A/N: Hi guys! So before I get started, yes, this is indeed a sequel. If you're a newcomer, you should check out Behind These Iron Bars. Before I start I should thank realmentealpedo and I'llhavethequesadilla for sticking around and waiting for this. This is for you guys. I never intended for there to be a sequel, but I hope you enjoy it as much (or more) than BTIB.

I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take the air of despair that had settled over the whole police station at the loss. I couldn't stand the looks of sympathy that the people around me gave as I emerged from the morgue where I had just identified one of my best friends as dead. I couldn't stand the way they felt about me now. They had hated me for so long, but now what? They actually cared. Not caring to look at anyone or speak to anyone, I shoved my way out of the police station doors, only to be assaulted by the press.

"Queen Charlotte! Over here!"

"Queen! Do you…?"

A microphone was shoved in my face as a blonde forced herself into my view.

"Have you…?"

"Does the death of your friend make you wonder….?"

"All we want's just one statement ma'am!"

"…Raphael Chapman?"

Microphones, tape recorders, and more people than my emotional state could handle crowded around me. I was already trembling with rage at the nerve of some of these damn reporter-people when I heard Raphael's name yelled out. I stopped trying to walk through the sea of humans and turned my blood-red eyes on the short man in the suit.

"You want a statement? Here's my statement." The commotion around me stopped as the reporters fought for their microphones' control of my personal space. "Raphael Chapman is dead. I watched him die myself and I will not entertain ideas of his return. As for the woman who died, she was a dear friend of mine and I would rather not hear your conspiracy theories about her murder."

Even though I was finished, no one around me moved. The silence was thick around us except for the brush of clothes as they reached over each other, trying to get their microphones closer to me. I was fuming and weariness was beginning to sink into my bones, so I thought I was being generous when I yelled out, "That was my statement! Now you have three seconds to get the hell away from me!"

Their initial reaction was shock, but soon my anger settled over them and they scrambled, leaving me alone on the sidewalk in front of the police station. I heard the door open behind me and turned to see Grady emerge from the building. His long legs covered the distance between us in seconds. I buried my face in his cologne scented shirt as tears of loss and anger began to leak from my eyes.