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Gaspard rubbed a now clean hand over the lump under the flesh of his chest. He wouldn't say it out loud, but this was too much stress on his poor sober heart. EVERMORE, had dried and mocked him from across the room. Fellow FBI members had cut down the officer's body and were now photographing the rest of the scene.

"So the neighbors, Kelly Thomas and Dylan O'Neal left in their SUV forty minutes ago." Agent Wyatt announced after speaking to various members who had been outside on "watch."

Gaspard stood straighter from his leaned posture asking, "No one thought to search the vehicle?"

"There was no reason to check. She wasn't missing," he replied.

Jamie had arrived late to this midnight party, strolling in with her hair thrown up and pieces falling out, adjusting her glasses as she spoke up. "Kelly Thomas was an editor for the local newspaper, while Dylan O'Neal worked as a computer tech."

"Yeah, and I bet they weren't gay either." Gaspard added in undoing the top few buttons on his shirt. "Kate placed them here to watch over her. She had to. Until she was ready."

"But they've been her neighbors for three whole years..." Jamie argued.

Gaspard gave her his limp shoulder shrug, "She'd never suspect them, and now they're taking her straight to Kate." He walked toward the door of the garage feeling the cold air hit his face mumbling a part for only his own ears. "She's finding people help her do it on the damn internet now."

"I'm not buying two men would pretend to be gay, because some nut job told them to." He heard Jamie say to the others once she saw he was taking his leave.

The streets were still blocked and crowded, but there was enough space and peace for Gaspard to get his facts straight. The prison guard worships her. Knife guy is brainwashed to kill himself. Two guys dedicated years of their lives to her ... and what did I give her?

"No. No, don't you even start that." He scolded himself quietly.

There's some kind of obsession. It's like that nasty word that has civilians shudder — a cult. It's a cult. EVERMORE, too. His fingers ripped at the plastic buttons, opening his shirt to the night air. In the mess of worded scars there was one that was written, EVERMORE. It was located just above his navel and right underneath Kate's slanted carved name. EVERMORE meant, always.

Death surrounded Kate. Was EVERMORE connected to the dead man that had been hung? Always death? Death EVERMORE?

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

His heartbeat grew faster. He dug the butt of his palm into his eye as his head began to build pressure. A metal chair set sat untouched and innocent — not for long. Gaspard grabbed one by the back and slammed its legs into the side of the brick building, over and over and over.

Pain. It grew in his chest melting into his ribcage. He dropped the chair and bent over breathing heard. That pain. It brought him back in flashes to that night.

-2003-

It had been cold that September night on campus. Gaspard was too drunk on anticipation to recall the exact time he had walked Emily back to her housing. She had invited him in, it was all innocent, she hadn't even caught his name — but he knew hers. Kate had told him of her.

Emily had held a finger her lips as he came in. The roommate must have been asleep, the large house was dark and vast. He had nodded, not letting go of her other hand she pulled him toward the staircase.

Ten minutes later he was sitting on the edge of her bed waiting for her in the dark hearing only water as she washed up down the hall. Posters looked to be plastered on every available space. Shrugging off his jacket he stood hearing the water turn off. No one had to know about this little recreational activity, he kept telling himself. Kate had enough problems with her now deceased husband.

A soft thud woke him from his thoughts.

"Emily?" He whispered venturing toward the door. No answer. "Emily?"

Gaspard peered out into the hall to see her female figure sprawled like a starfish on the wooden floor. A black mass of liquid swelled on her torso that barely rose. As he came closer he could make out the handle of a knife that she clasped in both hands. He hovered over her figure reaching, out of habit, for the handgun that was not on his belt.

"Don't move it, Em." He said watching her young face twist in agony trying to make out what her trembling lips were trying to fumble out.

"Be-behind y-you."

Something shattered as it made contact with the side of his skull as he attempted to turn in defense. His face kissed the floor and shards pinched within his pale young skin. A grunt sounded from beside him as the thin figure that assaulted him leaned down and pulled the knife from Emily's torso before coming back to him.

Gaspard rolled onto his back, arms raising in attempt to grab at the ascending blade, but it struck. Straight to the heart. It was quick. It was almost painless. Until the hand wrenched the knife in a circular motion. An animalistic scream broke from his lips as the knife left him drowning.

Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

His head was titled toward Emily. Her shirt was drenched. It clung to her ribs that could hardly be made out but he knew they were there, struggling to fight. Lips parted, there was dark liquid spilling from them. He tried to lift his left arm out towards her. Maybe it was for comfort, maybe it was in fear.

Then the figure appeared again. It seemed to melt from the shadows, taking form into something of a human. From the window red glistened on the blade as the figure stooped down to the innocent girls head. One swipe. That was all it took to split open her delicate, tender, throat.

And there was nothing he could do but stare into those lifeless eyes as the figure vanished.

Gaspard exhaled slowly. His heart pounded, hands trembled. He still had confusion about that night, about that figure, about how it was there one second and gone the next. Had he blacked out ... had it been real ... had it been him?

"Focus, Gaspard." He mumbled forcing himself toward the front steps of the neighbors resident. He jogged up the steps and entered their perfect set playhouse, greeted by a cameras flash. Men and women were observing every piece of furniture and space.

Standing in the center of the living room his eyes glanced around. Kate had to have placed something for him, a message of some sort that was better than EVERMORE. Stares found his unbuttoned shirt as a female photographer stood camera in hand, pointed directly at him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and turned away shyly doing up what buttons that remained intact.

The woman carried on with her pictures moving across to the other side of the dainty living room, her flash reflecting off the glass of a picture frame Gaspard stood beside. He hadn't noticed this one earlier, it was smaller, and tucked behind some sort of ugly plant.

Stepping closer he peered closer at the photo. It was of the pair, their arms around each other standing in front a worn painted sign. He reached forward lifting part of the plants leaves away bringing his vision to settle into a clear image, he knew that place. That was the place Kate and him had spent their many heated nights together ... the motel.

The Lighthouse Bed & Breakfast. He reached into his coat fetching his phone tapping the screen to life and activated the map search. It was close by, maybe a town over, that much he knew. His phone reacted quickly to his typing fingers bringing up an exact location. Kate was waiting.

Nervous excitement withered within his stomach as he walked slowly down the steps and through the uniforms. Gaspard took a small look around resting a heavy hand on the SUV's driver side door handle, jerking it open in a casual manner. He had to do this alone. Slipping in on the leather seat his hand was greeted with a pair of keys already in the ignition. A small twist brought the vehicle to life.

A half-hour of travel brought him into the past. He was young, she was young, but now he was eroded and she was death. The lights on high shone that a gate was drawn across the drive and chained at its center. Gaspard threw the SUV in park and pushed open the door climbing out. Debris littered the ground. From the looks, the entire place had gone to hell. The bed and breakfast was crumbling with each passing second, yet when his hand shone a flashlight's beam to the sign hanging outside it was a pure match to that of the couples in the picture.

Visible wood splintered into the air, and the paint had long since been in its prime. Why would she want to do this here? The thought kept bubbling in his minds depths. Looking around his eyes followed the lights beam until it found an opening cut away into the fence. The chain had been pealed back, most likely from nearby teens, or a pair of men and a hostage.

He stooped low to duck underneath, entering the abandoned property. The motel was three three stories if one were to count the once finished basement. As Gaspard walked closer picking his way over trash all was dark. No lights were on in an windows, not even those tiny ones he could see that led to the basement.

"I came alone, Kate?" He called out nudging the unlatched front door open with his forearm, "Isn't that what you wanted?"

His calls went unanswered. Would she really just come out and greet him with a hug? That, Gaspard doubted.

The air was thick and damp as he continued. There was no noise other than an occasional screech of old wood flooring — until he heard it — screaming.

It was a women's plead that echoed from every dark corner. Gaspard spun around to shine the light in the direction he thought the sound carried from. There were too many options. The voice wailed for help, told someone to stop, and begged savagely.

"Natalie!" He shouted as the screaming started again.

Panic boiled and he reached to his belt : no gun. If it were possible for his heart to drum any harder the muscle was sure to explode. Weaponless he bolted toward the staircase. If his ears deceived him it could mean death.

His shoulder clung to the wall at the first landing unable to breathe, but that scream. Gaspard urged himself forward throwing his body at another flight of stairs.

Then it stopped.

Breathing heavily from the mouth he stumbled onto the second floor looking down the lengths of the halls. He should know this, they shared a room on this floor. Palms slid down the wall for support he made his way to the right.

The room was dark except for the lone beam coming from his hand. His heaving lungs were the only sound offered. He willed himself to focus, eyes darting with the light as he stepped in. The room use to be worth the low wages he paid daily but now, it was something only a homeless man could see as a palace.

Bare walls and boarded windows offered nothing. In the corner sat a rotting bed set, stained from years of weather damage - yet a laptop sat at it's end. Something metal, sounding like a pin, dropped behind him.

Gaspard turned, the light following, to see her face for a mere second before being met with a wooden plank. The pain was sharp and enough to collapse his body to the floor. His hands immediately went for his head to feel warm liquid start to trickle.

Through his half-lid stare, the lights came on and she was there. Her pretty smile greeted him, her head tilted to the side, looking down upon him.

"Hello, love."

He struggled on his stomach trying to lift himself up, until she struck with the plank meeting his unprotected ribs. A loud groan echoed through the hollow room, her footsteps circled around his struggling body.

"I was curious to see how your heart was holding up." She seethed and struck his side again, "I see it has it's limits."

Gaspard fought to breathe, sucking in wheezing gasps. His old healed rib felt brittle once more.

"Where is she?" He choked out straining to follow Kate's figure as she waltzed to the nearest wall.

"You know, the Human eye is connected by seven muscles." Her hands set down the plank, "I removed each one individually. You know how hard that is to do?"

The screams started.

"Natalie?" Gaspard called out distorted by the streaks of blood that now treaded down his face.

Kate's lips were drawn back into a twisted form of a smile, messy hair framed her face. She lifted up a little recorder, with one push the screams stopped, with another they came back on. "You know how I love my little souvenirs."

Then she released a tethered rope.

He came face to face with the eyeless, bloodied face of Natalie Huard. She swung, hanging upside down, limp in all ways. Tears mingling with blood and he sobbed into the floor. What a failure —

"Look at her!" Kate demanded wrenching Gaspard's head up, her fingers curled in his hair, the other wrapped under his chin and her voice dropped to a sweet whisper, "You know, she lasted much longer than I thought she would. She was quite the fighter."

Her soothing hand rubbed along the front of his throat as her mouth breathed down behind his ear, "I wanted to show you how committed I was, Gaspard."

Kate generously helped him to his feet, until he stood tall in front of her. Gaspard felt disgust clog within his throat as she leaned up pressing her lips to his. They moved over his, but his mouth was paralyzed.

Over the years this had been what he had wanted more than anything — to be with her, to touch more than the glass that separated their palms — but this, this now felt entirely wrong. Her desperate hands grabbed at his barely buttoned shirt breaking it loose.

This is wrong. This is wrong. Stop Gaspard, this is wrong.

"No!" He shouted.

His hands found their way up to her slender throat and he squeezed. She gripped onto his forearms, eyes wide.

"I surrender — I surrender —"

A stampede of feet rushed toward the room, Gaspard could have stopped, but squeezed harder. Jennifer's voice was the first to speak, "Stop, Booth, stop!"

Guns were cocked, but they didn't intimidate him.

"I surrender —"

"Come on. Get off. Off her, off her." Hands of Wyatt grabbed at Gaspard's body plucking him from her.

"No. No." Gaspard struggled in the giant's grasp. He watched Kate fall onto her knees hands raised high above her head.

She repeated "I surrender," before smiling wide, eyes never leaving Gaspard.