"Hey! Slow down would you?" Moira calls from behind me and I roll my eyes.

"What do you want Moira?" I hoist my bag over my shoulders, I'm not used to carrying it. I've never owned enough things to even warrant owning one.

"Where have you been?" She asks, tapping her toe, "I haven't seen you in weeks, you need to come back to work!"

"No I don't," I brush off the comment and keep walking, eyes to the ground, thumbs hooked under the straps over my shoulders.

"Well how do you expect to keep your place hmm? Or eat?" She struggles to catch up and keep pace with me, her long skirts billowing around her frantically moving legs.

"I'm fine Moira, don't worry about it."

"How am I not supposed to worry about it? I don't want to see you on the street! Lord knows that's a sure fire way to end your life."

"Honestly Moira, I'm fine." I shake my head and try to walk faster, "I've got something worked out with the landlord."

"Oh? What exactly would that be?" She leaps in front of me and stops my progress, I can see the door to my building and wish I could just push her aside.

"Nothing important, I'm working for her now."

"Oh? What are you doing for her?"

"Deliveries," I roll my eyes, "She's a busy lady, she's got lots of things to deliver."

"Like what?" Moira crosses her arms and looks up disapprovingly at me.

"You know, documents, cheques, that sort of stuff."

"So…so you're a courier…?"

"Yes!" I roll my eyes, "I'm a courier, and in exchange she's getting rid of my debt."

"Oh that's wonderful!" Moira smiles and throws her arms around my shoulders, "I'm so glad you've got yourself a real job!"

"Are you saying spreading the Word isn't a real job?" I try to pry her off of me but she refuses to let go.

"No of course not! It's as real as a job can be," She pulls back but keeps smiling, I can barely see the scar on her lip "But you and I both know your heart wasn't in it."

"I guess I'm just an open book huh?" I shrug and she allows me to pass.

"I'll be coming to see the shut-in tonight," She calls after me, "I'll stop by to say hello."

"Please don't!" I shout over my shoulder and hear her laugh.

When I get to my apartment, the blond Inspector is sitting at my table waiting for me, "Are you serious?" I ask, almost deciding to turn and leave.

"Well, nice to see you again as well," He stands up and I notice that he's been flipping through Agnes' album, "You didn't tell me it was back."

I grip the straps of my bag a little tighter, suddenly aware of a fine sheet of sweat covering my face, "I…I didn't think about it I guess."

"You know I'm going to have to confiscate it."

"What? Why?" I shake my head, moving to scoop up the album but he beats me to it.

"Evidence."

"Of what?" I ask, sucking my teeth.

"There's been a development in the Petrowski case," He ignores my outrage.

"What would that be?" I roll my eyes, this guy must have been real pissed when he had to let me go.

"It appears as though Mr. Petrowski didn't die of a heart attack."

There's a drawn out silence and I nod my head very slowly, "Stroke?" I ask, "Aneurism?"

"It would appear as though Mr. Petrowski didn't die of those or any other natural causes," He says, moving toward me, "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

I make a break for the door, as I stop to turn the knob he tackles me and we both go rolling across the floor. I scramble to my hands and knees and try to crawl off but he grabs hold of my ankle. I kick back at him and he grabs hold of my other foot.

"Let me go!"

I struggle and fight him but he's too strong and easily subdues me, "Feisty today I see?" He says, a strand of blond hair has fallen forward into his face and that one stiff piece is enough to make him look absolutely mad.

"I don't know what you want from me, why won't you leave me alone?"

He climbs onto my back, pushing my bag out of the way and pressing into my spine with his knee. He cuffs me and hoists me to my feet, only half interested in reading me my rights as he escorts me out of the building.

"What's going on?" Moira asks as she passes us in the hallway, bible in her hands.

"That's none of your concern ma'am," The Inspector says and I look at Moira with sad eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon enough. This guy's got nothing on me."

Moira watches as I'm pushed into the stairwell and as the Inspector pushes me forward my foot hits an old rotten wrung, one I would have easily avoided on my own, and I tumble forward. He lets me go, and I swear he laughs as I bounce off every step toward the floor.

I lie in a puddle of filth at the door to the lobby, my body is sore, my stomach is sick and my bag is torn open.

"Well well, what've we got here?" The Inspector chuckles as he picks through the contents of my bag, "I'd say you, my friend, are screwed."

I close my eyes, I keep them closed as the Inspector lifts me to my feet and pushes me along, laughing quietly to himself. He's got the album in one hand, and me in the other, everything he's wanted for months.

I recognize the sterile white room, the spindly and uncomfortable furniture, the great big mirror. The only thing I don't know about this scene is who's watching on the other side. I'm left alone and I tap on the glass, I cup my hands around my eyes and press my face up against it. Whoever is in there saved me last time, I wonder if they can do the same now.

"What are you doing?" Blondie slams open the door, he's carrying a fistful of papers in one hand and an opaque plastic bag in the other.

"I just…nothing."

"Sit."

I oblige and take a seat, he's across from me, his frightening eyes lit with dark satisfaction, "You know what this is I assume?"

He tosses the bag on the table and its contents spill out everywhere. Tiny zip-locked bags barely bigger than postage stamps, each with two white pills staring out like dead eyes as I look down at them. "Uh…it's…" I don't know why I'm delaying, 

"It's, it's," He mocks me and grins, "It's rage."

"Yeah…"

He stays quiet, silently enforcing his power and authority over me as I shrink into my chair, "You know where we found this bag of rage? Along with two more like it?"

I'm sweating, I wipe it from my forehead with my hand and lick my dry lips, "You uh…probably got them from…my…bag?"

He laughs and pounds the table with his fist, "You got it! All this rage in a bag on your back, now that can't just be for recreational purposes."

"Look I can explain, I…it's not mine, I swear."

"Oh no? Whose is it then?"

"I…can't explain."

He laughs and stands up, slamming the table again, "We got the results from Petrowski's autopsy, coroner said she didn't see any signs of heart attack or stroke."

"So you've said," I feel my confidence waning, my sarcastic remark dies mid-delivery and I look down at my hands.

"So we tested some blood, muscle tissue, little bits of his organs, that kind of thing, and do you know what we found?" I don't say anything, I let him have his powerful quiet as he looks down at the papers he's holding and starts reading out loud, "'All tests have proven negative for any forms of cancer, HIV and other autoimmune diseases, syphilis, meningitis, malaria,' yadda yadda," He tosses the top sheet of paper to the floor and looks at the second, "'Vitamin C deficiency, early signs of arthritis,' blah blah blah," He's scattering loose leafs of paper all over the floor, barely even looking at them, "I'm not interested in any of that stuff, do you know what I'm interested in?"

I shake my head, gulping as I do.

"Right here, on the last page, let me read it to you," He holds the paper out in front of him, I can just barely see his satisfied grin, "'Cause of death: Toxic levels of tranexamic acid, epinephrine and propoxyphene found in the blood, leading to overdose.'"

I gulp again, glancing down at the mess on the table. I close my eyes and pretend I'm not sitting in this off putting white room, I pretend nobody is watching me through a mirror, I pretend I'm a lotus flower.

"I wonder how he could have toxic levels of those things in his blood? What would have caused that?" He sits down and picks up one of the plastic bags. There's a drawn out and heavy silence before his face twists up and he throws the bag of pills at me, "When are you ever going to tell me the truth huh? You're a dealer, you owed Mr. Petrowski money, and he overdosed. I'd say this is all pointing to one simple conclusion."

"I didn't kill Franky! I told you! I didn't even have this stuff when he died."

"Look, the way I see it, you've got two options," He leans back and crosses his arms, tapping his index finger on his bicep, "You can go away for a long time for off season celebration, or…"

I wonder if the second option is even really an option at all. He's toying with me again, it's his favourite pass time, "Or?"

"Or you can tell me everything you know about that photo album and I'll look the other way."

"What?"

"You heard me," He's gritting his teeth, I wonder if he's happy with this deal.

"So…I just need to tell you what I know about the album and…you'll let me go? Just like that?"

"Look, the station doesn't officially take issue with Ms. Calloway, we don't need to press charges for the frost. But if you're not cooperative we can easily put you away for murder."

"Well…" I rack my brain, what could he possibly want to know about the album, "I can tell you who's in it…I guess."

"Names? You can give us names?"

"Yeah, if it gets me out of here."

He stands up and thinks for a second, "Give me a moment," With that he leaves and I'm alone again. My mind is racing, my lungs are almost failing. 

Pacing the room on my own I wonder if I should pray, the thought flits through my mind and the lights start to flicker; everything goes dark, "Hello?" I call out, expecting some sort of terrible torture to be exacted on me. The lights flash again and when the darkness returns I hear footsteps rushing through the hall past the door.