Stan faces the looming threat of being caught with an eerie calm. He's so arrogant, so sure that nothing and no one can possibly touch him. Admitting any semblance of weakness would be out of character, and an option he would never consider. He's such a far cry from the person I believed I knew that I honestly find myself dazed and a little overwhelmed by it all. Such sharp contrasts managed to exist in one mind.

It's impossible. It should be impossible, at least. If there was any sense in this situation at all, he wouldn't be able to hide his true self for as long as he did. It's insanity. It's not right or fair or just or logical.

My headache worsens from the confusion alone, not to mention the wounds or loss of blood. God, I can barely keep a hold of myself or the situation. I'm trying, but there's only so much willpower I have. My body is fighting me with everything it has.

I don't want to give in. I don't. But I'm going out gradually.

I slump back a little, and Stan is there instantly grabbing hold of my shirt. "Oh, no you don't. You don't get to go before I've had any fun at all."

He pulls the gag from my lips, giving me time to respond.

"Go... fuck... yourself..." I slur out, barely able to speak.

He releases me and lets me slam into the wall behind me. "You talk big for someone who isn't holding the gun."

I blink back tears and try to keep my face blank. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction of catching me reacting to him. He's going to be brutal and ruthless, and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Are you afraid to die?" Stan asks me.

I narrow my eyes. "What?"

"Are you afraid to die?" he repeats.

I shrug weakly. "No. No, I'm not."

"Good," he says. "You don't have much time left, I'm afraid. You're worse than I thought."

"Like you care," I wheeze.

"I do," he tells me. "I like you, Vi. It's a waste of your gifts for you to just go out like this."

"I doubt you're capable of sympathy," I spit. "If you really were so intent on keeping me alive, you wouldn't have pulled the trigger."

"It's your own fault," he remarks. "All you had to do was say yes."

"I never would. If you knew me at all, you would have been sure of that before you broke into my hotel room."

"Would I?" he taunts. "Does anyone really know you at all, Violet?"

The question haunts me. Does anyone? I'm a series of secrets overlapping into a single human being. I don't make sense to myself, let alone another person. My powers are a mystery, my wants and needs are too.

I will die an enigma, I suppose. Not that I really give a damn.

The sires and lights are right outside now.

"They're coming," Stan announces. "Now for the finale."

Before the police arrive, Joel pulls up right on the lawn. His SUV roars and his headlights push through the windows. He throws the door open, running straight into the house with his gun raised. One foot is all it takes to kick the barriers away.

"Violet!" he yells. "Where are you?"

No. No. Get out of here, Joel.

"Run!" I scream. "Don't!"

He's clearing the other rooms as we speak. Instead of following my directions, he comes right in with a pistol raised. He doesn't see stand behind the door. It's too late, Stan's already got his gun pointed at the back of Joel's head.

"Drop the gun, Reed," Stan orders. "Drop it now or I'll blow your brains out."

"Stan?" Joel breathes in total disbelief.

"Yeah, yeah," Stan mutters. "Save the sappy reunion for someone who cares. Gun on the ground. Now."

Joel lowers his weapon to the floor and kicks it away, his hands raised in compliance. I watch as Joel gets down on his knees, reduced to nothing, his green eyes locked on me in utter concern. He panics when he sees the blood I must have streaked across the floor when Stan dragged me in.

"Vi, sweetheart, what happened?"

I can't answer, I just start to sob and yank uselessly at the cuffs binding me to the pipe. My arms are bleeding now too from where the metal has cut into them, but I refuse to stop fighting.

"It's no use, Violet," Stan reminds me and keeps his gun trained on Joel, gesturing as if to grant me permission to answer Joel's question.

"I was s-shot in the leg," I manage to say. "And I'm pretty sure I have a concussion but I'm okay."

"She's so okay that she only puked once," Stan laughs as if it's a funny joke to him. "The wound in her leg is probably hurting like hell, but I doubt she's got much longer. The tourniquet only goes so far."

It's true. I can barely see anymore, let alone move. I can't feel my legs anymore, actually, which is both terrifying and slightly relieving.

Joel looks so helpless. "Vi, I need you to focus on my voice, keep your eyes on me. Let me see those beautiful eyes. As long as you're looking at me, you're gonna be fine."

I try to oblige.

"Would you stop with the romance novel shit?" Stan snaps. "It's getting old. We've only got so much time before Violet completely runs out of life, so let's make this quick."

He throws Joel the keys to the handcuffs and lets him free my wrists. Immediately, Joel takes me in his arms, smoothing my hair out of my sweaty face. He's familiar and the scent of his cologne should be a force of calm. Gingerly, he holds me tighter, trying to soothe me. His gesture doesn't work, because I know what's about to come.

"It's going to be okay," he whispers. "It's going to be okay."

"Put her down," Stan orders. "I want you to stay a couple feet away from her."

Joel's gun is thrust into my hands. My shaking fingers can hardly keep a grip on it. I'm beside words now, just whimpering and hysterical, refusing to rest my finger on the trigger.

"You brought this on yourself," Stan tells me. "Remember that."

I can feel Stan's gun on the back of my head. The distance is so close, and the tip of it brushes some hair away. I shiver.

"What did she do?" Joel demands. "What did she do to you?"

"She didn't agree to my offer. I wanted to make Vi the most powerful woman in the world, and she said no. It's a pity. This could have been avoided if she'd only given in. We would have been great together."

"No," Joel says. "You would have been great by exploiting her."

"Technicalities," Stan says dismissively.

"Leave us alone," I plead.

"Point the gun at Reed," Stan barks. "Do it now."

The weight of his gun presses into the back of my skull, a terrifying reminder of a vision that felt like so long ago.

"It's okay, Vi, just make it quick, and you'll walk out of here."

Joel looks at me, green eyes bright with tears. "It's okay, Vi, just make it quick, and you'll walk out of here."

He's so close I can reach him. So close I can touch his face, my other hand still holding the gun pointed at his chest. "I won't—"

"You have to," Joel says. "Sweetheart, you have to. Just pull the trigger."

"I'll do it!" I wail. "I'll do it! I'll do whatever you want but please don't hurt him!"

Stan scoffs. "I'm not stupid. It's too late for that. Don't bother trying to trick me."

Snot drips down from my nose. I can't breathe anymore.

"Pull the trigger, Violet," Stan urges. "Don't drag this out."

I sob even harder, shaking my head. "I don't want to. I can't do this."

"Yes, you can." Joel is clearly trying not to cry. Even now, he's staying strong for me. For both of us. He kneels beside me, broken.

Another voice cuts through the silence outside, presumably through a megaphone.

"This is the Boston PD. We need you to drop your weapons and release the hostages at once or we will be forced to enter. Again, drop your weapons and release the hostages or we will begin forced entry."

"Shoot him!" Stan yells again. "Pull the trigger or I will!"

I don't. I can't. I drop the gun to the floor in defeat.

"I love you, Vi," Joel tells me. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I whimper.

The saddest thing about hearing Joel tell me he loves me is knowing it could be the last time. Those three words shatter me.

The police are running up the house now, undoubtedly enough of them to outnumber Stan. But just as the door flies open, Stan takes aim at Joel and shoots him right in the chest.

There's a moment where time stands still.

The whole world freezes around me as I watch Joel fall in slow motion. His eyes widen, then drift to a half-lidded state. His whole face contorts and shifts between expressions of agony.

"No!" I scream, crawling forward and pressing my hands down on his wound with what little energy I have left. "You are not allowed to die, Joel Reed. You hear me? You are not allowed to die."

His blood slips through my fingers, soaking my hands instantly. He's bleeding so much, too much, too fast. He's dying right in front of me and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm so weak. So weak that it's taking what little adrenaline I can muster to keep me upright.

He's gasping for breath, struggling to keep his eyes open. But even he knows it's only a matter of time.

"I love you," I whisper, over and over. "I love you. I love you. I do. I really do."

Eventually, he stills under my hands, and I collapse on the floor beside him, my vision growing spotty, fading to darkness.

The cops surround us almost immediately, and Stan has gotten what he wants. He gladly sets his gun down and lets them pin his arms behind his back, saying nothing as they tell him he has the right to remain silent.

The paramedics swarm around us next. They take Joel out on a stretcher first. I would try to stay with him, but I can't move. I'm limp and barely conscious anymore. This is what death feels like. This is what I would have seen if I ever knew my own fate. I'm sure of it.

I can faintly make out an EMT hovering over Joel. The words take away any of my desire to hang on anymore.

"We've got a heartbeat, but he's not breathing—"

I can't really hear anything anymore, I'm delirious as I'm lifted onto a flat surface and carried out like I weigh close to nothing. The last thing I notice is the familiar oxygen mask being slipped over my mouth and nose and something about me being in hypovolemic shock. It's just like the night I was attacked by Kevin Grant, except this time, I won't have Joel with me.

"Stay with us, kiddo," a man tells me.

I can't. I won't.

So, I don't.

I slip away.