Matt exited the car as soon as Julian pulled up in front of the house, fairly sprinting inside before he caught it from his father for being late. Clydie climbed out of the passenger side, but instead of following behind Matt, she started along the driveway and toward the side of the house.

"Clydie? Where are you going?" Julian called after her.

"For a walk!" she called back, huddling into the fisherman's sweater as the chill wind gusted past.

She made it to the side yard before Julian appeared, stepping in front of her and blocking her path. "Clydie, you're doing it again," he stated, giving his head a shake.

"What? I'm not doing anything," she shrugged, trying to sidestep him, but her followed her movement.

"You are. You're going off on your own to wallow in your worries. Its seems like you have a tendency to do that," Julian pointed out.

She actually felt a bit miffed. Julian Donovan had absolutely no idea what her tendencies were.  Maybe she didn't have any particular tendencies at all. Maybe she just wanted to go for a walk on the beach so she could be...left alone to wallow in her thoughts.

"Clydie, you can talk to me," said Julian, reaching for both her hands and taking them in his. "I think we're at least that far into things, don't you?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, she figured if she didn't speak up, he'd just follow her out onto the shore and pester her until she did. "There's nothing much to talk about. I just can't stop thinking that I wish I could tell Mrs. Hyatt...something that might help her. If it was my mother, I'd want someone to do that for her."

Julian gave her something of a sympathetic half-smile. "I understand that.  And you might be able to help that poor woman one day, but not until you have the facts."

"But, what if I never have facts," she posed, feeling awash with hopelessness.

"Never is a really long time, Clydie. A lot of things can happen, even in one day, let alone in a year or two or ten. We just have to be patient and wait until we have something that's actually helpful."

A year or two or ten? Good lord, that was a long time for someone to linger in despair, wondering, waiting, hoping their daughter might walk through the front door at any minute. Almost, it seemed death might be better.

"Please, try not to let it weigh on you," Julian beseeched, giving her hands a gentle squeeze.

"How can I not?" she asked him plainly. "That woman is waiting for her daughter to come home. But, Jessica is with my sister, so...she's never coming home. She's gone. And her family should know that there's just...no hope."

Mrs. Hyatt had wanted the truth. And as close to the truth as she could come was that Jessica Hyatt was never going to come home. The most the Hyatt family could hope for was to eventually recover whatever was left of their daughter.

Without warning, Julian pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her and engulfing her in his warmth and scent. It was a shock, that abrupt move, but just having a pair of arms around her in that moment pushed a broken sob out of her. It seemed as if everything in her life just...sucked. And having a person there...a person she didn't have to worry about upsetting, a person she didn't have to worry about over burdening...helped, if only by a small measure.

Julian kept her there, in his arms, for the longest time and she allowed it, making no effort to step away from him because she rather liked feeling safe and secure and...free to feel the way she was feeling.

But, then something seemed to shift in the air around them, making her belly tighten and her spine stiffen and the next thing she knew, Julian was dropping his arms and stepping back, putting a few feet of distance between them.

"Your folks are probably wondering where you are. We should get back inside," he said in a slightly gruff voice.

With a nod, she turned and headed back toward the front door, with Julian falling into step beside her, while keeping his hands thrust into his jeans pockets and his gaze straight ahead.

Julian seemed to try and do his best to avoid her for the rest of that day. In fact, it seemed as if nearly everyone was trying to avoid her. Her parents were giving her a wide berth and barely even bothering to make eye contact with her. Even at supper, after everyone had gone home for the day and the three of them sat alone at the kitchen table—two of the three making a pretense of eating the tuna salad sandwiches that were exuding a distinctly unpleasant perfumey aroma—her parents talked to each other, but didn't say a word to her.

They discussed counter tops and Frank's plans to paint the gazebo because he didn't like the look of the raw wood and the fact that they needed to hire more than two people if they ever wanted to be able to get the house even remotely up to livable. But, during the entire conversation, neither Frank nor Ella tried to involve her. In fact, it seemed as if they were trying fairly hard to forget that she was in the room.

The reaction was expected, she supposed. After what they'd learned about her, and about Sam, it stood to reason that they'd want to try and pretend that everything was still okay and...the same. And looking at her, talking to her, might make that hard, seeing as how she would be the constant reminder that things...were not the same. Not anymore.

She understood all that. But, that didn't make it any easier to bear. In all of this, her parents were all she had and suddenly not having them on her side...it felt like a slap in the face, especially since she'd done nothing more than tell them truth, just like Ella had demanded.

When the cold shoulder finally became too much, she left the kitchen and trudged up to her room, where the dozens of boxes were still stacked up in the middle of the floor. She'd spent her day helping to cart trash out of the front parlor and in between, trying to find the overnight bag. She hadn't had time to get to her own room, but there was no way she was going to sleep until every last box had been emptied and taken downstairs. So, that's what she did.

It took until well into the night, but by the time she climbed into bed, she had emptied every single box, putting all her clothes and books and trinkets in the proper places and what she couldn't find a place for, like her pictures and posters, she stacked neatly in the far corner, out of the way until she get to them.

She had decided to keep a couple of the old floor lamps that had come with the room, both of them tall, iron things with pink shades embroidered with roses, and the pink glow they cast over the room was rather inviting. Once she'd swapped out the curtains for some clean ones and had painted the stained ceiling...perhaps she could finally come to feel at home. In the very least, she might come to feel comfortable in the space.

Of course, she might have felt a tad more comfortable had she been able to lock her door, but it was an old fashioned glass knob that needed a key and she'd guess that key had long since been lost. Perhaps, though, she could get Matt to help her install some sort of new lock. Then, if another bottle of sleeping pills found their way into her room, they'd have to go through a locked door, which would completely rule her parents out, leaving the blame to fall squarely on either herself...or the three girls who were haunting her...

*  *  *  *  *  *

She knew she was dreaming. 

 She knew it even though all she could see was blackness. She'd always had trouble seeing her dreams. They'd always been more...feelings and sensations than moving images. And this dream...this dream was one of those smotheringly terrifying dreams.

She could feel herself trying to breathe, trying to open her mouth to pull in a gulp of air, but she couldn't. She couldn't because...there were hands on her, around her throat. She could feel those hands squeezing her, choking her, and she knew what those hands were trying to do.

Those hands were trying to kill her.

She could feel what was happening. She could feel the burning of her lungs and the fear spiraling through her, she could hear the sound of her gasps as she tried to breathe...or beg...  

But, it wasn't her voice.  

She was not...she.  This wasn't her.  Not completely.  

As that understanding struck her, she could also feel something else, something that sickened her and filled her with a sense of crushing dread. And there was nothing she...or her...could do to stop it. She couldn't fight it, couldn't stop the invasion of herself, couldn't stop...him...from filling her up in that painful, offensive way.

She was gasping and struggling and...he...couldn't have cared less. She could feel that aura rolling off him, even through the blackness. The lack of empathy, the indifference, the ruthlessness as he kept going, kept focused on the thing he wanted for himself.

Hush.

The word was whispered in her ear, just a breathy sound, meant to stop her struggling and whimpering, perhaps meant to calm her. But she couldn't be calm. Not when her lungs were burning and her body was being used in such a vile way.

Hush.

That simple word, spoken in the way someone might speak if they were trying to sooth a child, sent such a shard of dread through her that she couldn't allow herself to stay there. She couldn't be a part of...him...anymore.  She just...couldn't... 

 There was a garble of confusing moments, shapes and colors flashing past...and then she was away from...him, away from what was being done. Thank god, she was away...

And then she was trying to run, trying to put distance between herself and that horrid act, but she was struggling to even lift her feet up. She was stumbling through the darkness, lost, heavy with fear and repulsion...and still trying to draw breath into her lungs. 

She was gasping and...sobbing...and willing her body to move, to go faster...but It felt as if she was mired down in thick mud, unable to free herself...unable to flee from the awful things that were happening somewhere behind her.

She could feel it happening back there in the shadows, feel the life being smothered out of...her.  

She could feel...her...anguish and fear...feel her struggling for just one breath of air...but, that breath wasn't going to come.  And then...breath was no longer needed.

She felt the finality, the realization that it was over, like a punch to the stomach.  He'd...gotten what he wanted, that he'd put an end to...her.  As easily as snuffing out the flame of a candle, and with just as little thought and concern.

 She thought that knowing...her...suffering was over, would bring some measure of relief to herself, but it didn't. It only increased her own terror, her need to put some distance between she and him because...he might come after her next.

But, her body simply could not connect with her mind and she couldn't do much more than drag herself along. Even if she could have lifted her feet, she couldn't see through the darkness, couldn't hope to find her way and had no clue where she was heading anyway, no clue where she could find safety.

The thought of finding a place where...he...couldn't get to her had an image flashing past. A brooding expression and a pair of unreadable grey eyes... She knew who that man was, she knew right off. And she knew that if she could get to him, she would be safe. What had happened to that girl...who'd been used up and then snuffed out like she didn't matter at all...it wouldn't happen to her if she could just make it into Julian's arms.

If she could only get to Julian... 

But, she couldn't move, couldn't get her feet to carry her forward, could barely even catch a breath, so she began to fear she couldn't possibly ever find him. She began to fear that she'd be lost in the darkness forever, just like that poor girl.

"Clydie!" a voice called to her from someplace outside the smothering darkness.

Though it was far away, she knew instantly who it was. It was Julian. He was looking for her, just like she was looking for him. He was there, someplace, trying to save her from what was going to happen, trying to save her from being used up and snuffed out...

"Clydie! Clydie, open your eyes!" Julian's voice commanded, his voice blasting right in her ear.

And then something gripped her arms, sending a sharp shard of terror shooting through her...and her eyes flew open. The second she was awake and out of the darkness, her body and mind slammed into one another, reconnecting with a hard jolt and allowing her lungs to expand, pulling in a loud, gasping breath of air, which sent life surging back into her limbs.

As breath and life returned to her, her mind kicked into gear, realizing a couple of things at all once and with the suddenness of several shotgun blasts. The first thing she realized was that Julian Donovan was looming over her, his face tense with worry and confusion. The second thing she realized was that she was no longer in her room, but that she was outside in the cold air, with the sea moaning and hissing someplace close by.

"Clydie?" Julian croaked out, shaking his head. "What in the name of hell is goin' on here?"

Looking up at Julian, and still gasping for air, she realized that she couldn't tell him what the hell was going on when she had absolutely no clue herself.