He was jarred out of his thoughts as an ambulance came screaming up behind him. He pulled over, letting it pass, then found himself following it. It would be funny, he thought, if they had the same destination. He shook the thought off and continued on his way. When the ambulance turned, he turned, and he became more certain that it was true, that they did have the same destination. And the thought wasn't very funny after all.

He parked on the street and watched as two paramedics hurried out of Mary's townhouse with a stretcher. Chris caught the scent of blood on the light breeze. Whoever's blood it was, it wasn't Mary's, that much he could tell. Moments later, Mary, James and an older woman emerged from the house and piled into James' car. The tyres squealed and Chris watched them go after the ambulance, nearly becoming airborne as James drove over the curb.

They had left the door open in their hurry. Chris glanced back down the road, then got out of his car and walked quietly inside. The scent of blood was strong enough for him to know that whomever's it was, they wouldn't survive without a transfusion. He walked up the stairs quickly, and surveyed the damage from the hallway.

The bathroom floor was covered in blood, already drying. Based on the volume and pattern, he would guess it had been a knife or a blade of some sort. But other than the blood itself, and the towels used to contain it, nothing else was out of place. No signs of a struggle. Self-inflicted, most likely. And in the bathroom? Definitely a woman. He guessed that would leave only Mary's spooky friend, Emily.

Chris shook his head and wondered if any of them had seen it coming. Mary of course had known this thing with Stone wouldn't end well for her friend. But had she realized just how badly it would go? He had to hand it to Stone--he was a fucking genius. Plenty of people dreamed of murder. A good portion of those actually went through with it. But to have your victim do her own dirty work? Now that was art.

He went next to Mary's room. Everything was in meticulous order. It was just short of being oppressive, and Chris found himself speculating as to what made Mary arrange everything just so. He opened one of the dresser drawers, marveling at the perfectly rolled socks it contained. They were separated by colour, dominant colour in the case of multi-coloured socks. The majority were black, followed by brown, blue, green, one pair of orange, pink, purple, red, white and one pair with yellow ducks on them. Chris fought the urge to realign them into rainbow sequence before reminding himself that he was in fact not gay, and slid the drawer shut.

He moved then to her music collection, which contained an upsetting number of ABBA CDs on top, followed by an even more upsetting number of Madonna albums toward the middle. And this woman was an artist?

He picked up a stuffed animal from the bed as he walked by, his gaze finally settling on Mary's wastebasket. He absently dropped the stuffed animal as he bent down to pick up the wastebasket. Inside were an envelope and some torn papers. The return address displayed on the envelope was for Stone Enterprises. Chris pieced together the papers, one of which was a check made out to Mary. The form enclosed advised Mary that this was the standard severance package, and that if she had medical benefits, they would continue for a period of ninety days. It was stamped with Andrew Stone's signature.

Chris pocketed the torn check and tossed everything else back into the wastebasket. That was one question answered - Mary's intrusion of Stone's office did not end happily, though Chris wondered how it could've ended happily enough that she'd lived through it. Had she sold him out? Told Stone how she obtained the security codes? Even if she hadn't, Stone would probably catch on.

Chris took one last look around the room. There was a silk scarf hanging from the antique mirror over the dresser, seeming out of place. He tugged at the end and let it float to the floor, revealing the spider web of cracks it had been hiding. He ran his fingers over them, then left the room, shutting the door behind him.

He went next to Emily's room. The door was closed but not latched, and opened with a nudge. It was night to Mary's day-everything in chaos. At least two weeks worth of clothing was strewn about the floor, the bed, and over a chair. Several necklaces hung from one of the bedposts, nearly concealed by a hat he was certain Emily would never have worn in public. The room was cluttered, though not dirty. He picked up one of the shirts that lay on the floor and brought it to his face, inhaling its scent-laundry detergent and fabric softener. If it had been worn, it had only been tried on and then discarded.

Curious, he opened Emily's drawers until he found where she kept her socks. They weren't even rolled together with their mates, let alone in any sort of order.

He then started poking around for Emily's wastebasket. He was becoming certain she didn't even own one before he finally found it tucked halfway under the bed. He pulled it out and heard the rattle of glass. Inside was a broken picture frame. The picture of her and Stone that it had once contained was crumpled and scratched. One especially sharp shard of glass was covered in blood. Too much blood for an accidental cut, though not enough to lead to the outpouring that occurred in the bathroom. He then noticed several drops leading toward the door and out the hallway, which then disappeared into the bloody footprints and smudges that had been tracked out of the bathroom.

Chris stood in the doorframe a moment, wondering what exactly he was doing. The sudden flash of red and blue lights from the window startled him. He quickly placed the broken picture frame in plain sight on Emily's floor, then ran down the stairs two at a time. Two officers were already approaching the front door. Chris disappeared around the corner just as they pushed the door open, and slipped quietly down the basement stairs.

The officers were talking loudly, giving Chris plenty of cover to stack some boxes and push open one of the basement windows. It was just big enough for him to slither out of. He propped the window with a small rock, keeping it slightly ajar, then hurried back to his car and took off.