I am the son and the heir
of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
of nothing in particular

The grimy stone walls echoed my footsteps as I walked down the long hall, a notebook clutched to my chest. Guards looked at me as I passed by numerous cells. The prisoners held within glanced at me with fury in their eyes. I was free, they were not. That was enough of a reason for them to hate me.

You shut your mouth
how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
just like everybody else does

"Hey purty lady, you have a hundred dollars on you?"

A man missing half of his teeth and with 'bad boy' tattooed on his knuckles gave me a seedy grin. I suppressed a shudder and shook my head, quickening my pace. The guards tipped their hats off to me as I passed by. Several others asked for money to pay bail. I continued to shake my head and hurried to one of the last cells along the hall. A large man whose uniform was taunt against his stomach but his arms bulged with muscles smiled at me as I came up to him.

"Ah, Miss Raven. It's been too long." His smile widened as I handed him the folder. He flipped through it, a smile replacing the frown. "I'm afraid, Miss Raven, that it will not be possible for you to—"

"This is the last time I will be here. The order is signed by the judge and all those other political posers." I said in as calm a voice as I could. My hands were twisting anxiously in front of my waist. "Please, Mac," there was a note of desperation in my voice that hadn't been heard in years. He squinted his eyes and read the signatures crammed at the bottom of the page I had handed him. With a sigh, he closed the folder.

"Alright. You have half-an-hour." He held the folder out to me. I smiled and accepted it then, upon impulse, stood up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek, leaving a smudge of tan lipstick against his rough five O'clock shadow. He smiled at me and took my stuff, then unlocked the door to my father's cell.

I am the son and the heir
of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
of nothing in particular

The cell was small and cramped. The stone walls were damped, and the only piece of furniture other than the toilet in the corner was a bed hanging from chains against the wall. On it sat my father; at least, what was left of him. The past seven years had destroyed him. He had lost his beer gut and his hair had thinned and thinned until it couldn't thin anymore. His eyes had sunken into his head, giving them a dark shadow beneath. His once bright-orange jumper that he had worn in the courtroom oh-so-long ago had faded and was covered in stains from the prison cafeteria. He glanced up as the cell door clattered shut behind me and his face went slack.

"You're here." His voice was raspy from shouting at the guards. "You're here."

"Yes, daddy, I'm here." I said softly, standing beside the door. I knew Mac was listening to make sure nothing happened, but I didn't mind that much. "How are you?" I asked.

"Terrible...terrible..." He said, his eyes rolling about his head. A shudder rolled up my spine. Something was wrong; something was terribly wrong. "It's been so long...I thought he'd stopped listening."

"He? He who?" I asked in concern.

"God."

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

"I've hurt people," my father trembled, "I know I have! But I'm sorry about it. Really sorry. He knows that, right?"

He thought I was an angel. If I hadn't been watching him go insane I would have laughed. I know that I had no authority to speak on God's behalf, but my father looked so sad, so pitiful, that I just had to say something.

"Yes, dad. He knows you're very sorry." I said quietly. "You were drunk. You didn't know what you were doing; it isn't your fault."

My fathers face gained a strange look of peace that was strangely familiar. It took me back to the days before he discovered the fabricated happiness discovered at the bottom of a bottle.

A sudden movement snapped me out of my reminiscing. My father had stood and was coming towards me with his arms held out. I could nearly fell Mac's shoulders tense and shook my head at him. There was something familiar about the way my father was staggering towards me.

"Angel, angel, my angel." He stretched out his arms. "Please, my angel, give me wings." I cast Mac a warning glance, then stepped forward, into my fathers arms. He wrapped them around me tightly, giving me a squeeze. I could feel his hands move over my back as he rested his face against the top of my hair, taking in the scent of my shampoo. How long has it been, I wondered, since someone simply said hello to him? Someone other than Mac?

Speaking of Mac...

"Miss Rae—er, Angel, it's time to leave." Mac rattled his keys against the bars. I pulled away from my father and looked up at him sadly. How long had it been?

"You'll tell him then? You'll tell him that I'm sorry?" My father asked, earnest shining from his eyes like a young boy hoping to get an ice cream. I nodded slowly.

"Yes, father, I'll tell him." I said softly as I slid over to the door of the cell. Mac gave me a small smile as I came out, then slammed it behind me and jammed the key into the lock.

"Thank you Angel!"

There's a club if you'd like to go you
Could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own and
You leave on your own and you go home,
And you cry and you want to die.

Mac thought it best if he escorted me to the lobby of the small prison. I accepted my purse from him and, with shaking hands pulled out a package of Camel cigarettes and pulled out a long, white death stick. Several prisoners looked up as I placed it in between my teeth and tried to find my lighter. Pushing aside a lipstick and compact, I noticed Mac looking at me. "What?" I asked around my cig.

"You aren't supposed to smoke in here." He pointed to a sign hanging over a nearby cell that said quite blandly 'No Smoking'. I finally located my lighter. Barely glancing at the sign, I tried to light the end of my cig with trembling hands. "Raven," Mac caught my wrist, "What is wrong with you? You've never seemed so—unbalanced before." He said.

I yanked my arm away, glaring at him. I pulled the cigarette out of my mouth and clenched my teeth, trying to control my anger. It didn't work. "Well excuse me! I forgot, the sight of seeing one of your prisoners going insane is a daily freak show for you, isn't it?" I snapped angrily, catching the attention of several nearby prisoners. "You just stand there and smile and act like nothings wrong while people thing that they're talking to angels and demons and other creatures." I could feel my shoulders trembling. "You're horrible, you know that! Horrible!"

"Alright, alright, just calm down." Mac said quietly.

"Maybe I should take it from here?" A young voice asked from behind us. A gentle hand was set on my shoulder, and I was quickly swept down the hall, without looking at the face of my rescuer. I heard Mac huff and go back to his position.

"Thank you Robert." I muttered, the cigarette jammed back between my teeth. The young cop helped me through the heavy doors and into the large lobby, which was currently empty. Turning as I reached the other side of the counter, I smiled at the handsome young cop.

"You were tearing the poor guy apart. I had to do something." He brushed a lock of his brown hair out of his face and leaned back in his chair, grinning at me. "Oh, here." He straightened up and pulled a matchbook out of the top drawer. Striking it against the rough edge of the top flap, he held it out to my. I leaned forward, making sure my hair was tucked behind my ears, and touched the top of my cig to the flame. At once a curl of smoke rose and embers jumped to life. I took a deep breath then removed the cig with my fingers, gently blowing out and extinguishing the flame.

"I owe you one."

"You've own me one for a long time, remember?" Robert dropped the match into a waste basket and put the matches back into the drawer.

"I have?" I blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Remember when I pulled you over that first day, when you were just moving in?" He asked, leaning forward over the desk. "You promised me a date for not giving you a ticket."

"Oh, that," I waved my hand, send smoke curling in all directions, "Not tonight, okay? I'm just not up to it."

His hopeful expression fell. "Oh, alright then." He shuffled some papers on his desk, switching out of his flirt mode to the ever-organized cop one. "The bus will be here in a few minutes. Please go wait outside at the stop so it knows to stop."

"Robert, it's nothing personal, I swear! Tonight just isn't a good night." I gave him a small smile. "I'll see you 'round, okay?" With that, I spun on my heel and walked out of the building, not wanting him to attack me with a 'are you free tomorrow, then?' question. I snatched my long, blue trench coat (a present from my brother) and quickly slid through the glass doors, into the rainy streets beyond.

I walked home. The last thing I wanted was to get on a small, crowded bus and be stared at all the way home. The Riverside Trolley was always like that, ever since I had moved here three years ago. It was an hour away from the college I was attending and small enough that everybody knew everybody else. My father had been sent here when there was a cell shortage in the Oregon prison he had been at. I had followed, still believing I could reach him and find out the real reason he had killed mom. I hadn't, and now he had gone insane.

I lived in a small two-story house on the edge of Riverside, only a few blocks from the prison. By the time I reached it I was more than depressed and was soaked to the bone. There was no way this day could get any worse.

When you say it's gonna happen "now",
when exactly do you mean? See I've already
waited too long and all my hope is gone

The door to my house was unlocked.

Every since there someone had stolen Mrs. McGregor's priceless pearls, I had kept my door locked. I was sure I had locked it before I left for classes and to see my father. With a shaking hand I reached into my deep coat pockets and pulled out a small pocket knife. Not much, but it would have to do. Flipping open the longest blade, I carefully turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

The living room was dark. The lights were off and the cloudy sky blocked out any rays of sunlight that could have shone through the window. But someone was sitting on the couch, right across the room from where I stood. It (I couldn't tell if it was a he or she) stood as I stepped into the room. I pointed the knife at them, although my hand was trembling so much I doubted I could actually hit them with it.

"You still enjoy wearing black, I see." The words came out as a stream of beeps, but as they reached my ears they changed themselves into a calm, friendly voice. I lowered my knife and reached over to the wall, trying to find the light switch. I flicked it on and stared in amazement as Commettor was bathed in light. He smiled at me. "Long time no see." He said.

My knife slid through my fingers and hit the floor with a loud clatter. "What...how...why...?" I asked hopelessly. He laughed.

"Sit down. I made some tea for you while I was waiting." He bent over the coffee table and picked up a teacup, from which I could detect the scent of jasmine. Commettor held it out to me and I gladly accepted it before sitting down in an overstuffed armchair opposite of the couch. I sipped on the tea, which wasn't to hot or to cold.

"So what are you doing here?" I asked as I balanced the cup on my knee. A shadowed look passed over Commettor's face.

"Straight to business, hm?" He said blandly. I frowned slightly.

"Is something wrong with the Autobots?" I asked nervously, tapping the side of the cup with my fingers. Commettor's optics dimmed.

"Yes."

"Well, what is it?"

I watched with baited breath as he reached into his subspace and pulled out a silver cross wrapped with red silk. The cup in my hands slid off my knee and crashed to the ground, shattering into a hundred tiny splinters. Commettor's optics lit back up at the crash. He looked at me with worry; maybe he was scared I would faint?

"Scavenger is in trouble."

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

Finally! I wrote a sequel! I wrote a sequel! (Dances) I hope you all enjoyed this! Please review; if anything's wrong I want to know! I hope you all enjoyed it!

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