Chase looked up as Andrea entered the hotel room carrying two doggy bags of food. The blonde was sitting in bed, leaning against the headboard with the covers pulled up over her legs. On the old, wood-paneled hotel television, Huckleberry Hound was singing 'Oh My Darling Clementine.'

“Oh, hi mom miss,” said Chase. She gave her a faint smile. It had been a couple days since she'd left Sunnycrest and Chase was trying to be positive, even though it still hurt.

“Hey Chase,” said Andrea. She held up one of the carry-out bags. “I got your favorite!”

“Wow!” said Chase, as Andrea handed her the bag. “Love my fave-rit!”

“I know you do.”

Chase took a clamshell styrofoam container out of the bag and opened it up, revealing a steak and fries. Andrea opened up her own meal, a reuben sandwich, and the two of them ate together and watched cartoons.

“Hey, Chase?” asked Andrea, on a commercial.

“What?”

Andrea was still thinking about that trucker. She hadn't had the opportunity to play with him, and the unfulfillment was turning into quite an itch. “What does it feel like to you? When you kill someone?”

Chase looked at her. “Feel?” she asked, confused.

“Yeah. How do you feel when you do it?”

“Hung-ree.”

“No, no, not before. I mean in the moment it's happening,” said Andrea. She smiled eagerly. “Do you feel...excited? Powerful? Turned on?”

“Also hung-ree,” said Chase. “Hung-ree, or...must help friends.”

Andrea thought about this. “Hmm. Yes, your friends...”

Did Chase really get nothing from it in terms of a personal thrill? She supposed it made sense. The way Chase had been raised, murder was not a...luxury. It wasn't a taboo that was a thrill, an unparalleled thrill, to break, which was the way Andrea experienced it. For most of Chase's life it had been a necessary part of living. She and her family killed because they needed to eat, and that was all.

The food seemed to lift Chase's spirits a bit. Before long she was even laughing at the TV. “It's nice to hear you laughing,” said Andrea. “You've made so much progress since you started counseling, Chase.”

“Have progged?” Chase asked, surprised.

“Absolutely,” said Andrea. “I know you're a bit down hanging around in this hotel room all the time, so I'm happy to say I think you're ready to move on.”

“Move?”

“You remember how I told you you're not alone out there? That there are other girls like you, even if it doesn't feel that way sometimes?” asked Andrea. “I think I've found the perfect place where you might find some.”

Chase heard this and was surprised, but not in the way Andrea probably expected. Chase was surprised at her lack of interest. Finding somewhere she would fit in had sounded great in Andrea's office. In her state of self-doubt and regret over her actions at the cabin, it sounded a lot like the solution to the inner turmoil Chase had been feeling. But with time and distance, she viewed the proposition differently. Chase had fought a lot of violent girls in her time. The things she liked best about her friends back in Sunnycrest were the ways they were different from her.

Still though, she could not be a part of that. She wasn't meant to live that life. Miss Cha had shown her that. With Miss Cha's help, Chase was able to stop fighting the truth and embrace it for the good of all those she cared about. It wouldn't do Chase any good to look back now. It would just undo all the progress she'd made. The only way now was forward.

“That good. Place for me?” asked Chase.

Andrea's sandwich was gone, and she was using a fry to mop up a glob of thousand island dressing which had gotten away from it. “Hmm? Oh, yes. A place for you. You'll love it,” said Andrea. She took a bite off the fry and sighed. “You really can't get a good reuben in flyover country.”

Andrea had spent the whole meal watching Chase eat. More particularly, watching her swallow. Girls' necks really were so...unappetizing compared to men's. But it was hard not to be intrigued by Chase, an unusual girl by any metric. She squelched her desire by taking Chase's hand and squeezing that instead. “I'm really excited for you, Chase. You'll fit in just right. You're about to start a whole new chapter of your life and form all kinds of new connections with people.” She remembered Abraham's last command. “And I'll be there to help you too, of course. So you won't be doing it alone.”

Chase smiled. “That good. Thanks, mom miss.”

…............

“Are you okay, Denver?”

Denver looked up at Maureen, in the seat beside her. The giantess had been staring down at the table in front of them, lost in thought. She was dressed in prison orange, her wrists cuffed in front of her.

“Yeah.”

“You were staring into space.”

“Just thinking.”

In front of them was the courtroom bench, presently empty. Denver had been in court before, so she had some idea of what to expect. It wouldn't be long before the judge walked out and sat there. Across the aisle, also facing the bench, was a second table with the state prosecutor. Behind them was a crowd of people. Some reporters, some loved ones of the victims. There was even a news camera. That hadn't been there the first time.

“Do you need something to drink or anything?”

“No, I'm fine,” said Denver. She glanced over her shoulder at the crowd, then turned her gaze back down at the desk. “Do they have to be here?”

Maureen looked confused. “There's nothing we can do about it. Sorry. Do they bother you?”

“I just don't like people behind me,” said Denver. Her voice was hard, trying to sound tough, but Maureen noticed she was sitting very rigid in her seat, as though nervous. “I don't like people sneaking up on me.”

Not quite understanding this reaction, Maureen gave her a reassuring smile. “They won't lay a hand on you. That would be unheard of. The judge and the police officers won't let that happen.”

“Maybe not, but they want to,” said Denver calmly. “They'd kill me if they could.” Maureen was unable to respond. She couldn't really argue with that.

Everyone rose as the judge entered the courtroom. He sat down at the bench, and the room followed suit.

After refreshing himself on Denver's file, he announced, “15-00391, Hightower vs. State. Will the defendant please stand?”

Denver did so. The judge looked at her and asked, “Are you Denver Hightower?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Denver, together, your representation and the prosecution have proposed a plea agreement. Are you aware of this?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what a plea agreement is?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” said the judge. “You are charged with four counts of kidnapping, four counts of murder in the first degree, and three counts of desecration of a corpse. As a result of your plea agreement, the charges of kidnapping and desecration of a corpse will be dismissed, and the charges of murder in the first degree will be reduced to the less serious charge of manslaughter, on the condition that you plead guilty to these charges of manslaughter. Are these the terms of your plea agreement as you understand them?”

“Yes.”

“Each charge of manslaughter is punishable by imprisonment for a term between two and thirty years. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“By pleading guilty, you waive your right to a trial and a jury. Do you accept that?”

“Yes.”

“By pleading guilty, you waive your right to have the state prove its case against you beyond a reasonable doubt, and you waive your right to remain silent. Do you accept that?”

Maureen felt a sudden urge to speak up then, to stop this whole thing. These were canned questions, and she often felt a twinge of regret, of 'what if' when she heard this one. Some little urge inside her compelled her to take the case to trial. To back out of the deal. If we can just prove reasonable doubt...

But no. This was the best thing for Denver. She had already come to terms with that.

“Yeah,” Denver said, and the opportunity was gone.

The hearing had barely started, and yet it was almost over. The judge took an oath from Denver, then, one by one, asked how Denver pleaded for each charge. Her answer to each one, even Hugh Hartline, was guilty.

The judge nodded. “Very well. I accept your plea of guilty. I understand the prosecution has a recommended sentence?”

“Yes, your honor,” said the prosecutor. “We recommend that Denver Hightower serve four consecutive sentences of five years each, with the possibility of parole after sixteen.”

There were some murmurings at that. The judge took off his reading glasses, set them down, and looked at Denver thoughtfully. After a moment's thought, he spoke. “Miss Hightower, I must confess, this is very difficult for me. I have spoken both with the prosecution and your defense on the details of this case, and of your mental state. Any time a teen faces the possibility of life in prison, we must always take pause, and you have given me special pause. However, the fact remains that four of Sunnycrest's children are dead, and you are the only one we can hold responsible. While it is within my power to decide your sentence here and now, I'll need some time to consider this.” He hesitated, then asked, “Is there anything you'd like to say to me before I conclude this hearing?”

Denver thought about it. There was a lot she wanted to say, really. She wanted to say she was sorry.

When Maureen was still entertaining multiple different options for how to handle this case, she had explained to Denver that the key to the insanity defense was establishing that Denver didn't know the difference between right and wrong. Did she? Well, she supposed she did. It was just that right and wrong seemed like foolish, idealistic concepts to someone who had been through all she had. After a life of having noone on her side, of being alone against the world, suddenly having the volleyball girls beside her blinded her to everything else. Right and wrong was supplanted by loyalty and disloyalty. Right and wrong was a moral system that worked for a vast majority of people. She understood that. But to someone who had been failed by other people's sense of right and wrong time and time again, it seemed terribly flawed.

Denver thought there was a good chance that this made her a monster. She wasn't sure, but she thought it might. She wanted to tell the judge she was sorry, for what it was worth. And she wanted to say that he should give her whatever punishment he saw fit.

But Maureen had advised her to say nothing at this part, so she didn't. “No.”

The judge stared at her for a while, as if sensing her internal dialogue. Then, he nodded. “I see.” He consulted his schedule. “Your sentencing will take place three weeks from now, on December the 17th at two p.m. This hearing is adjourned.”

As he gathered his things to leave, Maureen stood and reached up to put a supportive hand on Denver's shoulder. “Don't worry. He'll accept the recommended sentence,” she whispered.

“I know,” said Denver.

Maureen gave her shoulder a pat. “This doesn't end here either, you know. This is just the beginning. I'm going to be with you every step of the way. You won't serve that full sentence. No chance.”

Denver looked at her. For a second, looking in the girl's hard, cold eyes, she thought Denver would tell her not to bother. But then, she saw something in them soften. “Thanks for helping me, Miss Taylor.”

Maureen nodded guiltily. “I wish I could have done more.”

........

The package from Director Abraham arrived precisely on time, delivered directly to their hotel room door by a man who was dressed as an ordinary USPS worker and said nothing as the transfer was made.

It consisted of two large boxes, one for Chase and one for Andrea. They each contained a different outfit as well as the necessary credentials for a disposable identity.

“What do you think? Buttoned or unbuttoned?” asked Andrea, closing her suit jacket and opening it up again. Inside it was a white blouse and black tie, and below it were crisp black slacks.

Chase looked up from the orange jumpsuit she was holding. “Un.”

“Unbuttoned it is, then.”

Chase looked back down at her garment. “Why must wear strange orange clothes?”

“That's your uniform for the place we're going,” Andrea explained.

A uniform? Chase doubted that. The word 'uniform' conjured up a very different image in her mind: that of her Sunnycrest cheerleading uniform. “But it not cute,” she explained. “Is best wear cute. Not ugg. Leash tell me so.”

Andrea laughed. “I can't argue with that. Unfortunately, though, they won't let you in if you don't wear it.”

Once Chase reluctantly put on the jumpsuit, the duo packed their bags and left. Outside, they discovered that the outfits were not the only deliveries for them. In the parking lot, right outside their door, was a new black sedan.

At first, Chase didn't even notice it, but Andrea caught on quick. She smiled at the sight of it, walked right to the driver's side door, and opened it. The keys were in the ignition.

“What you do? Your car there,” said Chase, pointing at the dark green hatchback they'd left Sunnycrest in.

“There's people in Sunnycrest who've seen me driving that one,” said Andrea. “Always switch cars, Chase. That was one of the basics of being on the run even when I was your age, and that was before there were surveillance cameras at every traffic light.”

“Car have lights too,” said Chase. She felt she had a good grasp of the concepts Andrea was introducing.

Andrea wasn't so sure. She tapped herself thoughtfully on the cheek. “Hmm...just think of it this way, it's a way to help cover our tracks.”

“Oh! No tracks. Now it clear,” said Chase.

They loaded up their things in the new car and drove away. As they neared the outskirts of Stoughten, Chase had a silly hope that their route would take them back the way they came. She suddenly wanted to see the mountains of home just one more time. But this little fantasy was short lived, vanishing into smoke as soon as they ramped up onto the freeway and were guided away in the opposite direction by the flow of traffic.

The freeway took them north. After some time driving in this direction, Chase did get to see some more mountains, but there were none she recognized. She knew she must have been very far from home.

Andrea drove twelve hours, taking advantage of a few rest stops here and there. It was dark by the time they pulled off the freeway for good.

Chase could feel a change elevation, and knew they had climbed quite a bit since leaving Stoughten. Though the surroundings were too dark for Andrea to see anything but the occasional reflective road signs illuminated by her headlights, Chase had no trouble seeing that they were in a rocky area of cliffs and gullies. A massive buffalo jump ran parallel with the road to the east, and Chase marveled at it.

Andrea announced they were getting close. There were few trees there. Few places to hide. This location was chosen by design, of course, but Chase did not realize that.

And then, as they crested a rise, the black shape of a massive building complex came into view. Chase's first thought was that it was her new school. It had the same sort of low, sprawling shape as Sunnycrest High. However, as they drew closer, she saw the barbed wire fence. She saw the guard towers. She realized this place was not like any school she'd ever seen.

The front gate was closed, and had a watchman posted beside it in a guard booth. Andrea parked alongside him, and rolled down her window. By this point, Chase was close enough to read the words on the sign above the gate: Otsego County High Security Women's Correctional Facility.