So Help Me God

(Author's Note: This story is a sequel to Nothing But The Truth. )

She could lose herself in the darkness.

All she had to do was take a step. One step. A few inches. And she would be gone. Only the black inkiness of the night would be left, her departure a momentary tear that would soon be forgotten.

She should do it. Get it over with. The final act to the travesty that was her life.

But she couldn't. Wouldn't. She'd been through her own private hell over the last five years; an experience that had taught her that she was not a quitter.

Not even when quitting seemed like the right move. The smart move.

She blinked back the tears that threatened, determined not to cry. Not now. Not tonight. The time for tears had been long ago and that time was over. Tears now would do no good. Not when there was no one to offer comfort. No one to care if she cried.

No one to care period.

She picked up a stone next to her and threw it into the water, not seeing where it hit but hearing the splash.

It was almost three in the morning and somewhere on the other side of the docks she could hear the fishermen begin to stir as they prepared the boats to go out.

The sky was dark and empty, the moon and stars were hidden by a layer of clouds that added to the chill in the air.

The clouds blocked the stars from her sight like the prison walls blocked the sunshine.

Except that sooner or later the clouds went away.

Prison walls never did.

Whether they were real concrete walls that anyone could touch or the kind that existed inside your own head that no one but you could see. The kind that never went away no matter how far or how fast you ran.

The kind that never would.

Pulling her jacket closer, she turned away from the river, casting one last look at the light across the river, the small beacon glowing from the island that sat in arrogant silence. She sighed softly and turned to leave, freezing when she heard a voice break the silence.

"What the hell are you doing here?" The voice was young, male, husky, and slurred from an overabundance of alcohol.

Emily Quartermaine looked down even as she flinched from the open hostility in the other's tone. "I'm leaving." Her tone was even, neutral, and lifeless.

"Yeah. Run home to the Quartermaines. They have enough money and power to clean up the messes you make." He laughed harshly.

She said nothing, there was no point in saying anything. She knew how this encounter would go. It was a direct echo of the last time they had met. It didn't even seem to matter that that had been a few days ago in the park in the afternoon. He had been like this that day too. Angry. Hostile. Hateful.

She'd stopped going out during the day after that last encounter, preferring to spend her days quietly in her room, coming out only at night for long walks along the waterfront.

She'd give those up too but they were the only thing that reminded her that she was free. The only time she really looked forward to.

She started to walk past him when his hand shot out and he grabbed her, his hand on her so tight that Emily had to bite her lip from crying out, knowing that she would be bruised tomorrow.

"Let me go."

"You should be the one dead."

"I know." She whispered the words quietly, maybe too quietly as he continued on as if he hadn't heard her.

"Five years. Five hellish years. Having to wake up without her each morning. Going to bed alone each night. Do you know what its like to try to live your life each day knowing that the person you love most in the world, the only one you will ever love, is rotting in her grave? All because of a jealous, vindictive bitch who pretended to be my friend."

That hurt. She knew she should be immune to his remarks after all this time, but she wasn't. Their friendship had been many things but it had never been a pretence.

"But you're a Quartermaine right? They play the game by their own set of rules. It doesn't matter if you were found holding the knife with her blood still warm on it. Hell, it doesn't even matter if a dozen juries found you guilty. Enough money to the right people and suddenly they decide that your rights were violated during your trial. Off on a technicality. Out of prison until the retrial."

The bitterness in his voice unnerved her and she knew that she had to get out of there, away from him. With a surge of adrenaline, she broke loose from his grip. "I'm going home."

She took a few steps away from him, determined not to run. Running would show fear. Fear was a weakness. She would never show weakness in front of him again.

And if for a second she remembered a time when he had been the person she had run to for comfort after she had lost her mother, well it was only for a second and the memory was locked away where it couldn't hurt her anymore.

"It won't work. Dara's going to try you again. Nothing's changed. You're still guilty as hell and any jury will know that in a minute. All of the money in the world isn't going to get you off."

"Everyone knows you killed Elizabeth. Everyone. Hell even Nikolas believes your guilty."

She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't.

"He's married you know. You should see his kid. She's beautiful." The words were said mockingly and she knew without a doubt that he knew how much each word hurt her.

She closed her eyes against the pain. She knew Nikolas was married. She knew everything about his life. It hurt. It hurt like hell. But somehow knowing the details of his life made hers easier to bear. They had been denied a happy ending, but he could have his and through his she in some small minute way found hers. A psychiatrist would probably say it was sick and twisted. To Emily it was survival.

She could still remember the day she had sent him away. It had been so easy. And so damned hard. All she had to do was refuse to see him and they sent him away. Day after day. Week after week. Until finally he had stopped coming all together.

She had been so relieved and so happy that she had cried for a week.

It had been the last time she had cried.

She knew pushing Nik away was the right thing to do. She had known it was what she had to do from the minute the judge had read those words. Life in prison. Her life spent in prison. Nik's in the world he belonged in. A world where he could still have his dreams. A family. A home. All the things they had stayed up late talking about.

She wanted those things for him. She always had. She always would.

But that didn't make it hurt less to know that someone else had given those things

to him.

Shaking, she took a few more steps.

"I hope you rot in hell Emily Quartermaine."

Suddenly she was furiously angry. Angry that she had lost five years of her life. Angry that she had lost Nikolas. Even angry that she had lost the friendship of the bitter young man in front of her. Without thinking, for the first time in a long time just feeling, she turned and walked over to him and slapped him hard across the face.

"Go f-ck yourself." The Emily she had been before would never have used those words to express her anger. The Emily she was now reveled in them.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" His voice was tinged with patent disbelief. She could tell she had stunned him and it felt, almost, good. Intoxicating. Alive.

"Wrong question. The question is who the hell do YOU think you are?" She

countered, for once not afraid to be loud. "You want me in hell? Don't worry about it. I've been there for five years now. Five long lousy years. You ever been in jail, Spencer? Real jail, not that fancy cell that Faison kept you in when we thought you were dead. I have. State prison. Maximum security. Maybe someday I'll tell you about it. Food's bad. Company's rotten. Going to the toilet in public stinks in more ways than one. I won't even go into what happens to you when you're young and pretty and as green as grass. Let's just say that you learn things fast. Or you don't learn ever again if you get my drift. You want to send me to hell. Go ahead. It can't be worse."

She looked around and grinned widely. "We're right on the edge of the pier. The water has to be freezing. I might last five minutes, maybe ten before hypothermia hits. One push. One lousy push. And then it will be over. Then you can get loaded every night secure in the knowledge that your precious Elizabeth has been avenged. F-ck it Spencer." She shouted the words at him, forcing him to look at her, into her. "You want me dead. You want me in hell. Well here's your chance. One push." She goaded him as he hesitated. "Come on. It's what you want. Me dead. Me in hell. Me gone. How many times have I heard you say it since I've been out? No one will ever know. They'll think I jumped."

"I won't feel sorry for you so you can stop playing games." Lucky expelled a deep breath and took a step away from her, breaking the tension of the moment.

"You sanctimonious bastard." She shook her head in disbelief. "Is that what you think this is? A game? Five years out of my life and you call it a game?"

"All I know is that you killed Elizabeth." Lucky said softly. "You killed the best thing that ever happened to me. You deserve whatever happens to you. But I won't be the one who makes sure you get what you deserve. Only one of us is a murderer here."

"What is that your new mantra?" Emily scoffed bitterly. " Emily killed Elizabeth. So Emily deserves to rot in prison. Emily deserves whatever happens to her. What do you have that needlepointed and framed on your wall? I....." She stopped herself, keenly aware that she was too close to breaking. "Never mind. Forget it. Go back to your alcohol induced state of oblivion. Go back to your pat answers and simple solutions. Go back to believing whatever it is you believe. I don't care anymore. Hell, I barely care about myself anymore why should I waste my energy caring about you or what you think. You want me in jail again. My new trial starts next week. It might go a week. Maybe ten days. Then its back to jail." The expression in her eyes was bleak and at odds with the half smile that formed on her lips. "You're right. There's no new evidence. Nothing to change the jury's mind. Or yours. Just answer me one question. One question and then I swear you'll never hear from me or see me again."

He looked at her warily. This whole scene wasn't playing out the way he thought it should and even with his senses dulled by tremendous amounts of alcohol he felt a growing sense of unease. "What?"

"How do you know I'm guilty?"

He hadn't expected that question and he found himself searching for an answer. "The evidence." He finally said harshly, his blue eyes never leaving her face. "You were holding the knife over her body. There was no one else there, no prints, no physical evidence of an intruder. Nothing to say that you didn't kill her."

She nodded slowly. "I see." She started to walk away and then turned back. "You know that's the really sad thing. If things had been reversed, if you had been the one accused of murder....." Her voice dropped several octaves and she had to strain to hear it. "All the evidence in the world wouldn't have mattered. They could have shown me a videotape of you committing the act and I wouldn't have believed that you were guilty. A thousand juries could have convicted you and I wouldn't have cared or listened. You were my friend and that would have been reason enough to believe in your innocence. That and the fact that I knew you better than any juries or any lawyers or any evidence ever could." Her voice faltered but then recovered. "Once upon a time I thought you knew me too."

She walked a hundred or so feet away before turning back to him one last time. "You didn't believe me then, but I wasn't lying. I didn't kill Elizabeth." She held up her hand to stop his protest. "I know. You don't believe me. You don't have to. I know the truth." She paused. "I'm sorry she's dead. If I could change things, switch places, bring her back, I would. I can't. Just like I can't make you believe me. Or believe in me. I'm not guilty. I have nothing to feel guilty about. Can you say the same?" She shook her head. "Goodbye Lucky." There was a finality to her voice and infinite sadness that made him wince with each footstep that echoed as she walked away.

Standing on the docks in the cold night air, a fast sobering Lucky found himself almost terrified by a single thought that kept drumming itself through his head.

Could Emily be innocent? And if she was..... Unable to finish this chain of thought, Lucky sank slowly to his knees and cried, unsure of who or what he was crying for.