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Joan scanned the cemetery grounds, looking for Bea Smith. She heard her plaque was next to her daughter’s.

“Bea Smith, Bea Smith, Bea, Bea, Smith.” she muttered as she drummed her fingers on her forehead.

Finally she found it. Her heart ached at the picture. She never really saw Bea smile, except for when Joan pulled the screwdriver out of her and Bea said those two words, “I win.”

She grimaced as she got to her knees and knelt over it. She pulled the folded up self-portrait of Bea from her pocket and opened it and held it close to the ground.

Her thumb brushed against the pencil marks, “You were a great artist, I will give you that.” she whispered. She took a sharp intake of breath, “What I did to you was unforgivable. Everything I had done. What you did to me..” she said, stopping in the middle of her sentence.

She felt tears appearing her in eyes, she sniffled and looked up, “God, Joan, why are you crying?” she said to herself.

She looked back down, “You manipulated me. You made me come undone. You made me face the reality that I..I was alone. My father has deserted me. I have no one to trust.” she said.

“I did horrible things to you. But you repaid the favor, didn't you?” she said, making a sad chuckle. She sniffled, “The worst part is..I loved you anyway. After everything. You were a strong woman, I saw myself, or at least, what I wanted to be, in you.” she said.

She looked at the drawing and her face hardened, “But still, all cannot be forgiven. I have to get revenge on the woman..that didn't deserve you.” she whispered as she folded the drawing neatly and placed it in her pocket, “She's not so clever. She thought she could get rid of me.” she said.

She put her hands on the plaque, “What I did, was give you peace. That was my gift.” she said.

She stood up and brushed her pants off. She around to make sure the coast was clear and got moving. The long game begins again.