The bell over the door tinkled as Rebecca entered the bar. The sound was familiar; she'd been hearing it for over ten years. Even before she could legally drink, she would come here after school, do her homework down at the end of the bar. When Ray hadn't been too busy, he'd come down to see her and to play their special game.

Ray would quiz Rebecca on all the patrons, what they were wearing, what order they had arrived in, etc. It had been excellent training for her life as detective. Rebecca had always been so proud that Ray shared all his cop stuff with her, instead of trying to shield her from it. Ray hid nothing from her, not even the darkest, ugliest parts of his job. At least that was what she used to think.

"Rebecca? What on earth are you doing out of the hospital?" Ray stopped wiping down the counter to give her a disapproving look.

"They signed my release forms and told me I could go." Ray snorted.

"Oh really? I don't suppose they made you sign anything first?" His eyebrow went up, the way it used to when she told him something he didn't quite believe.

"I may have signed an AMA. It's not a big deal." She had more important things to worry about than doctors covering their asses with paperwork.

"Rebecca AMA stands for 'Against Medical Advice'. You're going against the advice of doctors who spend years learning to tell the difference between someone who is well enough to be released and someone who is not." Clearly Ray felt she was the latter.

"Those quacks also thought I was dead and gone two days ago. Am I really supposed to trust they know what they're talking about?" The fact that medical professionals couldn't tell the difference between alive and dead made Rebecca glad she visited them so infrequently.

"Rebecca, this is serious. You were stabbed." Not something she was going to forget in a hurry.

"And that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Privately. Can we go to your office?" Ray frowned, but nodded.

"Sure. Bob, watch the front will you?" Ray's long-time bartender didn't even pause from cleaning the pint glasses.

"You got it Ray." Ray led Rebecca into the back room that he used to handle all his business stuff. She could almost see him sitting behind his desk, scowling as he did the books. She used to tease him that he should hire an accountant and he would threaten to make her do them instead. They both knew it was a hollow threat, given her math grades, unless Ray wanted to bankrupt his bar.

"What was so important that you dragged yourself out of a hospital bed to come and talk to me about?" He pulled the chair around for her to sit in, but she declined. She wanted to have this conversation standing up.

"Tommy."

"Tommy." Ray's face darkened considerable. If there was one thing she could be sure off, it was that whatever help Ray may or may not have been giving Tommy behind her back, he wouldn't be getting it anymore.

"Before right before he stabbed, he asked if you'd told me the truth about how my parents died."

"The truth about how your parents died? You were there Rebecca, you know how they died." That's what she had thought, until she'd seen the evidence with her own eyes.

"There's nothing I don't know? He was just trying to distract me, get in my head?" This was either the moment of truth or the moment of lies. She waited for Ray to respond with baited breath.

"He must have been." Lies it was. Rebecca started shaking her head in disbelief. Angry tears filled her eyes, "I'm sorry he put you through that Rebecca." Ray had misinterpreted the object of her anger and grief. He thought her feelings were aimed at Tommy. The truth was closer to home.

"You are a liar Ray Archer." Ray's eyes widened in shock.

"Excuse me?"

"I wanted to give you a chance to come clean, to tell me the truth, but you lied, not by omission, but directly to my face. Like you lied about Alcatraz, like you lied about your name, and like you lied about Tommy." Rebecca pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and slapped in on to Ray's desk.

"What's this?" Ray slowly picked up the paper and began to read. After skimming the first few sentences he lowered the page and looked back at her.

"It's the police report on my parents' crash. Why am I not in there Ray?"

"Rebecca-" His voice had taken on a soothing tone, the same tone he used to use on her when she'd lost her temper as a teenager. She didn't want to hear it now.

"I was in backseat. I had a concussion and a broken arm. That all should have been in the report, but it's not, it's missing." She crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the pain of her wound. Getting answers was more important.

"The rookie officer who typed it up must have skipped a line. It happens, you know that." It was unbelievable. He didn't even blink. Was it that easy for him to deceive her?

"I don't believe you." Rebecca turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder at the man who raised her, "You know it's ironic; I only have two remaining blood relatives, a cop and a murderer, and of the two of you, the murderer it the more honest one."

"Rebecca, I love you and I'd never do anything to hurt you." Loving her and being honest with her shouldn't be mutually exclusive.

"I know Ray, but right now I wish you loved me a little less, and trusted me a little more." With that she marched out of Ray's office and slammed the door behind her.