Paul looked up from the book he was reading in surprise. He wasn’t expecting anyone. His parents had been to see him just yesterday and his lawyer wasn’t scheduled to come in for another week at least. "Who is it?"

The guard shrugged, opening his cell door and standing aside to let him pass. "Young girl, nineteen, dark brown hair. Didn’t catch her name."

Paul didn’t say anything else as he followed the guard through the halls. He’d been in prison for four months now and if he’d learned anything it was that your life was a hell of a lot easier if you got along with the guards. Of course, not that anything was ever easy. He was in on charges of rape and assisted homicide, one of the victims being only fifteen. Turned out, the inmates didn’t take kindly to child molesters. Although, on the upside, that had gotten him his own cell.

The visitor’s room was small, with four tables lined up in a row and one chair on either side of each table. Two guards stood next to the exit door and the one that had retrieved him stood by the entrance. The room had only one other occupant, who sat at the far left table. She did indeed have dark brown hair, falling to mid-back and there was something familiar about her, but with her face down, he couldn’t tell where he knew her from.

She didn’t look up until after he’d sat down, but when she did, his heart leapt into his throat. "Cynthia, what are you...?"

Of all the people that had come, this was the last person he’d expected. She hadn’t said a word to him since Mitch had died.  Not that he’d tried to contact her, but considering what he’d done, what he’d let happen, he figured she wouldn’t want to speak with him. With a nervous smile, she swirled a strand of hair in her fingers.

He slumped in his seat and stared fixedly at her. Brown hair. "Is that, um, your natural color?"

She nodded, "Yes. I figured since I was going to be a mother soon, I might as well start acting like an adult." Mother? He hadn’t forgotten she was pregnant, he’d just assumed she wouldn’t keep it,  not after... well, everything. Cynthia sat back a little and put her hand on her slightly bulging stomach. "Almost five months along and going strong. I’m getting a little scared, though. It’s kind of strange that I’ll have a baby, but my mums been great, she’s going to help take care of it so I can finish school and... it’ll be alright."

He bit his lip, his gaze transfixed on her stomach until she leaned forward, still playing nervously with her hair. "How are you?"

"Why did you come here?"

She didn’t look hurt, if anything she seemed to have been expecting it and the tension in her body relaxed. "I was really mad at you, you know that? I couldn’t understand why you didn’t take the gun, or why you even let it happen in the first place, but... Did you know, I dropped out of school?" He shook his head. "Yeah, well I missed so much that passing this term was going to be impossible and with the baby and everything I figured I’d just go back and repeat it next year. Anyway, I’ve had a lot of time to think and I kind of realized that what you and Richard had was a lot like me and Mitch."

"No, Cynthia, it’s nothing like that. You two were friends, real, genuine friends."

"You thought that with Richard, too, though, didn’t you? I’m not saying Mitch was using me, but... I’m saying that I ignored all my better instincts and trusted what he told me without thinking it through. I knew he was sneaking out to go to clubs, but I didn’t tell anyone because Mitch told me that he would be careful. When he came home, I knew what had happened, Paul, I knew everything, but Mitch said that if I told, Richard would hunt him down and no one could protect him, so I listened to him and I didn’t tell anyone. When he told me to start carrying a gun, I did it. That last night, I had told him I was going to tell his father everything, but you know, I don’t think I could have.  Not without his consent. I would have frozen. So, yeah, maybe Mitch wasn’t intentionally manipulating me, but I get it. At least, a little. You did what Richard told you because you trusted him and he abused that trust."

Paul laughed a little, dropped his gaze to the floor. "You sound like my lawyer. That’s their defense. I refused to deny anything, but they’re arguing that I didn’t know what I was doing - that Richard had conditioned me to do what he said since primary. The sad thing is, I don’t think they’re wrong, I just hate using it as a defense for what I did."

"I know you regret it, Paul. You regretted it before it even started." She was right about that. He regretted every single boy that he let Richard get away with murdering. "I just wanted to come and tell you that."

"How..." he choked on a lump in his throat and forced it down. "How are his parents doing?"

Cynthia cringed. "Not good. Mr. Dearing resigned from the force and Mrs. Dearing rarely leaves the house. If it weren’t for Frank and me, they’d probably starve in there."

"Frank?"

"His older brother. We’ve been taking it in turns to keep up with the chores and make sure there’s food on the table. I can’t get a job, but Frank has, and the Dearings have enough saved up to last for a while. Mr. Dearing blames himself for not having figured it out sooner and I think there’s more to it, but he won’t talk about it. Not to us, anyway."

Paul had heard quite a lot from his attorney’s actually, he knew about the school books and about the cops questioning Jeremy and he knew about the iPod. Jeremy refused to speak to him now.

"Also, I think you should know that Frank and I are seeing each other."

"You’re what?"

Cynthia chuckled, "Seeing each other. We’re not telling his parents just yet. They like me and all, but I have a baby on the way and Frank is only nineteen." She moved her hand over her stomach protectively. "I haven’t told anyone who the father is, either. They think I just got drunk and slept with some guy, which is bad, but..." not as bad as telling them you slept with their son’s rapist. "Not as bad as telling them the truth and I’m not sure I ever will."

Paul wanted to argue with her, to tell her that she should, but he knew he was only being selfish. He wanted to be able to see the baby and her when he got out, assuming he ever got out - which, considering the extent of the charges against him, wasn’t very likely. Then there was always the fact that Paul wasn’t sure he wanted out at all. He’d thought that he would be okay without Richard, but he’d never realized the extent of his dependency. After his first meeting with his lawyers, when he kept finding himself wanting to tell them to do whatever Richard said, he was forced to admit that he didn’t have any bloody clue what he was doing or how to do it. God help him, but he’d never even bought clothes without Richard standing next to him, telling him what was in season. It was unnerving at best to suddenly realize he was utterly lost when every decision he made now was, quite literally, life or death.

They sat in silence for a while and Cynthia finally stood up, taking her purse from the floor. She looked more mature now than she had in the club. It was in the way she carried herself and perhaps even the color of her hair. It was easy to see why the guard had thought she was nineteen. Or maybe she’d used her fake ID again, because he couldn’t see the guards letting a fifteen-year-old girl in to speak with a known pedophile, even a gay one.

"Well, I’d best be going. Frank is waiting outside for me."

Paul stood up, as well, forcing himself to speak past the tightness in his chest. "I really am sorry, Cynthia."

"I know."

"I did... I loved him. Mitch, I mean."

Her smile softened and she nodded. "I know. When you get out, call me."

He didn’t do anything to stop her as she walked away, letting the guard check her purse, but in the doorway she turned around, her eyes glinted with unshed tears. "It’s a girl, by the way, in case you were wondering."

She left before he could say anything and he sat there for several minutes, struck by what she’d said. A girl. He’d have a daughter. Slowly, he smiled and got up from the chair, letting the guard lead him back to his cell.

His lawyers had said that there was a good chance his sentence would be commuted. They'd said that if things went their way, he’d be in a mental hospital for a few years, maybe less and then he’d be free. Up until today, that had seemed like a worst case scenario to him. He’d thought he deserved the punishment and, besides, what did he have to look forward to? His brother hated him, his parents were wary of him. The only friends he’d had were with Richard and they were all in jail. Jessie and Tanner were almost guaranteed life imprisonment, and Louis and Mickey weren’t fairing any better. If he got out, he’d be alone and Paul had never been alone. The mere thought terrified him.

Now... well, maybe he wouldn’t be as alone as he’d thought.