her gun and placing it on the table before Rose. "Well I suppose it?s refreshing that it?s not pressed against my forehead," Rose said of the gun before her. Rachel said nothing, but looked at the gun, then looked at Rose. Rose sat dumbfounded for a moment, before she realised what Rachel had planned. "You want me to go for it!" Rose stated rather than asked. She was incredulous. Again, Rachel did not reply. "You can?t just assassinate me, or you?ll end up in my spot. In prison. You need it to look like self defence." Rose came to the realisation she may not be leaving this room alive. "No," Rachel spoke finally, as if to refute Rose?s theory. "I need to know who you are. I need to prove it. So go for the gun Kara. I know you want to." "Is that what you think? That Vincent brainwashed me back into believing I was Kara? So convincingly mind that I then decided I didn?t need him any more and slashed his throat. Or do you think I?ve been Kara the whole time? And spent the last 6 months masquerading as Rose. Pretending to be an M.S.F. surgeon, to then randomly blow my cover by killing some dude called Joshua?" "No. We know he?s Vincent. The lab in Jo?burg confirmed it today." Rose had believed that such confirmation would be her salvation, but it certainly didn?t appear to be the case now. "Then you know it?s over. Kara is dead. Vincent is dead. I killed them both. And you don?t even have to kill me. You can get what you?ve wanted now. You can just walk away. Leave me here in prison to rot." Rose had to hope that Rachel would not reveal the one thing that would damn her. But begging her not to would just be the impetus to make her. Rose had to hope that it hadn?t occurred to Rachel to reveal to the local law enforcement that Rose was transgendered. Rachel?s refusal to acknowledge to herself that Rose was once David may be the very thing that would end up protecting her. Rachel just stared her down, silently. "I?m not Kara Steele." Rose hissed defiantly, and folded her arms across her chest. Rachel walked slowly over to the table, picked up her gun, and secured it away. Still slowly, but purposefully, she took the other seat. Perhaps it was just a test, Rose wondered. And maybe she?s satisfied I passed it. "I know you?ve been in contact with Steve; emailing him secretly," Rachel said bluntly. Rose gulped. "Rachel, I never meant to be deceitful. You just made it pretty clear how you felt about me. And I really needed his friendship. I never wanted to come between you." "Well you have." Rachel remained unmoved. "What?" Rose was apprehensive. "We?ve broken up." "Rachel, no! He loves you. I know he does. I can?t be responsible for that. I promise I?ll never contact him again. I doubt I?ll be able to from prison anyway. Please forgive him. Please take him back. It was me. I was lonely. I was being selfish. I was so hopeless he couldn?t turn his back on me. He was just being a kind person. You can?t punish him for that." Rose found the consequences of her actions so much harder to swallow than she thought she would. She had to hope her pleading would make Rachel reconsider. "It?s too late now," Rachel said with finality. "I?m so sorry Rachel." Rose was defeated. She knew Rachel well enough to know when she was decided. "I never meant to hurt you." "You?re free to go," Rachel said coolly, in response to Rose?s apology. "What?" "It?s all been explained to the relative authorities, and to your MSF leader. Although after your experience you may want to just go home." "What did you say to them exactly?" Rose was surprised and completely relieved, but she still wanted clarification. "That Joshua was really Vincent, a serial killer we?d been hunting for ages. Who had a particular vendetta against you. And who?d come here to kill you. But in the process of defending yourself it was him that was killed. So you have no case to answer. And the full support of your organisation." "That?s it?" "It?s enough. It?s all they need to know." "Thank you." "What for?" "You could have told them more. Made things difficult for me here. But you chose not to. So thanks." "You?re welcome. I guess." Silence descended between them and it was more than just awkward. "What will you do now?" Rose asked earnestly, to break the tension. "Get the first flight I can home." "That?s not what I meant." "Well what do you mean?" "It?s nearly 3 years since I met you, and in that whole time Kara was your primary focus. And then when she was gone it became Vincent. Now they?re both gone. For the first time in 3 years you can finally breathe. But I was wondering if you feel a little like you?ve lost purpose." "There?ll always be more killers to catch." Rachel responded bluntly. "I don?t know. I suppose I was hoping for you that you might pause to take stock. Maybe take a holiday or something. Maybe reconsider your position on Steve." "Why are you so obsessed with Steve and me?" "I?m not. It?s just that I feel responsible for you breaking up. And he?s a good guy. And it means a lot to me that you could be happy." "Why should you care about my happiness?" "Is that a serious question Rachel?" Rose asked sadly. Rose reached into the small pocket of her prison uniform for the only possession she?d had these last 72 hours. The thing Sampson had snuck into her surgical scrubs before they dragged her off here. She tightened her grip around it. Thought better of it, and left it where it was. But when Rachel didn?t answer Rose continued. "I want you to be happy because I love you." Rose wasn?t sure if she?d expected a reaction. If she was to be honest she had hoped for one. But when Rachel neither moved nor spoke Rose knew it was time to leave. She was free to go after all. She rose from her chair, walked to the door and opened i