[i]One more day.[/i]

The thought was on loop in Ethan's head, echoing, bouncing around his mind that suddenly seemed incapable of completing any other thought. One more day. One more. One day. One. One more day, and he would have been on the road. Their paths would never have crossed, and he would have worked his way around the entire country before coming into contact with her again. Maybe it would have been even more than that. Maybe, one more day, and he never would have seen her again.

But the numbers didn't deal in what might have been. They dealt in what was to come, and what was. And what was, what completely, incontrovertibly was, was the fact that Bree was standing right in front of him, staring at him with horror and something almost close to... acceptance? But Ethan could feel no acceptance. He could not accept the fact that fate, a concept he had never even begun to allow himself to believe in, had driven them together against all odds. How could she be here, now? How could he be here, now? How could they be here, together, right now?

But there was still a chance he could alter this, could set the path back on something he desired, could find one more way out, and maybe avoid this damnable fate all together. He ignored her question, scanning the numbers as fast as he could. And then he found it, a way out that was not impossible at all, but was entirely probable. She didn't believe that he was real. She thought he was just an illusion, created by her mind to torment her. And he could use that. If he was careful, maybe he could keep her believing that just long enough to get away.

"Then mommy, what are those two people doing out there?"

And then it was gone. As quick as the chance had come, it was gone. Snatched away by the same coincidences that had kept him from noticing, every time she drew close. A mother and her adventurous young son were walking along the nearby path, in the one spot where the overhang could be easily seen. The boy wanted to go out, look over the river, and his mother wouldn't let him. So he grasped onto the only possible counter he could have, there were already people out there.

"They are adults, dear. You aren't."

And she had heard it. He knew with the same certainty that he knew everything. She had heard it, and believed it. And any opportunity that may have existed was suddenly crushed, completely and totally obliterated. There was no way for him to get out, the numbers told him that with certainty. There was only one option left. He would have to kill her.

He nearly blanched as the idea passed through his mind. Images of Victor, poor blood soaked Victor flashed through his mind. And as he looked at her, he saw the wound in her chest. Saw it with a detail that only he and the surgeon who had operated on her would know. He had saved her life then, even when he could have left her to die. And she would have died, had he not intervened. The numbers, and the headache that had pounded through his head for days afterwords, told him that.

Could he really kill her? The darkness in his heart told him that he could, that it would be so easy to tweak the numbers, to push her into the river... The river.

Suddenly, a whole new range of possibilities opened up before his mind's eye. Possibilities that worked themselves together so cleanly, it was as though it was meant to be. The river beckoned him, and he forced himself not to think about what had happened the last time the numbers had come together with such ease, of the bodies it had left behind...

He had no choice. This was the only option. Just as Victor had been the only option. How was it, so far from where this whole thing had started, he had come full circle? He was once more facing certain imprisonment, and once more there was one way out. One way out that would almost certainly have unintended consequences. But he had no choice. His dice had been cast, and there was nothing left that he could change. He would not go to jail, would not go with her. And he would not take her life. His only choice was to flee, and the river beckoned.

And in one fluid movement he turned, vaulted the railing, and fell, twisting gracefully through the air as he fell. The water grabbed him gently, sweeping him away, twirling him around like a dancer. But its grip was polite, nothing like the raging current that had already claimed lives. He was free. Once more he was on the run.