A/N Minor addition to the story, Kelly cut her leg in the pond on some old equipment. Ps don't question the chapter title, just love me.

We go back to home base to reload. First, I wash my face and do my makeup so others can't tell I've been through hell today. Then, I wrap my leg in a fresh bandage, and put lotion on my hands and arms. I grab Advil, orange juice, and a couple of band-aids from first aid. I also take a small bottle of hand-sanitizer. I load it all into my purse. I run out of my room and throw my bag over my shoulder. I freeze, half step. Sam's door. It's still open. I clear my throat, and listen to the birds outside her still-open window. I walk slowly toward her room, look inside and take in the wallpaper, clothes, and mess, then close the door.

In the kitchen, Dawn is on my phone. Has been for the last hour. She's been researching where we can buy the needles and pints for blood donating. Based on her furrowed eyebrows, still no luck. She found a place we can order them online, but even on the fastest shipping option, it would only get here in two days, only hours before the deadline. We still have multiple more challenges to go. Did he even say how many there are? I can't remember. I rub my hand on my cold, rough face.

When I open my eyes again, they land on the television in the family room. The television that  Sam and I would watch movies together, while eating mac 'n cheese and candied carrots. The couch we played Mancola on, and Guess Who? and various other games she asked me to play when she got lonely and tired, and same me asking her when I was lonely and tired. The rug she had her first steps on, had an "accident" on, and even barfed on-- that was there too; cleaned, obviously.

I never realized how many memories this house holds until now, when I could lose it all. This house, the last thing my dad bought before he died. This house, the place my mom never stepped foot in, even though I could feel it in my heart she still wanted to see me and know I was okay. This house, where Sam and I created a home.

"Snap out of it, for chrissakes!"

I shake my head and blink hard, nostalgia disappearing. Dawn is looking at me with furrowed brows and a frown, but her eyes say otherwise. They are filled with hope.

"Did you find something?" I ask with a plain expression. Her growing smile answers for her.

"I sure did, and you can thank me later when Sam is back," she turns her phone to me, with the name of a company and an address. "It wasn't easy to find, I had to try different keywords in the search bar before this place even showed up."

I swipe the phone from her hands, and I hear her mumble something along the lines of "control freak". Its a medical warehouse, for doctors to order supplies such as gloves, needles, and other tools. From the look of the address, it's three hours away.

"Have I ever told you how much I love and appreciate you?" I say as I run and open the front door.

"Only when I do something awesome," she replies and chases after me.

After Siri gives me the directions, we head off.

We must've been on the road for a good hour in silence before Dawn turns to me.

"Hey, remember our first road trip?" She asks with a grin. I smile at the thought.

"Of course I do," I reply, "it was the first time I ever heard of horses as the only tow-truck around."

She giggles at the memory. It was in our way to the Orange Beach down south, and we had gotten stuck in the mud while on the countryside. We had been getting cell phone withdraws, and it was even worse after the thunderstorm started. So, rain and loose dirt made the road slippery. Nothing I couldn't handle, until we hit a pothole we couldn't get out of. We tried pushing the car out of the mud, but we weren't strong enough. We were even so desperate as to try to dig the tire out.

Luckily, a ranger saw us, and hooked his horses up to our car and pulled us out. He offered us dinner and a room which we, being and wet and cold and broke community college kids, gratefully accepted. The next morning, we were woken up early for breakfast. We said goodbye to the ranger, his wife, and his adorable three kids, then hit the road again.

"When Sam comes back, we should all take a vacation down to the beach again," Dawn suggests happily. "We can go back to that great Italian place! Doesn't she have some kind of obsession with pasta or something?"

"Yeah, she does."

Dawn begins her happy ramblings again, going on and on about how beautiful the beach was, how expensive the hotels were, and how fresh the air smelled. Dawn had that about her. She always seemed to be happy, always had some story she told animatedly, and always sought out to make others happy, too. I admired that about her, that no matter what was going on in her life, she seemed to keep a level head; while I had a gnawing anger.

I would love to say that the next two hours fly by, but they don't. Sam doesn't have long. She's already passed out, as it showed on the picture. The cut was along her arm, but not down by her wrist, where nothing I could do would save her. She must've lost a lot of blood. I need to get those syringes as soon as possible.

We pull up to the warehouse at five in the afternoon. Dawn and I hop out of the car. There is a faded sign on a large, wood and brick building:

STEVENSON'S MEDICAL WAREHOUSE

There are large garage doors, all of them open. A few ambulances and cars are around. A group is chatting near one of the entrances, two people with blue uniforms. The whirring of a power fan blocks out the sound of conversation.

"Let's go," Dawn prompts, taking my arm and dragging me to the front. I have no choice but to follow blindly.

We enter through a propped open glass door. I widen my eyes as I glance around at the hundreds of shelves stacked up to the ceiling. I'm stuck with my mouth open, so Dawn continues to pull me along. Aisle after aisle we see large boxes with different labels. The feeling of grocery shopping is similar to this; walking aimlessly trying to search for what you need, but only finally doing so after looking everywhere.

Thankfully, Dawn is less directionally challenged as I am, and reads the aisle numbers and signs posted. My brunette friend picks up a cardboard box that looks overstuffed. She examines the label and I silently watch.

"It says blood donation syringes," she mumbles to me.

Right. Three pints of my blood are going to...

Sam.

Sam is hurt because I failed her. His twisted mind took her and changed his own game, then he slit–

Two hands hold a firm grip on my arms, "Kelly, she's going to be okay. Stop thinking about it," Dawn whispers close to me.

"I need to think– how else will I help her?"

Dawn stares at me. Her chestnut eyes seem blurred. Her hands leave my arms, and that's when I notice how wet with sweat they were. She wraps her hand around my equally damp hand and gives me a gentle squeeze.

"Come on, we gotta hurry." Her voice sounds like it's clinging to hope and her face is serious. It reminds me of the way she looks when she thinks. She often tells me she hates being sad, and always finds something to be happy about. She's an optimistic, even at the beginning of this trip she was cracking jokes. The reality of the situation has settled in.

Next thing I know I'm standing in front of the register.

"I'll need to see your ID and license, please," the woman says, typing into her computer. Dawn sets her driver's license on the table. The woman picks it up, glances at it, and frowns. She looks up at us.

"Sorry, I meant your doctor's license," the clerk clarifies, sliding Dawn's card back on the table.

We stare at her blankly.

"We don't have a doctors license," Dawn replies.

"You need a medical license to buy equipment specialized for medical procedures."

My hand clenches so hard around Dawn's hand I think I might break it. She rubs a thumb over my fingers. She uses her other hand to pick the box up off the counter.

"Oh, okay," she says with disappointment layering her tone. "I'll just put this back then. Thanks, anyways."

The clerk gives us a sad smile, "sorry I couldn't help you. Enjoy your day."

Dawn and I turn to the aisles again, and go down one of them. My eyes are downcast and I refuse to let myself think. I can't think of anything, or I won't be able to keep moving. Suddenly Dawn let's go of my hand, and I look up curiously at her. She takes the box and holds it close to her chest, then zips her jacket up around it. I widen my eyes.

"Let's go," she says again, tugging my hand forward.

"What are you doing–"

"I'm saving Sam, that's what I'm doing."

Our eyes lock. In all my years, and all the terrible things I've done, I've never stolen from a store before.

"We can't get caught." If we do, we'll be dragged to a police station, a government building. That's against the Chelsea killer's rules.

"We won't get caught."

I want to ask her how she can be so sure, but I look deep into her eyes and see the uncertainty in her heart. I swallow my words and nod my head. I'd rather have faith in her than hear her admit her nerves. Dawn takes my hand again, and we walk out of the aisle. Her other hand rests on her stomach, holding up the small box.

We make our way outside of the warehouse without risking a glance at the clerk. Air blasts into our faces from the large fan to our left. The group of people with the blue uniforms are still talking, but I can't quite make out what they're saying. One of the people in blue is talking to the others animatedly, while the other is simply listening to him. Suddenly, the woman who was listening notices us and we lock eyes. Dawn and I are still walking towards the car, and I realize Dawn doesn't notice the woman staring at us. I turn back to the woman in blue and study her eyes, trying to send some nonverbal plea. The woman appears to take in a deep breath, then turns her head to the right, looking down and nonchalantly covering her eyes from us, as if blocking out the sun. I let out a sigh of relief at our silent agreement, though I feel like words were left unspoken by her, both literally and figuratively.

Dawn and I make it to our car and get in, Dawn never taking her hand off her stomach. We drive away, and ride in quiet. Dawn noticeably is speeding, thirteen over the limit– but I let it slide as the road was mostly empty anyways. With the most recent flash drive still plugged in, I pulled up the addresses on my laptop.

Dumpster 607 for Sam. I'm coming Sam. I keep repeating it over and over in my head– Sam, I'm coming. Don't lose hope. Don't be scared.

Two hours of driving later, Dawn and I pull up at my house. It's pretty dark out, and in turn the air has cooled down a bit.

"Hey Kelly?" Dawn says as I unlock the door. I notice she is still holding the box under her jacket.

"Yeah?"

"Let's get you some orange juice and some crackers, okay?"

I look at her oddly. "Why?"

"Because you need to keep your strength up, you're having three pints drawn in one night," she answers.

"Oh right," I whisper and draw in a shaky breath.

I go inside and get my first aid kit out again, reapplying medicine to my leg and wrapping a fresh bandage. I find hand sanitizer and some cotton balls and set them on the kitchen table. I sit down in a chair and lean my arms on the table. Dawn places a napkin with crackers on it and a glass of juice in front of me. She takes my right wrist and stretches my arm across the table, standing hovered above it with a needle.

"You know how to do this?" I ask, worried.

"I've had my blood drawn several times– it's pretty self explanatory," she replies, taking a cotton ball and swabbing hand sanitizer on the inside of my elbo. She stretches my skin with her gloved fingers, looking for a vein. She clears her throat. "Ready?"

I nod.

"Here goes everything," she whispers, then plunges a needle into my skin, angled and quick. I wince at the feeling, then feel my blood pouring out of my body. I watch the dark liquid flow through the cord into a pint bag. Soon enough, Dawn takes the needle back out and hold pressure to it with another cotton ball.

"That wasn't so bad," I note.

"That's only a pint though, you still have two more to go," she reminds me, getting another needle ready.

The second time, she thrusts the needle into the same arm, but my muscles are still tense from the first time. I cringe more noticeably from the pain, and my blood is drained again. This time, I am very light headed. I don't even notice when Dawn takes the needle out and replaces it with cotton.

"I'm going to do your other arm next, but you should eat something before I start," she explains, putting a band-aid over my arm. She looks at my tired face. "Hey, are you okay?"

I nod again, wordlessly. She pats my back, and I begin eating and drinking. She messes with the bags of blood. I avert my eyes, but I hear plastic moving around, and a new empty pint being taken out of a protective bag. When I finish eating, Dawn moves to my left side to work on my other arm.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," I mutter.

The third time may be my other arm, but the nausea hits me like a wall. I feel tired by the immediate dizzy feeling in my head. This time, it's like my arm is bleeding out; all the life is being sucked and drained into a bag. The pain was familiar, almost like the time I got my school shots. "Blow out hard, like your blowing out your birthday candles!" My mother had said to me. The corners of my vision begin to fade, and I can just barley make out the feeling of the needle leaving my skin and pressure.

"Hey, I'll get you some juice. You're gonna be okay, right?"

Who... Who's talking again?

"Mom...?"

~*~

I shuffle in my chair a little and scrunch up my nose.

"Hey sleeping beauty," a voice murmurs.

I open my eyes and squint. I hear the sound of rumbling on the road, I must be in a car. I look to my side to see a familiar face at the wheel.

"Dawn?" I rasp, "How long was I out?"

"Just about thirty minutes," she replies. "There's some water for you."

I look in the cup holder to find a bottle of water. I uncap it and sip the water, slowly first, then to chug. I cough a bit, then place the water down again.

"So how was your blood donating experience?" Dawn asks.

"Never again," I reply with a shudder. Dawn gives a light-hearted chuckle.

"Do you want me to put it under the dumpster for you?"

"Sure," I say.

"607?"

"607." This is dumpster number for Sam. I hope it's not too late.

Once we arrive at the location, Dawn picks up a large black bag, explains she put the blood in it, and leaves the car. I wait for several moments before she finally comes back into the car. I lean my head to my side to see the envelope in her hand. It is labeled "Loyalty".

After we arrive at our home base, I feel less lightheaded, so I walk through the door, carrying my laptop. I set my laptop up on the table and open the envelope, which contains another flashdrive. I plug it in and open the audio file named "3. Loyalty".

I look to my left, where Dawn is sitting, and she nods. I turn back to my laptop and press play.

"Hello, and congratulations. Only three of the six others made it passed this third challenge. Well done. However, your case was rather unique. The passed competitors had failed somewhat through their 'game' thus far, forcing their loved one to be inflicted violently."

I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion.

"Meaning, I had to resort to photoshop for you to keep with the theme of loyalty versus charity. Don't worry, as promised, your daughter has remained untouched. Regardless, your blood donation will go to the charity project."

The son of a bitch.

A/n so long :D again, writers block tends to come when I'm writing things like this. If you are still interested in this story by now, thank you so much >w< vote and comment~