“No, I won't say it again.” My resolve might have been firm, but my voice wavered as the intention of the man sat opposite me stated to become clear. Another Whisperer, I was sure of it. The same one or someone knew I couldn't know for certain, but it made no difference really.

“And you were so quick to give it up before,” he purred. The file lay abandoned on the tabletop, the front page blank. Not a single word had been etched onto its plain white surface, all just for show.

“I'm not going to say it again, I'm not an idiot!”

“Oh really? Could have fooled me. All this time we've been sitting here and you've only just figured it out.” He let out a loud cackle of laughter and shook his head, making the mop of brown curls that lay atop it dance in an almost comical manner – why do fear and dread make you want to laugh at the most inappropriate of moments?

“Y'know, Lucifer gives you far too much credit,” he finally said as the laughter died away. “He said you were clever, slippery. That I should make this quick, snatch and run before you had time to slither away.”

“Then why didn't you? He might give me too much credit, but you're hardly earning yourself any points here. I will never say those words again, you should have known that, so why go through all of this charade? Why didn't you save yourself the trouble and just drag me straight back there when you had the chance?”

He shrugged and held up his hands, a sly smile curling his lips. “I had to try didn't I. What other chance was I going to get to have myself some fun up here.”

It wasn't the same Whisperer that had possessed Frank, that much was now clear, and I didn't particularly want to hang around long enough to find out who this one was. The bag of keys was suddenly heavy in my hand. There was no more time for talking, no time even for thinking, I had to get out of there, and before this guy was done with his grandstanding and insulting of me; before he decided it was high time to get down to business. Going back to Hell might have eventually been on the cards for me, but I would be going back on my own terms, hopefully with a plan, not as something's prisoner.

In a flash I was on my feet, both hands on the edge of the table – even as I still gripped the bag of keys in the other – and with all my strength I shoved it backwards towards the possessed police officer. It cracked him hard in the solar plexus, trapped the wind in his chest and left him gasping as his chair toppled backwards and hit the floor.

Even as he fell I was already moving around the table, closer to the door, closer to freedom. But I wanted insurance first that he wouldn't instantly be up and on my tail. As he lay there, gasping and blinking away the spots the impact of the floor on his head had raised in front of his eyes; I stood over him and hefted the bunch of keys, no longer contained in their plastic wrapping.

“Ugh, you bitch!” he growled at me as he moved to try and shove the table off of his chest.

I smiled, raised the keys in my fist and wasted no time in slamming them down as hard as I could against the side of his skull, twice, three times for good measure. The keys were slick again in my fingers, smeared with blood as the sharp edges cut through the soft flesh of his jowly face. It would dry and matt badly in his mop of hair, not to mention his eyelashes as it dripped around his skull and flooded his closed eyes.

“Yes, maybe I am a bitch, but I'm not going to be yours,” I whispered in a harsh voice.

I tucked the keys into my pocket, wiping my bloody fingers on the lining as best I could, held tight to my bag, and slipped out of the door, making sure to close it tight behind me. Hopefully it would be a while before he was up and walking again, or before one of his colleagues discovered his unconscious form.

I strode swiftly down the hallway, trying not to look back over my shoulder, retracing the steps I'd taken when they first brought me into the interview room; thankful for the quiet hallways and lack of questions. One man stood behind the front desk and he smiled jovially at me as I approached. Oh yeah, that guy was not at the crime scene that's for sure, if he was there is no way in hell he'd be smiling at me like that.

“All done?” Was all he asked as I approached the exit.

I nodded, not entirely trusting my voice not to crack. I was confident enough that there had been no cameras in that interview room recording our interaction. I wasn't sure if the small village station was set up with such equipment, it might have still all been down to tape recorders. Even if they were well equipped technologically, I was confident that the Whisperer in police officers clothing would have made damn sure our time in there wasn't recorded.

“Excellent,” he went on brightly, much too happy in his desk job for my liking, “we'll call you if we need to speak with you again.”

They wouldn't though, of course I hadn't given them a real phone number. I didn't even really have one, save for that old mobile phone I carried around with me, and that was pretty much all for show, I couldn't even remember the last time I'd actually used it, probably didn't even work any more. But I wasn't about to give them a real number to contact me on either way, I'd doled out one off the top of my head and hoped they wouldn't figure out it was fake until I was long gone.

“Sure, I'd suppose I'd better get off then.” I managed to say, hesitantly as I nodded towards the exit, looking for some sign that the man was going to protest my leaving – yes I felt I now had every right to be paranoid. He didn't make any though, so I hurried out through the automatic doors and into the afternoon sunshine.

I had no idea what time it was. How long had it been since we arrived at that prison? It felt like days ago already, so much had gone to shit since then, and now I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with demons and, when they eventually discovered their unconscious colleague, the police on my tail. Come to think of it, not a whole lot had changed over these last few days.

The urge to run clawed at me as I pictured an army of demons bursting from that building as they descended on me and ripped my fragile human shell to pieces. I managed to hold it back, just long enough to reach the main road and have the police station drop out of sight. Once I rounded a corner and started down the street my legs took over and I ran, literally for my life. Where I was going, I had no real idea, but first and foremost I had to get away from the demons.

Jesse's car and all my things were still sat in the prison car park. I wanted my things, but I knew it would be foolish for me to go back there. The place was still a crime scene, I'd never get in and out unnoticed. Besides, if I managed to get there how would I get back again? I couldn't drive the car, not legally and probably not safely even if I did try – drawing more police attention to myself probably wasn't the best of plans. I couldn't afford a taxi, my supply of funds had dropped dangerously low after our trip for the funeral, and the expense of the room and that bar tab, but I also couldn't just keep on running indefinitely.

My legs were already growing tired as a tight fist of panic and fatigue tightened in my chest and made it hard to take a breath. My pace slowed and I stumbled slightly, legs like jelly as I fought just to keep them moving. I'd covered a fair distance, given myself a decent head start, but I knew it wouldn't take long for them to catch up with me, and I couldn't allow myself to stop or they'd be upon me before I knew it. I braved a quick look behind me, the station far out of sight and, so far, it seemed that no one was in pursuit. I'd feel better when I put miles between me and that place, even though I knew deep down that even if I put oceans between us they'd still find me, eventually.

One thing I knew was that to get anywhere I was going to need more money. That was unfortunately the way things worked in the human world. My supply had all but dried up, and there was no way I could get any more the same way I'd usually find it. Hell would hardly be obliging to pay me a top up on the fund they'd sent me off with – they would rarely do this even when a hybrid was still working a case except in severe emergency cases – and I knew I couldn't risk staying in one place long enough to pick up another job. So what the fuck was I supposed to do now?

The sound of a car coming down the road caught my attention. It was the first one I had seen going the right direction since I'd reached the road.

“Hey!” I shouted, staggering into the road in the path of the oncoming vehicle, waving my arms in the air. I was desperate enough not to have a care for what might happen if it didn't stop in time. “Stop, please. Help me.”

The car juddered to a halt and I ventured to let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I sighed as I moved around to sag against the open drivers side window. “Thank you, I don't...” I paused, breathing hard and not really sure what to say. I found the tears of desperation stated to prickle in my eyes once again. I sniffed them back, but made a show of wiping at my eyes, “Can you help me, please? There's a-a man, back there he's trying to...oh god, he's trying to kill me. Please help me.”

The woman in the car looked to be in her fifties with mousey brown hair that was starting to show streaks of grey. Her bright blue eyes pinched in concern, or was it disbelief, as she frowned at me, creasing even more the already soft skin of her brow.

“What exactly do you expect me to do?” she asked, her voice defensive and somewhat hostile. For a brief moment I had a horrifying flashback of Maura, it was that voice, though this woman had to be close to ten years younger.

“Give me a lift somewhere, just get me away from here?” I asked, hopefully.

She shook her head, ready to refuse until I shot out a hand and grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard in warning.

“He wont stop coming,” I said in a breathy tone, “And I promise you, he's much scarier than I will ever be.”

“You're insane.” She shot back, trying to shake off my grip but only succeeding in making me hold tighter. “Let me go!”

“No. I need to get of here now, and you're going to take me.” I was losing all my patience, fear and frustration were taking over and I didn't care for keeping up appearances any more. “I tried asking nice, now I'm telling you. Take me down the road, into the village and then you'll never have to see me again.” My fingers curled tighter, nails digging into the soft flesh of the underside of her wrist. If she looked down she'd see the blood drying beneath them. I knew I was losing my grip on myself but I had little other choice any more. I had tried to be nice, she'd refused, but I wasn't in a position to take no for an answer.

“Ow, you're hurting me. Okay, fine. I-I'll take you into the village, just let me go.”

“Wise choice,” I said, before I released her wrist and jumped into the back seat of her old Mondeo before she had a chance to change her mind and speed off without me “And I'd put your foot down, I wasn't kidding about the man trying to kill me.” Well, not entirely.

She didn't reply, merely whimpered slightly and set off as fast as she dared to go.

It took about fifteen minutes of reasonably fast driving before the world that was passing by the windows finally started to look familiar. The road we now followed was flanked on either side by quaint country cottages, and a wide car park, surrounded by a low brick wall opened up just a little ahead of us. I knew that place only too well.

“You can stop just here,” I commanded, as I readied myself to jump out, she acquiesced without a word . She put her foot down the instant I'd slammed the door shut again and disappeared quickly around the nearest corner, eager to be away from me.

I stood on the street corner considering my options. I couldn't stay there long, but it was the best place I could think of to start. Behind me lay Jesse's house, was it worth seeing if he had any cash stashed away there? Or, in front of me lay a very different path if I dared to take it.

Which way should I turn now? Or perhaps, the more important question, which part of myself should I start following.