By Jeremy

February 7, 1998

"...they didn't even CARE about what that crazy MONSTER might do! All they cared about was...was that I was going to go AFTER him.!"

Jeremy knew he was starting to become redundant, and that his voice was starting to show cracks wider than San Andreas. For the past half an hour, he had done nothing but rant about in Cammy's apartment, trying to vent not only his anger, but the biting feeling of - nothingness - that had taken hold of him. He saw the braided woman sitting on the couch in front of him, looking at him in concern, and fought the urge to laugh another bitter laugh. This time he stopped himself. She didn't deserve it. He wouldn't show it in front of her.

It was hitting him bad, he knew. But why wouldn't it? They were his adoptive parents! Moreover, he had no recollection of anyone else taking care of him like they had - his real parents had died when he was far too young. It had been Mattew who had taught him to swim, it was Samantha who'd baked the first birthday cake he ever remember having, it was they who had taken him to the clinic when he hadn't felt well, it was they who had consoled him when he had hurt himself. They had been his real family. Mattew, Samantha...Tom. They had been his family. There had been so much happiness.

And now...Thomas had gone crazy, and become one of the men he hated the most. And those he considered his parents - they'd lied to him, turned his back on him and had finally hurt him so badly that he couldn't stand their sight. He suddenly felt nauseated, and slumped into the couch just next to the woman he loved. His mind was so broken up, he found himself considering if something might not happen between them. Maybe she'd find someone else, someone better, and then...

He closed his eyes. He wasn't in any condition to even consider that.

"Jer..."

He didn't respond. The voice seemed to come from so far away, in a world that his grief didn't touch. He kept his eyes closed, trying to make sense of a world that no longer made sense to him anymore.

"Jer...love, please look at me."

The voice penetrated his wall of chaos and despair, because of the gentleness he felt coming from it, a gentleness and a genuine concern that was only directed at him. He opened his eyes, to look at a face that, usually stern and cold, was now soft and caring.

"Don't do this to yourself, Jer." said Cammy, "I-I can't say that I can really UNDERSTAND how you feel about this, cuz I've never known that level of happiness in my life. But I don't want you, won't have you think you've lost everything. You still have got Giorgio, Mark, Julia and some of the Elites. And then there's the Street Fighters around the world you've befriended. And there's Rose, too." she paused, sliding closer "And you have me. THAT will NEVER change."

"Never? You're sure?" he asked. He knew he must sound like some pitiful fool, but he felt too lost to really care about what he was saying anymore. She looked at him with eyes that showed hurt, surprise and irritation. So intense was her gaze that for a moment, he thought he might get a whack for his words. But the eyes lost their hardness, and the face that looked a him only looked sad and a little hurt.

"I...I've never loved anyone like you." she said "I've never even considered anyone else but you with me."

"Cammy..." he said, choked a bit. She brought herself closer still. She was sitting just next to him now.

"You gave me back what I'd lost - my feelings, my freedom, my very life." she whispered tenderly "Don't ever think I don't want to be with you. Never think that. Ever." And with that she gave him a slight, loving hug.

It was that hug, it seemed to him, which made it all start up. His mind, lost and floundering, latched upon this show of affection and directed his body to expand on it. He returned the hug, with more passion, and, after a very short moment of hesitation - at least to his normal frame of actions - he started to kiss her. It might have ended there, he was rather certain of that, if she had pushed him away, or told him to stop right then and there. But she didn't. Instead she returned the kiss with equal passion, and hug him harder in her turn. Gravity eventually worked its way into the whole thing, and since Jeremy was the heaviest of the two by far, it was normal that he would fall on top of her.

Such was his state of mind that he did not consider the potential dangers of the situation, the possibilities of it. He only continued to embrace her, and started to kiss the side of her neck, his hands starting to caress her athletic body a bit clumsily. He didn't open his eyes to the fact that she was starting to hyperventilate, a sign that should have been warning enough from the last time they had...tried. But he wasn't as sharp as he'd been then, still feeling lost, still latching. He barely heard the soft moan of terror she gave out.

It was only when a cry of terror and anger mounted that he remembered where he was, what he was doing and with whom. The stable part of his mind cursed him with many colorful expletives, and he pulled back, looking at her, preparing to give an apology for this way he had been with her a moment ago. He never got the chance.

At the last moment he saw a flash of her rageful, terror-stricken face and the fist swinging in her direction. Twelve years of sharpened reflexes caused his head to twist, but it still caught him pretty squarely. He felt pain explode, and clutched his nose, which had received the worst of it. Not broken, a relief. But it still hurt. A startled gasp made him turn back to his lover.

Cammy was looking at him, then her fist with wide, disbelieving eyes. She put her hand forward and touched his nose lightly, came back with some red stains on it. So it had bled a little. No big deal to him. But she took it very badly. She looked back at him, back at her hand, and then her eyes filled with tears, and she started to rise from the couch in a panic. Knowing what was about to happen, he reacted instinctively and caught hold of her, bringing her against him. She struggled fiercely for a moment, but finally erupted in sobs. He felt like doing the same, but knew that if he did, it might make her feel worse.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!" she said frantically, sniffling. "I didn't want to, I-I just, I didn't see you, I was...I-I-I, Jer I didn't to do that, I did-mf."

He cut her off with another kiss, unable to hear anymore of it. It wasn't a kiss made out of passion, but a loving one, to show her she had nothing to apologize for. She didn't respond, and when it ended she still sobbed, lost in her own misery. He held her tightly.

Damn Bison!

Damn the way he'd acted!

He knew he had been wrong. He had hurt her involuntarily. This was his fault, even if she didn't see it that way. It was his fault.

* * * * * * * * * *
Around the same time...

She had to escape.

That was the thought that had always taken precedence in her mind, ever since she had been drunk that night, and that he'd killed Francesca. She hadn't really seen it - thank God for that - but had faintly felt it all happen. She knew her friend had suffered and had died hopeless and frightened. Not the way one should die. One should die calmly, surrounded by loved ones, to make the passing easier and take the edge off the fear of the unknown. Francesca hadn't had that chance. Because of him.

She'd hated him for it, but mostly hated herself for making the situation happen. So she had settled to endure him by taking on a silent, uncaring facade. It seemed to have worked. He was annoyed by it but also felt some kind of twisted admiration for her attitude. He had fed her well, let her take a shower or a bath without being a bother, and had left her alone most of the time. It had been a lonely time, but at least she felt she wasn't in immediate danger. Even when he came, she knew how to deal with him. It had become a kind of game for her - a game to keep from going mad.

But, even though she wasn't in any immediate danger, this was still a cage. And she'd wanted to leave it, leave this madman - for that was what he was, his forced gentleness didn't hide the sick, tormented mind underneath very well. So she come up with a plan to escape, trying to decide when the best time would be. She had managed to dislodge a large piece of wood that she could use to bash the lock that kept the door close. She had hid the piece, using this strange trust he seemed to have in her. She'd also measured the time it usually took him to do his 'jobs' and had come up with the minimum.

And then he'd come quite close to hitting her once, just before going on a job, and she knew that her time was running short. Each day the good will was eroding. She had tried to make her escape.

And had failed.

She could still cry about it now.

She had used the log to bash at the lock, which had resisted more than she had thought it would. But it wouldn't have, SHOULDN'T have been a problem. She knew she hadn't come up with the minimum time it usually took him. But luck had simply not been with her, Fate had decided to laugh at her evilly, for he'd come back just as she'd succeeded. He had seen her, had given her a look of someone hurt and betrayed. Like it was her fault. Like she wasn't supposed to do this to him.

And it was the night it all began.

He had not only been harsh with her that night, he had been monstrous. He'd hurt her, than, with sadistic glee, had raped her, hitting her everytime she begged or cried out. Beaten, raped, abused. All night, all the time, until finally, after one last time, the stress, the despair and the pain had become far too much for her, and she'd sunk into merciful oblivion.

He had relaxed since then. In fact, no night with him had ever been as bad as that first one. But there had been changes. And not for the better.

He was now far less polite, usually giving orders. He always seemed to be checking on her, like a wolf, a very hungry, dangerous wolf. And he'd never let her have even the limited freedom she had had before. When he was in the apartment, he still kept her chained to the bed by the ankle. It was a long chain - about twenty feet - but it still hampered her, and prevented her from getting out of the room, much less the apartment. And when he'd go on a job, he chain her hands behind her back with handcuffs, and taped her mouth, making sure she'd be still and silent. She had learned that it was better not to resist when he did this, for he'd beaten her when she had, the first time.

But the worst was when he came back from a foray or a 'job'. He always seemed strangely high in spirits when he came back - as if killing someone, even someone who had supposedly 'betrayed' was supposed to be fun and energizing. That's when he come to her, and take her. At least once, if not more. Chained and helpless as she was. And then, before he liberated her, he'd tell her what he'd done, how he'd killed.

To her, this was by far the worst. To hear the glee and the pleasure when he explained deaths and suffering, talking as if the people he killed deserved this treatment. He'd hurt them so much, and he was so glad. Sometimes she cried when he told her that, her cries muffled by the gag. He didn't seem to notice.

But there were two things she had noticed these past days.

First, he had become more and more volatile, his mind growing less and less reasonable. The sickness in his mind was changing him into something else. Before, he seemed to have some code of morals that held him together, even as twisted as they were. Now, now she wasn't sure that he had them. If he did, they were starting to lose their focus fast. She saw it. Day by day he became more maniacal, more demented. More dangerous.

The second was the worst of it all. She hadn't had her period. She had a very strict period and she had passed it. That could only mean one thing. She didn't want to really consider the possibility, but it was definitely there. She was bright enough to see it.

She was pregnant.

With HIS child. There was nothing else now. Just one imperative for her and, also, for the child she may well be carrying.

She had to escape.

Or they were both doomed.

* * * * * * * * * *

Five days later...

Today Rose was taking the whole day off. No place to go, no people to visit or visiting, nothing important to do. It wasn't something she indulged herself into very often, even though she knew she had more then enough time to take things easy. But this week - no the last whole month - had been somewhat hectic, with some psychics coming to visit her to discuss the tidings of the world. Bison was up to something that might well augment his power in the underworld, and few people amongst the powerful but very secret psychic community liked the idea of one already so powerful gaining so much influence in the world. She was first among those who were concerned, even going as far as to suggest that the Ancients - Muldo, Belsar or Alvarez or even some of the lesser one- actually take part of the little seminars they had. But it was no use. The Ancients always did things their way, whatever happened. She supposed that's what might happen to her if she lived to be -oh, how old was the youngest supposed to be? A millenium?

She hoped not. Hoped she never become so old and so blasé that caring and compassion will just go away to stony indifference. Muldo, the oldest Ancient, could blow Bison away with barely an effort, but prefered to stay enclosed inside his fortress hidden deep in the Amazonian forests, studying life and its meaning. Alvarez was inside his castle-like mansion, built high in the Himalayas, surrounded by his books of arcane lore, ever refining his magical powers, he who was already the strongest mage in the world. As for Belsar...well...who could guess with Belsar? The most chaotic of Ancients, he usually was more compassionate, but rarely gave tangible help.

Oh, no, she wasn't going to bother herself with that. Not today. Today was her day OFF. And she meant it. No distraction, no problems, no nothing!

She took the book she was casually reading these days - London by Edward Rutherfurd, a nine-hundred pages thing that she found rather accurate and very interesting - and made her way to her well-furnished living with some icy-lemonade and flopped down on the couch, opening the book to start the chapter intitulated The Tower, and which was set in the year 1078. She was comfortably installed there, reading casually and sipping her drink, when there was a tap on the door. At the sound, she scowled. A visitor. Today, that was the last thing she wanted.

"Can't have even one day, one lousy DAY without something happening, someone knocking and asking things or selling useless junk and...gah! Can't people just leave me alone?!?" she said in a grumbling voice that would have astounded anyone who knew her for the ever-calm woman she usually was, and rose from her comfortable place and STALKED rather than WALKED to the door. Silently vowing vowing that if it was another man selling hairdryers, she was going to use her powers to break the thing to pieces, she opened the door, using her years of efforts to appear calm while she fumed inside.

"Yes, what is it?" she said, a little irritation showing. Then she realized who it was. "Cammy? What are you doing here?"

It was indeed the braided SCD, standing near the door, her shoulders slumped a little, her face stony, but her eyes showing a searing, destructive pain. Seeing this, Rose's initial irritation at the minor ruining of a fine day turned to immediate concern for her young friend.

"Rose." said Cammy "I need your help."

She could tell what 'help' she meant just by the effort it had taken her to ask. But even then, she had to make things clear for the both of them. "About what, dear?"

Cammy put an hand to her head gently. "This. I want this o-o-out of me." her lips started to quiver "I can't l-l-live w-with this anymore! Be-because everytime I want to be intimate with him, this f-fear comes around, and each time its worse, and each day I want to be with him a little more, a-and I j-j-just..." she stopped, still retaining some control on her emotions, but not much. Rose felt the turmoil inside of her, however, tearing at her very soul. She stepped forward and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

This seemed to have the effect of opening the dam of emotions the SCD was keeping inside of her, for as soon as she was touched, she fairly broke down.

"He...he only just...just wanted to...b-be comforted...a-a-and I...I HIT HIM! I HIT HIM!" she was almost wailing like a child now. But right now, Rose felt that's what she was. Not a strong young woman, but a lost child. Rose put both hands on her shoulders firmly but gently.

"Cammy. Cammy, look at me." she ordered. At length, she had her attention. "Don't think like this. It's not your fault! And it's not his fault! You two loved each other and wanted to get more intimate. That's natural! That fear doesn't really come from you, but from you treatment by Bison."

"I know that." Cammy nodded. "But it was MY hand that hit him when he was just...just..." she trailed off.

Rose sighed. This might take a while. But at least the child had come seeking help at last, to get rid of this nightmare that stalked inside her head, preventing her from following the natural steps of her relationship, preventing her from really putting the experiments and the abuse behind her. She pulled Cammy inside gently.

"Come with me Cammy." she stated gently "And tell me everything. Then we will see what can be done."

Yep, her day was ruined.

But somehow, she felt like this was a victory today. She had come for help. Perhaps the nightmares would finally end for her.

Rose would endeavor to make it so.