A/N: Here is my first original story. It is roughly based on Beauty and the Beast, but then again it totally isn't. I changed a lot of things about it including events and pretty much the foundation of Beauty and the Beast. I hope you like it. Please, please, please review when you are done! :)
This story takes place in Wisconsin… keep in mind I don't live there so anything that is wrong about description or anything that pertains to geography, disregard. Thank you.
Summary: Isabelle only wanted to find her father, but now she's a prisoner in Jarryd's mansion. Can she teach him that not all people are bad and that some really do want the best for others? Can she help him learn what it is to love and be loved?
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Isabelle peered through the dense, wet, browning foliage looking for anything abnormal. Where is he? Lord, I pray nothing has happened to him. Upon finding his car, the worry started seeping into her, corroding any faith that she had of his being alright. She walked on, determined to find some kind of lead to her father's whereabouts.
It started raining about fifteen minutes ago, and she was drenched from head to foot. The sun's absence started a chill that fed her fear. She had to find him. She grabbed the flashlight that she put in her purse and turned it on, splaying light on dark colors.
This was all her fault. She had told her dad that she had heard of a mansion that was in this forest that she had wanted to take a look at for its architectural purposes. She didn't actually mean for her father to go look for it.
As she trudged on, her feet squished against the leaves, making the forest seem more foreboding than before. She was about to turn back when her flashlight hit something shiny a few yards off. She ran towards it, heart thumping. A huge, wrought iron gate stood in front of her, unlocked and ajar. She looked beyond it, making out a silhouette of a mansion.
She tried to make out the architecture of the mansion in the dim light. She was an ancient architecture major at a University a few hours away from this small, country town; however, this building was a little more modern than what she was used to studying in school. She looked up to the rooftops and saw small stone creatures at the corners. But other than that, the house had no appearance of European influence and looked a mix between a huge plantation house and a Victorian mansion.
It was beautiful, in the creepy grandeur sort of way.
Could he be in there? She stepped through the gateway, cautiously, expecting something dangerous to be lurking in the shadows of the courtyard. The hinges creaked as if it they had decades of rust from nonuse.
This mansion was not normal. There was a distinct feeling with this place; an aura of depression, danger, sorrow, and anger.
The sun had almost completely left the sky, her eyes adjusting to the coming darkness. She walked across the shadow covered yard to the huge front doors up the walkway. She stood in front of the dark wooden doors for a moment, hesitating. Why am I scared? It's just a house; spooky, yes, but still just a house.
She knocked on the cherry wood doors. Nothing. The silence was so loud, so unnerving. She knocked again, opening the door this time.
"Hello? Is someone there? I'm looking for my father. Please, have you seen him?" Isabelle yelled through the darkness. Nothing stirred or made a sound, except the echoes of her own voice. Then she heard it. A muffled sound, coming from somewhere in the dark recesses of the mansion.
"Hello?" she said, a little more loudly, uncomfortable by the unusual noises and the uneasy eeriness. She took a step over the threshold, making a puddle of rainwater on the tiled floor. Nothing happened.
She sighed in relief. This isn't some Indiana Jones movie, Isabelle. There are no booby traps. Be calm. She reminded herself, taking deep breaths as she moved into the foyer. Her heart was racing as fast as a hummingbird's and she was sure if anyone were in the hall they would be able to hear it.
The foyer was gracefully furnished with ornate chairs, settees, and side tables, leading into a room with a big golden crown molding gracing yet another threshold, in front of her. She walked on, under the arch, gasping at the magnificence of the room beyond.
The room was not well lit, but it did not degrade its elegance. There were stairs going up from the floor and beyond it windows that displayed the full moon in all its glory, while the stairs split in two and made their way on either side of the Great Room, leading off into separate corridors. The grandeur of this mansion was something Isabelle had never witnessed before in her twenty-four years of life.
A raspy moan made its way to her ears.
There it was again, the muted voice in the background. Did it come from the stairs going to the right, or to the left? She proceeded forward up the stairs toward the right corridor, pulse intensifying as she went from a steady walk to a jog, her wet hair slapping against her back and sticking to her face.
Could he be here? Dad, what are you doing and where are you? She ran into a long hallway adorned with paintings and other art work, most of them a Gothic like art; a lot of gargoyles and haunted looking cathedrals at twilight. Despite the captivating architecture of the mansion, it was full of darks and grays.
A stifled cough and a hoarse voice made her continue forward towards the door at the end of the hall. A big, dark wooden door stood in front of her. She was almost sure it came from this room. She opened the door slowly, scared of what she might find. It was a sitting room, with couches against two of the walls and chairs placed throughout the rest of the area, all revolving around the fireplace that looked to have been long cold.
"Hello?" Isabelle called, knowing she heard someone.
Another cough answered her question as she jerked her head towards the direction of the noise. It came from inside another door a few down from the one she was looking in. It looked like a plain closet, until she opened it and found otherwise. It was small and not necessarily meant for storage. Creaky, wooden stairs climbed up from the entry up to what looked to be an attic door in the ceiling.
"Hello? Dad?" Isabelle said, raising her voice over the deep coughs.
"Isabelle?" Came the raspy, well known voice of her father beyond the locked attic door at the top of the stairs.
At hearing him she rocketed up the stairs and tried to push the attic door open but to no avail. "I'm here, Dad. Hold on; I'll get you out of here." She tried banging all her weight to get the door open, but as hard as she tried it did not help.
"Isabelle, no. You must leave now!" She was caught off guard by the urgency in his voice despite the splutter of coughs she heard after his sentence.
"Dad, I only just found you. I'm not going to leave you here-" She stopped; it hit her. The full meaning of what he was trying to say. "Dad, how did you get up here? Who did this?" Now fear was starting to gnaw at her conscience. Who lives in this place?
"Isabelle, I can't explain. You need to leave now before he finds you too." His voice was in a state of panic. Normally, he was a pretty even-tempered man; however, he was the exact opposite at the moment, which frightened her the most.
"He who, dad?" She said in a shaky voice, trying to keep it from cracking and giving away the utterly paralyzing fear that was coursing through her veins.
"I-" he began but was cut off abruptly by the door of the closet banging open. She turned towards the entry way at the base of the stairs in fright, looking at the tall, well-built silhouette.
"What are you doing here?" The voice asked in a low, menacing growl.
She squint her eyes, trying to make out his features in vain. This was the 'he' Dad was referring to. "Sir, please, my dad is locked up here. Please, let him go." Isabelle said, surprised her voice didn't break or shake in fear.
The silhouette took one large step into the closet to stand at the base of the steps. "That's the consequences of trespassing on my property and invading my privacy. Fortunately for you, I don't have another attic to stick you in. Now get out before I change my mind!" The man said harshly, pointing outside the closet, making his meaning clear.
"Isabelle, go now! Just leave me!" said her father from behind the attic door. She could hear the emotion in his voice; the sadness at telling her to leave him. Her strength left her, making her sit on the top step nearest her father's attic.
She ignored her father's wishes, but unconsciously let tears well in her eyes. "Please, sir, let both of us leave." Isabelle swallowed trying to keep the vicious tears at bay.
She could feel the air tingle with anger. "I suggest you leave now. You do not want to be the victim of my temper, woman!" He said in a tight voice, trying to keep the anger from seeping into his actions. But she couldn't help but flinch when she heard his inflection when he said 'woman'.
Isabelle paused trying to make her brain form coherent thoughts. What could she do? I'd rather die for him than let him be kept locked away here. An idea sprung clearly to the front of her mind.
She stood up and walked a couple of steps down towards the man, adrenaline coursing through her giving her more assurance than she thought possible. "I have trespassed; take me in his place." Isabelle said calmly.
"No, Isabelle! You don't understand what you are getting yourself into!" Her father said his voice contorted in anguish.
A pregnant pause enveloped the room. She heard her father begin to cry softly behind the closed door. She tried to ignore it, tried to be strong for herself and for him.
"If I take his place, will you let him go?" Isabelle asked evenly, masking the pain in her heart.
She could not see the man's face. Only by the silence that met her questions, did she know he was considering her proposal, and considering it seriously.
"I will take you in his stead, but you have to promise me you will never leave this mansion and its grounds."
His voice was somewhat ominous, but for some reason she knew he did not mean for a week or two. She knew he meant for all time. Forever.
Isabelle walked down the rest of the steps calling on the ballerina grace she knew she had from all those dance lessons years ago. She stood on the last step, their heights unlevel. In the dark lighting she looked up to find his eyes. She could finally make out his features, but they were not the ugly ones she was expecting to encounter.
His eyes were ice blue, and his hair was a dark brown and its somewhat shaggy tendrils ended at the nape of his neck. There was one defining feature in his handsome face that caught her off guard: the scars. Three terrible looking scars ran down the right side of his face, starting above the eyebrow and parting around his eye. One jagged scar went below the eye, missing it entirely, only to meet up with the other two that had gone above that same eye and met at his jaw. It was too dark to see where else they journeyed to.
She was enraptured at his appearance. He had horrid looking scars, but those alone didn't belittle his handsome physical attributes. She tore her eyes away from the scars and looked into his beautiful ice blue eyes. "You have my word." She said in a small voice.
His arm came out and shoved her away, off the stairs. "Have it your way." He said, his voice dripping with animosity as he stomped up the stairs and gave a heavy push to the attic door, shattering the lock and hinges.
She gulped at the scene. This is a guy you really don't want to mess with, Isabelle. What do you think you're doing? Her conscience came in at the worst opportune moments, always planting seeds of doubt in her mind. I'm sure he's not all bad.
He shoved his arm in there and grabbed the collar of her father's shirt and dragged him down the stairs. Scratch that. She thought instantly at seeing his grasp on her father.
"Isabelle, no! You must leave!" Her father spluttered through the hold than man had on his shirt. He tried to grab for Isabelle's hands as he was dragged out of the closet and into the corridor. In her shocked state, she ran after them, wanting to free her father from the stranger.
She ran to stand in front of the stranger. "Wait!"
"Get out of my way!" He spit out, knocking her to the ground with the back of his hand. She fell to the ground unconscious. He ignored the fact that it didn't seem like he hit more than a fly. She must be so light. Then he remembered his own strength and how slim-figured she was.
"No, Isabelle! No!" Her father cried in worry. "If you lay another hand on my daughter, I swear you will pay for it! I will go to the authorities!" He threatened, anger enveloping his shock.
Jarryd looked down at the older man, his eyes penetrating his face. "If you want your daughter to live," he said dragging him through the foyer, "You won't say a word to anyone! I have my sources and will know exactly when and who you told if you decide to utter a single word about any of this."
Jarryd opened the front door and dragged him outside and down the steps toward the wrought iron gate some feet away.
"No, please, have mercy on my daughter! She has done nothing wrong. She is innocent!" Jarryd dropped him outside the tall fencing and locked the gates to keep him from coming back on his property.
Jarryd turned the full force of his ice blue eyes on the old man. "You've no need to worry about her anymore. If you value your life and hers as well and don't want to waist her sacrifice, you will leave, and leave quietly." He said threateningly. Jarryd turned abruptly away from the shocked, silent man at the locked gate and jogged back toward the mansion.
What would he do with the girl? His decision was easy about the old man, but he had a problem locking a woman up in an attic. Even though people might call him beastly in his ways, he could not- would not- do that to her.
He ran up the stairs three at a time towards the corridor. Was the girl still unconscious? Had he hurt her that bad? Snap out of it, dude. She was the one that decided to take her daddy's place. He took a few steps into the corridor, staring at the limp form on the middle of the burgundy carpet.
He walked closer, knelt down and grasped her arm, shaking her back to reality. He had more strength than he knew. As he moved his hand to wake her, her whole body shook with his forceful hand. Everything about this girl screamed vulnerable.
Her eyes fluttered open, an unfocused haze drifting across the surface.
"Get up." Jarryd said, albeit a little more rough than he meant, and lifted her to her feet.
She jerked back in realization of the situation, stumbling a little in the process, her eyes widening with fright. He took a step back from her and turned so she couldn't see the right side of his face. He didn't know how much of it she saw in the closet, he was putting his hope in the fact that it was dark. She hadn't uttered a sound if she had seen his scars, so maybe she hadn't.
"Follow me." He said gruffly. She took a couple of steps forward and staggered a bit, still lightheaded, but regained her equilibrium in the end. She followed him trying to keep up with his long strides.
"Where is my father?" She asked in a timid voice, afraid of the answer she might receive.
"He left if he knows what's good for him." Isabelle flinched at the acid in his tone.
"And where are you taking me?" She asked, trying to gain more confidence.
He grabbed her wrist making her wince in pain; again, everything about this girl yelled breakable in comparison to his strength. He faced her full on and looked into her deep brown eyes; they grew huge with fear. It was then he realized his mistake.
His massive scars. The feature that made him intolerable to look at. Of course, it frightened her. Her deep eyes seemed to change in a split second. What was it that replaced the fear? Sympathy? Pity?
He didn't want pity from anyone, least of all her! He turned away from her perusal, still holding onto her wrist, but loosening his hold so that it was not quite so uncomfortable.
Jarryd walked swiftly down the long corridor. "You will do everything I tell you to. No questions asked. You will not be allowed outside the mansion. You are not allowed on the grounds surrounding the mansion either, unless you have my permission. And you are not to go after your father. Do you understand me?" He asked, not facing her at all.
"Yes." She answered in a faint whisper. She breathed in deeply trying to calm herself only to have her lungs burn from the coughs.
By holding her wrist he felt the vibrations of her newly found cold. Her hair was still wet. Her clothing looked chilled with its dampness. He decided to ignore her appearance, though, and continue with what needed to be explained.
"Now onto house rules: meals are served promptly at 8 AM, noon, and 6 in the evening, but because of the distractions this mansion has seemed to attract, we will have dinner now, and you will eat with me." Jarryd said, showing her no loop holes in which to evade him.
Her breath was coming a little more raggedly now. His strides were just too long for her. She couldn't keep up the constant rate and stumbled over her own feet. Jarryd let go of her instinctively, surprised at her stumbling, she had looked so full of grace and composure when he had struck the bargain with her.
She fell to the floor and curled in the fetal position, more coughs shaking her body as tears streamed from her eyes to make a small wet spot on the carpet. He looked back in shock. Her face was as pale as the moon, sweat glistening on her brow, her breaths coming in quick gasps between coughs.
"Come on." Jarryd said, his emotions warring between impatience and worry.
She just coughed harder. She started to shake as the next wave of coughs ran over her body.
He knelt down beside her, watching her moment of pain and grief. But what was that ancient feeling inside his gut? Was he actually worried about someone else other than himself? Her body was shaking uncontrollably with the cold and coughs. She was sick; this was not a smoke screen. Her gasps of breath were now mingled with sobs and wheezes.
Her head felt full, she couldn't even make her muscles work right; she couldn't lift herself off of the ground. All she could see were shapes and shadows, no definition, no details; just blurs.
Jarryd put his hand gently under her cheek and then feeling how limp she was carefully moved so that he could lift her off the ground.
She was so light; so small in his arms; her body just barely enough weight to keep her from floating away. Even though her body was still trembling, she seemed as though she had gone unconscious once again. He looked down at her form in his arms. Her hair's scent was thick in his nose, the rain water soaked in her hair concentrating the fragrance.
He held her close and began walking back down the way he had come. Her face, wet from tears and taken over by exhaustion, was twisted in slumbering anguish and pain. He had seen it before: the moment before he slapped her away; the moment she knew she was never going to see her father again.
He opened the door to the left at the end of the hall. The room was fully furnished, a big, queen sized bed in the middle, a gloomy fire place, couches and chairs and dressers lining the rest of the wall space.
He walked toward the bed, holding her out from his body, preparing to lay her on the bed. He gasped as he felt cold air touch his chest, erasing the warmth she had unconsciously given him.
He laid her down on the sheets after pulling down the comforter, folding her arms around her body so that no limbs were outside the covers. He pulled the comforter over her small frame gently, trying not to disturb her sleeping form.
He stood back, looking at her face. It didn't display her sorrow. Her forehead was not crinkled in pain anymore; she looked more relaxed now. He took a few more steps towards the door and left the room silently.
He made his way down to the kitchen. He had told James to start dinner hours ago. He hoped they had just forgotten about cooking anything. He had somehow lost his appetite with the course of the evening's events.
The only thing he wanted was to have the warmth he had when he was holding the girl.
What? Is this mousy girl getting to you already? Don't be a git!
He ignored what his brain was trying to tell him.
What was her name? Her father had called for her so many times, but the name still eluded him.
His thoughts were interrupted by whispering voices coming through the doors to the kitchen. He pushed open the doors causing the low conversations to cease abruptly.
"Eva," Jarryd said, looking to a lady in her late 30's, with long golden hair. "There's a girl in the room at the end of the right corridor. She doesn't feel well. I want you to start a fire in that room. Make sure that it's at a comfortable temperature, and whatever you do, do not wake her."
"Yes, sir." Eva murmured, dipped her head and then turned out of the kitchen. He watched her leave, and then turned back to the rest of his employees. He didn't miss the secret eye movements when he had mentioned the girl.
James was the first one to speak, "Sir, what happened? We saw the man as he left," More like dragged out, "but who is the girl?" James was his most trusted servant; he was always kind and humble, but Jarryd always wondered why such a smart man like him would believe in God. The God who had supposedly created the whole universe; the God who supposedly had given his Son over to die. Jarryd couldn't believe that. What father would give up their Son, whom He loved, like that? He baulked at the idea. He wouldn't believe that.
"The girl will be staying with us from now on. She should be treated with respect and given anything she needs." Jarryd said while the finality of his statement echoed around him. "One of you, bring me tea to the sitting room in a few minutes." His head was killing him, and tea seemed to be the only remedy for him. He turned and left the kitchen towards the sitting room across the hall.
He sat down in his big chair that faced the fire in the big stone hearth.
The girl. What was he thinking, taking her as her father's replacement? He had not seen anyone from outside this mansion for almost 8 years; and the one time he did, it had to be a woman. Women were buckets of emotions; vulnerable and sneaky at the same time.
Surely, she would try to escape. No woman he had ever known kept her word. And with the promise she had just made about not going after her father, she wouldn't keep her word at all. He had to keep an eye on her and tell his staff the same.
"Sir, your tea." James carried in a tray with a cup of tea and a kettle of steaming liquid.
"Yes." Jarryd said in thanks. He took the cup James offered and took a small sip. "You and the rest of the staff are to keep a close watch over the girl. She promised never to leave, but I want to make sure that-"
"Sir, why did she agree to that in the first place?" James asked, clearly unnerved by the new turn of events.
Jarryd sighed in exhaustion. "The man you saw me dragging out was her father. She came looking for him, and by sheer luck, find him she did. I would not let him go. He trespassed. You know how I hate people poking around at the country hermit." even so young a hermit. "There is no one worth trusting in the world; well, except you, maybe. But, anyway, I locked him up. When she found him, she pleaded with me to take her as his replacement. I accepted and took her in his stead and told the man to leave and not say a word if he wanted his daughter to live."
"Why did you accept her offer?" Jarryd looked up at James. He had never seen him so uneasy. Of course, nothing like this had ever happened before either. Remembering his question, Jarryd looked away.
"Her pain." He said simply. It was etched so deeply on her face that he thought it would create scars. Scars like his; ugly and permanent. Her eyes were bright with tears, brimming over like a fountain. Her pain. It was so clear in his mind's eye. She would have died for her father if he had put that choice in front of her; of that, he was sure. He had never seen such love run so deep that it would replace the selfishness of one's own life.
James cleared his throat, breaking into his dismal reverie. Jarryd opened his eyes a little wider trying to concentrate on what James had been saying.
"I'm sorry, what?" Jarryd asked.
"I will tell the rest of them, sir. Are meals to be prepared for one more, then?" James asked as he turned to leave his employer to his solitude.
"Yes, she will be there when I eat." Jarryd said, taking a deep breath and exhaling.
"That's not a problem, sir. Do not worry yourself unnecessarily." James didn't want to trouble his master further. James knew his mind had a tendency to linger on dark thoughts; ones of depression and frustration. He did not want to add to it.
At James's absence, Jarryd's mind found its way back to the girl. What was she dreaming about right then? Probably a nightmare. He saw her reaction displayed in his thoughts when she had fully seen his face in the light. Big, round, brown eyes filled with…sympathy? Had she even seen him properly? Had she been so disoriented that her eyes couldn't make out the details of his features?
This whole situation was so sudden and unplanned for. First the man, which was unnerving anyway, but then his daughter had to come after him.
That girl's not going to be worth it. I'll have to watch her every move so that she won't exploit me to everyone's ridicule once again.
She was a beautiful girl. Why would she ever honor her word to a man who was so intolerable to look at?
He got up from his seat and walked over to the hearth. There was a long horizontal mirror that hung right above the ledge. He hated looking in the mirror at his horrid appearance. His dark brown hair was a mess; it needed a cut last month. He was wearing a dark grey shirt; his muscles in his arms and chest showed prominently through the thin fabric. He looked down towards his pants. The jeans were holey and well worn; fabric torn on the knees and a couple of random spots on his thighs. Then there was his face.
The scars were still light pink, even though it had happened years ago; however, his memory of how he got them were branded into his mind like it had happened yesterday. That was one memory he did not want to relive.
Surely, his face would scare her off. Not many girls with her beauty would stick around a fiend like him.
Her face. He could picture it so clearly. No scars. The perfection of innocence. He tried not to think about her. She would haunt him if he let her.
How did the rest of his staff respond to what had transpired? They were probably surprised. But they didn't have a background to keep secret. James said they saw the man as he brought him out. Jarryd didn't remember seeing anyone, but he was so focused on his anger, wondering how he was going to get himself out of the mess he created for himself.
The girl's limp form he had walked back upon after that scene floated back to the front of his memory. He had hit her, on the face, if he remembered right. No one deserved to hurt her and live.
Jarryd sighed heavily and made his way back to his chair. I'm a monster.
Why had he done that? Another stupid choice.
"Sir?" A woman's voice spoke from behind him.
He spun around in his cushioned chair. It was only Eva. The glow of the fire accented her high cheek bones and golden hair. At first he had thought that it was her.
"Yes?" he asked eyebrows raised, his patience wearing thin for the day.
"The girl is sleeping, and I fixed the fire to what you specified, sir. But you said she had been feeling ill, so I checked her temperature. She seemed to be running a slight fever, so I left 2 Tylenol and a glass of water on her bed stand." She paused, "Sir? When I took her temperature I noticed she had a faint mark on her cheek; it looked like the beginning of a bruise. Do you know what could have happened?"
Eva always read between the lines in these types of situations. She was very observant. She knew more than she let on and he knew she was familiar with his little outbursts of temper. He had gotten better as of late, but what had consumed him that he would turn to physical abuse, was beyond his knowledge.
"I don't know, Eva." He lied, not making eye contact; instead he looked into the flames in the hearth. She would surely know if she looked into his eyes. It was always so hard keeping things from her. "You're dismissed for the evening, thank you."
She nodded sadly and left the room.
Fever. Was she that sick? He got up trying to keep his mind from the girl. No matter what he did, he could not quit thinking of her. He turned his attention away from the fire and left the sitting room. Pondering wasn't going to help him any.
He walked up the stairs and stopped where they went two opposite directions. The right: the girl. The left: cold, empty room.
The right. He jogged up the stairs towards her room. I just want to make sure she's okay.
He opened the door at the end of the hall. A small fire was burning in the hearth, casting a glow on the room and the lump lying on the bed. She was just how he left her; her hair waving beautifully around her face. Her lips were parted a little, chapped from the elements, and through them he could hear her raspy intake of breath.
He looked at her face and saw it right there on her creamy skin: the faint red and blue mark running along her cheek bone. The only flaw in her face, and he had created it.
She suddenly stirred, shifting herself onto her side, facing the door. Facing him. However, she slept on, her legs curled up against her chest and her fists stuffed under her chin. Like a small child.
"She is innocent!"
Her father's voice burned in his ears like salt on a wound. Innocent. Without blame. Like a child. But a child she was not. How old was she? I don't know this woman at all. Not even her name and here I am watching her sleep! But I want to know more about her.
Her unconscious coughing brought him back to the present. He was standing a few yards away from the bed watching her sleep. Wasn't that a bit stalker-ish?
If it was, he could care less. He walked toward her bed and looked down at her. He reached out and touched her cheek, where the bruise was becoming more prominent. Her skin was soft; just like what he thought it would feel like.
At realizing where his thoughts were trailing off to, he took his hand back and turned from the room quietly going to his bedroom instead of back to the sitting room. He was suddenly very tired, the events of the day finally out-weighing his wont to stay up and think.
He could deal with everything tomorrow. He could do nothing else today, so why worry? Anyways, he had a feeling he would need more sleep tonight, so that he could deal with whatever would happen tomorrow.
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A/N: Okay so now you have the first chapter! Yey! I will let you know I have most of it written. I'm still developing the background character of Jarryd a bit, but I have a really good idea of how this ends and everything. So don't worry about random chapters and things not adding up in the end. This is a pretty planned out story. I worked on it at the end of summer '08 and throughout the fall semester, so in my opinion it's really good ;)
Please review! I really want your opinions and ideas! I love hearing guesses and what people think will happen, so don't be afraid just to send a guess my way. I love answering PM's and reviews, so if you really do have a question just let me know! :)
BTW tell me if the narration bothered you. I didn't really put a separation between different points of view. But if it really bothers you let me know.