"Aren't you going to try, at least?" Said Boone to William who was sitting on the cot in his cell, looking towards the window.

"Try? My whole life has been try. All that did was get me out of one little room and into another." He said.

She waited a moment, reminding herself of the horrors that William must have gone through up to that point. "You're so close, Will. People make mistakes, you know. How were you supposed to know if you had to shoot that man or not?"

"That's not the issue, Angela," said William, Boone taken aback by the use of her first name, "it wasn't a matter of should I kill him or not. I knew I had to. He was only going to hurt more people."

"And I think the evidence will show the truth." She said.

"Maybe. But I already know the truth. He was just another father, set out to torture innocent people." He said.

"Well then, you probably did the right thing."

"It doesn't feel like it. I didn't want to kill him, Angela. I just wanted help. I thought I could find help for all those people. Yet here I am in a cell. Talk about full circle, huh?" He said.

Her handcuffs jingled as she leaned herself on the edge of the wall that held the cell bars in place. She noticed his body at that moment, more so than any other time. Halfway between broken and living.

"Was there anyone found alive?" He asked.

"No."

"You found me alive, didn't you?"

"That's called a trick question." She said.

"Who did it?"

"You mean who started the fire? There's no telling right now. I can't give you that information anyway, since it's an ongoing investigation."

"Can you do me a favor, if you're able?" He asked.

"Depends, Will. What is it?"

"I have a friend, Michael. He's the one who helped me get out. Wouldn't even be here right now if not for him. Can you let me know if you find him, please?"

"I think I can do that." She said.

Boone left the holding room after a radio call came in on her receiver. She never liked leaving him, but she knew that her job had to come first. The man she saw in those woods, so frightened and defeated, couldn't have been a cold-blooded killer. She felt that so deeply that sometimes it invaded the work she was hired to do. Leaving him alone, in her mind, was probably the worst thing they could do. After being as isolated as he was for so long, she couldn't imagine what it must have felt like to be alone again. Or was he used to it; was it a comfort zone?

Her call was regarding a new lead. Someone had come forward anonymously, wanting to give new details about the fire. Boone locked the door to the holding room and made her way through the precinct to the front reception area. Other cops nodded and smirked as they walked by her. Some were old friends that she had known as far back as elementary school. Others were strangers; the station had a high turnover rate since the incident. A few FBI agents were seen in offices on her way down the hallway, their dark blue jackets and bright yellow lettering standing out from the myriad of everyday officers with their dark caps and reflective badges.

Some of the cops she'd known as "keep-aways." Cops she avoided at all costs. The women there had more than proven themselves and yet there would always be the odd boy here and there that tended to reveal their prejudice. She remembered a time, years before at that point, when she'd gotten shot in the left arm by a drug-addicted elderly man who'd kept himself boarded up in his house for decades. A small fire formed in his kitchen - later discovered as being caused by his outrageous mixing of chemicals, and she was the first one on the scene.

After numerous knocks and calls for someone to answer, she decided to let herself in. It only took a few kicks before the old door swung open. An old man was sitting there, just beyond the doorway. The kitchen fire was spreading quickly behind him. They locked eyes for a moment, and she could see in his eyes the rage and resentment. It wasn't too much longer until she spotted the handgun in his lap and the man must have realized it because that's when he lifted it and pointed it at her.

"Just let me fucking burn." He said.

She reached down for her gun but the pain in her arm was instant and furious. She buckled before noticing that the man's gun had fallen onto the floor by his bare feet. The musty smell of wood rot and cigarette smoke had almost been completely masked by the growing fire in front of her. The old man bent down to grab the weapon, the flames making their way to the back of his chair. She tried to scream at him to stop but the only thing that came out was a wail from the pain. She was able to get her gun out of the holster and she fired at him. A bullet ripped through his shoulder blade and the man jerked back into his chair.

The gun was in his hand and he fired another shot, hitting the column outside on the porch. She fired again and the bullet had entered his head and exited through his neck. The flames grew and the back of the man's chair became engulfed in the flame. She stood up, starting towards him, wanting to drag him out of the house but someone grabbed her shoulder and began to pull her back. She could feel the heavy suit of a firefighter and the man's voice told her that she needed to get out. She struggled, unsuccessfully, and was rushed onto a stretcher.

The lights and sounds of the fire engines and police cars echoed around the small neighborhood as she watched the fire hoses unroll towards the home. The EMS wrapped her arm to stop the bleeding and they were yelling things at her that she just couldn't understand. Her attention was on the fire and the old man inside who had almost ended her life. As she was being loaded into the ambulance, she saw the backside of one of the firemen as he walked backward out of the front door, the old man in his arms and halfway on fire.

It took her quite a while to process the whole event. But it wouldn't take long before she was back on duty and patrol. She wasn't sure if it was due to the fire in the place that William had been held prisoner or if it was William himself, narrowly escaping death, that made her feel so involved in the case. It was like something inside her telling her to protect him, even though she knew that she had to keep her bias at her front door. But the bias wouldn't leave her alone. It wanted in and she was the old bat sitting in a chair in the doorway with a gun. It was an unwelcome guest in her boarded house.

"Just let me fucking burn."