In The Shadow Of Death


angela2_icon.gif kaylee2_icon.gif melissa2_icon.gif peter7_icon.gif unknown7_icon.gif

Scene Title In The Shadow Of Death
Synopsis The Petrelli Manor becomes ground zero for an attack by the smoke man.
Date March 16, 2010

Petrelli Manor

Being snowed in means a lot of things, it means the smell of hickory and cedar burning in a fireplace, it means hot cocoa and thick blankets, it means watching the heavy snow fall down in thick flakes thorugh large windows as wind batters relentlessly outside. For the Petrelli family, of whom Kaylee seems to have become an extension of as of late, even the most devilish of winter storms don't seem to deter that sense of home that permeates through the Petrelli Manor.

Of all the places in the world Melissa Pierce thought that Peter would ask to meet her, especially sick as he is, the home of his family and residence of the President is not one she ever imagined she'd be seeing from the inside. But when the invitation was offered, to stop by for the evening, visit, meet the family and reconnect with the paramedic she may have tried to secude, doing all this while his girlfriend is around seems… curious.

It was his mother's idea, though.

When the front door of the manor swings open, it's not some stuffy suited attendant greeting the bundled blonde at the door, but Peter Petrelli himself. Admittedly the white surgical mask he's wearing isn't the most fashion conscious choice to add with his soft and loose gray sweater and khakis, but health before fashion in this case.

Not far from the foyer, thorugh a large and open pair of French doors, the manor's ground floor living room is lit warmly and heated by the crackling pop and glow of an open fireplace where in the glow of that fire, Kaylee Anne Thatcher sits with legs curled up and a warm red blanket pulled up over her shoulders, able to see from where she sits Peter greeting the guest at the door.

A friend he said she was, even if there's awkwardness in his posture even now, you two might get along. He wishes Angela hadn't been so insistant on including Kaylee in the meeting, wishes that his mother wasn't usually right about these sorts of things. He also wishes she hadn't gone up to bed early and taken Molly with her, it just seems all too much like an arrangement, more so than a suggestion.

"Come on inside, it's— I can't believe you actually came out in this weather." Peter offers to Melissa, crooked smile hidden behind his paper mask as he step aside from the door to offer her entrance, "it's a coming down pretty bad out there…" he admits with a furrow of dark brows, watching the blizzard through the open doorway.

Melissa has indeed braved the snow and cold. Of course, she's braved it with an ankle length coat, hat, scarf and gloves. All black, and all dusted with snow, as are her pants and boots. And while she looks curious about being invited to this place, there's no hesitation when she knocks.

Peter gets a smile, mask or not, and a sympathetic look. "I've gone out for less. Besides, I'm kind of enjoying the snow. Before I moved here I never saw more than an inch or two. Just gotta find someone who'll go play in the snow with me." She grins slowly at him as she steps inside. "You game once you get feeling better?"

It's clear that Melissa hadn't yet spotted Kaylee when she begins her flirting, and it's just as clear when she does spot the 'other blonde'. She pauses, a brow arching, and she glances to Peter, murmuring, "Afraid to be alone with me now, Peter? I promise, I won't bite…unless you want me to."

Then she's all smiles as she starts into the living room, smiling at Kaylee and unwrapping her scarf, pulling off her hat. "Kaylee, right? Telepath?"

It will be the second time the two Ferrymen will really meet each other, Kaylee's been so busy with a life outside of the Ferrymen that she's not been as buried in it as she use too. Of course, the first time they met was at the ball and neither knew they were Ferry. Eyes narrow slightly in thought as she watches the woman, it's one thing about Kaylee, she's a watcher. She doesn't look her best right now, when your sick you don't exactly make sure your makeup is done up nice and perfect. Though, watching that door open and the interaction, a part of her wishes she had.

Fingers come up out of the blanket, to brush at strands of hair damp from feverish sweat. Her hair is pulled back on her head at least, lessening the effect of what the sweating does to her hair. At least she can say that Peter has seen her at her worst. There is a soft sigh, unfortunately the breath catches in her throat and the telepath ends up with a heavy cough. A hand comes up at the question as she works to catch her breath. It takes a few more coughs before she can give a small nod.

She offers the other woman a small smile. "Yeah.. " Kaylee's voice sounds rougher then normal cause of the cough. "I'm Kaylee.. and I am a telepath. You are Melissa." A glance goes to Peter, before she adds. "You'll have to excuse me if I don't shake your hand.. or get up to greet you."

If only they could see Peter's awkward smile behind his mask, thankfully the wheezing offsets the noise of him almost choking on his tongue when Melissa hits on him in front of Kaylee. Clearing his throat, Peter draws in a deep breath and steps to the side, pushing the front doors closed with a noisy click that echoes thorugh the tiled foyer. Brown eyes move to the snowy tracks Melissa is leavingon the floor, but just breathes out a huff sigh and shakes his head, following in behind Melissa.

"I— wasn't under the impression you two knew each other," Peter admits with an arch of one brow, glancing back and forth and forgetting that he'd explained to Melissa about his date for the gala. "There's a young girl staying here too, her name's Molly Walker, I think she's where both Kaylee and I got infected. I'm— sorry you had to come all the way out here and see me like this." Peter admits as he passes by Melissa, moving over to the sofa to lean in and rest a hand atop Kaylee's head, raking fingers through blonde hair before looking back up to Melissa as he steps away, motioning over towards a chair near the fireplace.

"Go on, take your jacket off and sit. I had an extra room upstairs set up for you in case you don't feel like making the trek back to wherever it is you're staying tonight, you're more than welcome to stay here and leave in the morning once the snow's settled." Moving to sit by Kaylee on the sofa once she's moved her feet out of the way, Peter shakes his head and glances over towards the fireplace, then looks back to Melissa.

"I never asked you, because— well— " Peter's brows furrow slightly, and a look is offered from Kaylee to Melissa before he reaches up to tap the side of his neck near his jaw. "Moab. What— why'd you get put there?" Maybe he had ulterior motives in asking Melissa here.

Melissa takes off her coat and gloves, drapping her cold weather stuff over the back of a chair as far away from the sick people as possible, before she sits down. "You introduced us, remember? At the thing at the hotel?" she reminds Peter, a brow arching. Her head tilts then at his offer, and her lips curve a little, amused. And perhaps maybe there's a little hint of slyness to that smile. Uh oh. "You did, hmm? How thoughtful of you, Peter."

Melissa stretches her legs out, crossing them at the ankles. "You asked me here though to talk about Moab? Why? I'm not there now, so does it really matter?"

"Last time I saw her was the Ball." Kaylee admits in agreement with the other woman, eyes studying Melissa, only breaking away to glance up when Peter's fingers move through her hair. A soft smile is offered to him and she shifts her feet off the couch so he can sit. Hands remain tucked under the blanket, which is tucked under her chin. It's a good thing there are no empaths around, no one can feel the unease.

"If it's one thing about Peter, it's thoughtful." Kaylee says with a careful chuckle, glancing at the man next to her the look affectionate. "He barely knew me and let me stay on his couch when I was homeless for a time." Yeah, she likes him… no matter how much she tries not to think about it.

The talk about Moab allows her to go quiet, her eyes unfocusing some as she listens to the stuttering of mental humming in her head, as it flickers out now and then. She hadn't told Peter about that yet.

A lopsided smile is offered up towards Kaylee, and Peter's brows furrow as his head quirks to the side, eyes angling up and over towards Melissa afterward. "She's probably the only person in the city who'd still say that about me," Peter jests with a grimace behind his paper mask, resting a hand down on Kaylee's leg over the blanket. "Look I— don't mean to bring up the Moab thing, I know none of us who were there really want to remember it, but it's just— if you need help, I know the government's probably on the lookout for you, and you as much as anyone else deserves to live a normal life…"

Bobbing his head from side to side, Peter furrows his brows and adds, "I might be able to pull some strings with my family, try and— get your name cleared?" For as much as he's hiding his smile, it still shows in Peter's eyes. "You don't deserve to have to hide behind a fake name, I just— I wanted to know before I talk to anyone why you got brought in."

There's a loud pop from the fireplace, one of the logs on it sending a tiny cinder out onto the stone hearth, bouncing off of the screen designed to catch them. "God, that thing…" Peter pushes up to his feet, hissing out a breath as he moves over to the fireplace as the log starts to smolder more profusely, followed by a gust of wind from outside blowing down the chimney, sending a puff of smoke out. "My mother was right I shouldn't have bothered lighting this thing…" He crouches down in front of the fire, lifting the screen out of the way and moving it to the side, "nothing but a pain in the ass…" Peter murmurs, reaching up to try and close the flue some.

Melissa's lips curve. "Oh, I know he is. Very thoughtful." She looks back to Peter, nodding slowly as he explains the reasons behind asking. However whatever answer she may have given is delayed a bit. Instead she's cocking her head slightly, and speaking of asses, she's admiring Peter's and thinking, "Oh yes, definitely biting potential there." Silly girl. Never assume the telepath is too sick to read minds! Or perhaps she just doesn't care. Who knows.

"If you're asking if I actually did something to get put in Moab, the answer is no. They simply deemed my power to be too dangerous to allow me to wander around free. Still not quite sure how they found out about it in the first place."

Mel's gaze slides back to Kaylee, considering her. "So were you in Moab too?"

There is a narrowing of her eyes, but, Kaylee's face is fairly neutral, Adam's teaching keeping her from betraying that fact of what she's hearing. The smile she offers the woman is a tight one, "No." The word croaks out and she can't help but cough again. Face buried in the blanket to spare Melissa. "About the time that happened I believe I was attending New York University. I guess no one was aware of what I was able to do, else they may have never allowed me to walk free." There is a small evil twist of her lips as Peter's back is turn.

"But… it is probably that ability that allowed me to stay free. A suggestion here.. and memory altered there." Kaylee glances away then to watch Peter, squinting against the light of the fire. "I did plenty that could have put me there." Peter at least knew the worst of it, stuff mentioned when curled up in bed. The stuff she's done, the regret.

Coughing despite his paper mask, Peter swats at the smoking fireplace and leans away from it with a squint. He hears what Kaylee's saying, turns just enough to get a look at her as his mouth opens to add, "You're not a bad— " and then Peter is launched off of his feet like he's hit by a car, sailing up thorugh the air and over the sofa to smash against the ceiling, cracking plaster and rattling the chandellier. A yelp of pain slips out as Peter's flung bodily down to the floor with a crash, tiles shattering beneath him before he's flung up and out the sitting room window with an explosive shatter of glass, tangled curtains and broken frame, letting snow and strong winds come blowing in to the manor.

A low sonorous rumble fills the air, smoke pours down the chimney in black, sooty quality before rising up into a whirling pillar of darkness, ash falling from within before the couch is flipped over, sending Kaylee toppling with the furniture as it lands atop her, the side of her head smacking against the floor just enough to blur her vision for a moment.

The smoke whirls about, voluminous and as dark as ink, and Melissa feels a sudden jerking sensation at the center of her chest as she's yanked out of the chair by an unseen force, dragged thorugh the air and slammed with her back up against the wall beside the fireplace. The smoke rolls forward, tightens, and then begins to take the form of a man. Darkly dressed in a black wool jacket, a blue baseball cap pulled down snug over his shaved head, salt and pepper colored stubble over his long chin. He holds out weathered hand out, and Melissa can feel a constriction around her throat, even as he raises two finger to point towards her head. "Shhh," he breathes out, smoke escaping his lips, "it will all be over soon."

Melissa tilts her head, brows arching. "You can influence people's thoughts? Not just read minds?" There's a quick glance to Peter, a quick thought about how she keeps him so loyal. Then it's back to Kaylee. "Handy." Though she thinks it's cheating!

But all too quickly her thoughts are scrambled. When Peter is thrown out her eyes widen and she starts to get to her feet. Or at least that's the idea until she's pinned against the wall. She tries to scream Peter's name, more concerned for him than she is for herself. But then the words from the stranger have her anger sparking and her attention shifting back to him.

Pinned to the wall and choked, Melissa may not be able to do much, but pain doesn't always necessarily have to come as a result of a weapon or a fist. And since her pistol is in her coat, it's a good thing! Her anger over her current state and what happened to Peter help her focus, help her use her ability against this man better than she could use any gun or knife, and she lashes out with it. Headaches can be ignored at times, dealt with. Some people can even focus during some migraines. But Melissa is pissed and this is no normal migraine she's trying to deliver, just after she whispers, "Fuck you."

Anger tears through the telepath at those thoughts, hands curling into fists in her blanket, there is a dangerous flash in those blue eyes. She's been good since she met Joseph, been trying to be a good girl. There is almost no time for Kaylee to react, to snap at that woman, before Peter goes flying and before she's flipped backwards hitting her head on the ground, leaving her sprawled out, her head spinning and her vision blurred.

The edges of her vision grays a bit, and there is a soft groan from the telepath, which ends in a soft cough as she slowly tries to get her bearings. Fingers, somewhat weak from the illness claw at the couch to try and push it off her.

"Peter!"Kaylee cries out, the word catching in her throat. "Help her." Not help me, help her. The telepath is not so selfish and the need to protect other strong enough, it's why she is Ferrymen and often one of the first to go in. She can't see the assailant… she has to see him to try.

Her head thumps on the floor again, eyes on the cieling, they go wide. Molly and Peter's mother are in the house still. She grits her teeth and shoves at the couch.

Blinding pain is just that, blinding. Themoment the attacker's head jerks back from Melissa's infliction of pain, his hands move up and clutch at his head, followed by a rasping scream as cracked lips and yellowed teeth. A violent jerk of the telekinetic force flings Melissa from the wall and down to the floor, and with one hand still holding his head, the darkly dressed attacker begins stalking across the floor, reaching in to a pocket in his jacket as a line of blood trickles out of his nostrils. There's a metallic flash, a scalpel withdrawn from inside his coat.

"Be a good girl, and lie still," he breathes out those words in ragged, husky tone as the telekinetic push flattens Melissa to the floor, spins her around and then suspends her upside down in the air. Two fingers come out again, the smoke man's tongue slides across his lips, and a horrible shrieking sound fills the air as — even with the pain throbbing against the back of his eyes — a thin line of blood begins to appear across Melissa's forehead. "Help me take away the pain."

There's no sign of Peter, no movement from outside, nothing. There's blood on the glass where he went flying thorugh the window, the snow is raging and below-freezing air comes gusting in with flurries of snow thorugh the massive, shattered window. For all either of the young women knows, this man killed Peter.

Melissa can't help but scream as her head is cut, though it sounds like a scream of rage as much as pain. Probably moreso. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. Really. "Kiss my ass," she hisses at him from between clenched teeth. She struggles to move, to kick or punch at the man, but still her main focus is pain. His pain. She's pushing herself, she knows she is, even with temper backing her ability. And no doubt if she were right side up, she'd have blood from her nose to join the blood on her forehead.

With a grunt, Kaylee gets out from under the couch, rolling over onto her hands and knees. Her head hangs, throbbing slightly as she takes a moment to stop the world from spinning. Bare feet are silent as she climbs to her feet, arms out to balance her some. A glance to the window, her head tilts a bit as she tries to find Peter.


Peter!? First panic and fear rip through her, but then it's replaced by anger. So much of it. She grabs a hold of that anger and allows it to fuel her body enough so that she can creep forward. Close to the fire, her fingers reach out to grip the poker, it pains her to be so slow, but she can't afford to move too quickly and give up where she is. The other woman might be after the man Kaylee loves, but that doesn't mean she's going to leave her to this guy.

The poker is swung up over her head, it trembles slightly in her hand and is brought down with as much force as the sick woman can muster, much like one would chop down with and axe. At the bottom of it's arch, she's screaming "«Get the fuck out of here and leave us alone, you son of a bitch!»" She can only hope her ability is working as she yells those words, trying to shove everything into those words and thrust them into his head. It's a risk to her health, but one she's willing to make.

This telepath means serious business.

Pain. Pain lances through the smoke man's form, courses up and down his back and thorugh his spine, aches in his bones and drives knives into his teeth and eyes. He should be doubled over, crippled from the pain, but despite the blood trickling down the front of his face from his nose he has managed to keep focus on his ability, on the ravenous look of hunger in his wide, desperate eyes.

Just as telekinetic sawblades slice thorugh flesh and bone at Melissa's forehead, there's a sudden jerk of the smoke man's head to the side, not from the impact of the poker, but from some sort of preternatural alertness and awareness. Melissa is dropped from the telekinesis, crashing to the floor with her weight on one shoulder thanks to the angle, tearing muscles in one side of her neck before she collapses to the ground. The moment before the poker slams into his head, he discorporates in an eruption of smoke, his body breaking apart in a whirling ashen cloud that swirls through the ground floor, spreading out like a rolling carpet of cottony darkness before swirling into a pillar of vaguely humanoid form once more.

There's a slithering hiss sound, then a wheezing exhalation like some sort of horrible animal growling with the rattle of fluid-filled lungs behind it. He's standing there, in the smoke, and at that odd rattling hiss, Kaylee can feel her eyes beginning to lid, sleep coming on as Melissa too feels the desire to simply rest. Psychic defenses, however, combat the onslaught of sleep before it can set in, and Kaylee is able to keep her mind about her, even as she smoke breaks apart into a slithering and serpentine form again, and makes howling progression towards the shattered window, out into the snowy exterior of the house. For a moment, for the barest of moments Kaylee is almost certain it worked, that she was able to drive him off.

Until she sees him reform again, crouching in the snow. There, hunched over Peter, the smoke man reaches out and grasps the unconscious Petrelli by the face with nicotine stained fingers, thin wisps of smoke issuing out of his nostrils and from between his parched lips. He leans in, two fingers pointed down as he lifts Peter up from the snow, but then he stops. Like an animal that can smell sickness on its prey, the smoke man relinquishes Peter, looks back towards the sitting room, his face shadowed by the bill of his baseball cap, and then breaks apart into smoke again.

This time, the black cloud disappears thorugh the iron bars of the garden gate, and then is unable to be seen in the gloom of night. In his wake, a single piece of glass falls loose from the shattered window, clinking down to the floor in the otherwise silent home.

Melissa doesn't lay for long after she's dropped. She may be in pain, but right now adrenaline is helping her to fight it. She starts to get up, though her movements grow sluggish when the man simply makes her want to sleep. But even then she's crawling towards the window.

The moment that she no longer feels so tired she's scrambling towards the window, then out it, uncaring about the glass, or the fact that her coat is still on the chair. She may not love Peter, but she does like him and she does hate the one who attacked them. That's enough for her. She glances around for the man, but it's Peter she rushes to, while blood drips from her forehead and nose, and her body aches. Her head screams in pain, but being slammed and dropped doesn't feel good for the rest of her.

Blood stains the snow as she drops to her knees beside Peter. "Oh my god. Peter, wake up. Wake up!" She glances back towards Kaylee. She's sick, but Mel can't get Peter out of the snow by herself. Dilemma! "Kaylee, anyone in the house who can help me get him inside?" she asks before she looks Peter over, to see just how badly he's hurt.

"Peter!" Kaylee calls in a panic already racing towards the form in the snow, the bite of glass in her feet is ignored as she races towards the door. "Oh god.. Peter…" She lets the panic show now, as she yanks open the door and steps out into the cold of the snow. Her bare feet, burn from the ice, but she doesn't care at this moment, it is not the first time she took that sort of journey, she just has to get to him. Numbness of her feet, causes her to fall into the snow, she scrambles on hands and knees the last bit of the way, the gray sweats she's wearing, darken at the knees from the snow melting from the heat of her body.

"Peter… please." She moves to brush a snow dusted hand on his cheek. "Please be okay." She whispers with deep worry, before she glances to the woman. She maybe sick, but she won't play weak. Shifting around to sit at Peter's, she leans down to hook arms under his shoulders. "No.. the guy that is usually staying here with us is gone for the moment." She turns her head as a suddenly fit of coughing hits her, her arm lifted to block it. Taking a deep calming breath she turns back to start lifting Peter off the ground, unknowing of the spattering of blood her coughing has left on her sweat shirt and flecked across her lips.

Standing silhouette by the burning fireplace in the shattered frame of the window, Angela Petrelli's darkly-dressed form watches the two blondes in the snow where Peter lays impressed into a drift, blood spattered all around where he lays, some belonging to the man who was almost his killer, some Melissa's. There's a scowl on her lips, pressed into a thin line as she lowers a phone from her ear and steps away from the window at the young womens' backs.

Rushing out from the front doors, manor staff throw on jacket and come clamboring out into the knee deep drifts, one young man raising his hand against the freezing winds. "Miss Thatcher!" He calls out, flashlights begin to shine from other parts of the estate, exterior lights come on, and the housekeeping staff of the manor are in the snow trying to assess what happened.

It's too soon for police, too soon for paramedics, and with the blizzard raging outside it will likely be some time before federal agents are crawling over every inch of the household trying to establish just exactly what happened here.

Laid out in the snow, Peter isn't moving, shards of glass stuck into his shoulder, cuts across one side of his face in tiny red dashes, dark circles around his eyes from not only bruising that he sustained during the severe thrashing the smoke man gave him, but also from the way the H5N10 virus has been wearing thin at him.

Most worrisome in this, is Kaylee's inability to hear what Peter's thinking. It's like an ordinary person suddenly realizing they can't smell, or see, or hear, no static background noise from anyone around her, not the manor attendants or anyone.

Snow whips down from above, clinging to the bloody line across Melissa's forehead, freezing in Kaylee's hair and swirling in tiny eddies and currents on the frigid wind.

Melissa shakes her head at Kaylee. "You're sick. You're weak. Get his feet," she says, nudging at Kaylee, trying to urge her to listen with action as well as words. She glances up, seeing Angela, but the woman, unknown to Melissa, isn't her concern right now.

When the man comes out, Melissa calls to him, "Help me get him inside! Kaylee, do you know where any first aid stuff is? I may not be a paramedic, but I can help." And her thoughts and expression clearly show that this is her actually trying to help, not trying to replace Kaylee. She honestly believes she can do something to help Peter's injuries.

If Kaylee does listen and move from Peter's shoulders, Melissa takes her place, at least in that, and starts working at getting him inside. If not, well, she grabs his legs and does the same! Though now she is starting to feel the cold, and the pain, shivering and moving stiffly.

Anything that is said to her is missed as Kaylee sinks into the snow, arms still hooked through Peter's leaving him cradled against her chest for the moment. It's like the moment you realize you can't see. Eyes turn to Melissa, she can see the fear in them, before Kaylee glances away, vision blurring with sudden tears. "Oh god…" She never really realized just how much it was a part of her. The silence in her head is as deafening as a sound deprived room.

It was gone. What made her who she was.. what made her useful to the Ferrymen was gone. Arms tighten around Peter's still form for a long moment, making it look like she's going to be stubborn about it, but in truth, for the moment it's one thing she still has in her life for the moment. Knowing that as they get worse, their chances of coming through this lessen.

Hot tears slide down her cheeks as she finally, loosens her hold on Peter so that the others can take him, she can't carry him, she felt it… but she would have tried hard to do it. Drug him if need be. Eyes blink against the tears and she gives a small nod, "Yeah.. I — I can call Abby in too. See if she can come down and help… Or Megan is Abby is busy." There is a numbness to the words, she starts to stumble back to the house on cold numbed bare feet, unable to feel the ground it makes the journy take longer then it should. It brings memories of walking from the bay home to McRae's after the Nightmare man almost got her to commit suicide.

There is no concern about the cold at all, only the numbness, the silence, and most important of all Peter.

With Kaylee unable to help Peter up, one of the house staff comes crouching at Melissa's side, "No don't— don't move him. He might— something might be broken." There's a tentative look down at Peter, then up towards the house, there's obvious panic in most everyone's eyes, even as the manor's security detail is making a sweep along the grounds; a pair of men in sleek dark suits beneath winter jackets with coiled white earpieces— the home of the President was just attacked, and secret service flock to the site of the atack like flies to a corpse.

When Kaylee makes her way into the house, she can see Angela standing by one of the windows, jaw set and lips pressed into a thin line, chin tilted up and brows furrowed, eyes partway closed. She regards the young Thatcher woman with marked coldness at first, perhaps it from the numbness Angela herself feels. Her eyes drift to the side, to droplets of blood on the floor where the attacker had bled all over the tile from Melissa's pain-inducing attack, then slowly back to Kaylee. "It'll be alright…" Angela offers in quiet consolation, her eyes settled back to where her son lays helpless and broken in the snow, a nightmare she thought she'd lived through once.

In the distance, blue and red lights flash from distant police and ambulance services called by the silent alarm that triggered when the window shattered, the phone call Angela placed went somewhere wholly different.

Snow swirls violently, the air turns Melissa's cheeks a bright and stinging red, her hair is frosted white from the snow, and Peter still shows no signs of moving. It's going to take more than a night for this all to sink in, for the damage to the Petrelli Manor to be fully repaired and for the scars left by the attack to heal.

From the blood running down Melissa Pierce's forehead, she can tell it's going to be a deep one.

Some scars, though, they never heal.

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