This author's note is kind of a spoiler. If you haven't played on-demand, just skip to the story…if you have…oh gosh, lemme just say that I love you, Ken and you will never stop being in my fanfictions. Ever.

Ok, that being said, I was in the mood to write something a bit sad.

"I'm different, aren't I?"

The girl squinted in the mirror and wrinkled her nose at the sight of herself.

"I'm completely different from everyone else."

She ran her fingers through her long, golden hair. It came down to her hips and would have been longer if not for her locks being bound into smooth ringlets. A single white ribbon on a clip held her large bangs back as she frowned some more, the freckles on her nose wrinkling into a grimace.

"Pattie," her older sister shook her head and sighed, "You're not different."

"'s I am," Pattie frowned and examined her cheek in the mirror. "I'm completely ugly."

Her sister simply sighed. "You're beautiful. Now come outside with me and we'll jump on the trampoline."

The younger child shook her head wildly. "I've never had this many freckles. Some of 'em are red, too. It makes me look completely awful."

"Lemme see," her sister cut in and grasped Pattie's worried face in her hands. She squinted her eyes and looked at the child's cheeks, spangled with brown freckles and larger crimson ones. "Maybe it's a sunburn. It is ninety-one degrees outside, anyway."

"Then we shouldn't go outside," Pattie frowned. "Besides, my knees are sore. Can you look at 'em for me, Dr. Linda?" she gently teased.

Linda chewed her lip nervously as she rolled Pattie's tender joints with her hands. "Did you injure yourself at soccer practice?"

Pattie shrugged. "Probably. I don't remember, but I might've."

"Well, be careful at your soccer game today," Linda advised her sister. "Don't let anybody hurt you."

Pattie sighed and rested her chin in her hands. "I don't wanna go to the one today. I'm tired."

It was then that Linda felt a burning feeling at the pit of her stomach. "You went to bed at eight yesterday and woke up at seven this morning. You should be fine."

Pattie shrugged and tossed a few of her bright ringlets over her shoulder. "Well," she yawned, "I'm not. I wanna take a nap."

Linda didn't have much of a choice. Her dad had left her with the day-long responsibility of taking care of Pattie while he was at work; he needed to earn as much money as possible after their mother died. The family needed all the support they could get, and sadly, their regular babysitter was unable to make it today.

"Fine," Linda sighed. "Take a nap on the couch, and I'll wake you up in an hour."

Pattie let out a wild grin and raced to the couch, despite the ache in her knees and arms. She flopped down onto the couch and let out a few rapid breaths, pain rising in her lungs and forcing her to breathe with all of her might.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Linda nervously asked, twirling a few strands of her coffee-brown hair. She had been told that she had hair just like her mother's: dark and flowing. But she didn't think about that now. Her mind was focused on Pattie.

"Sure I am," the younger girl replied, "I'm just tired and sore. If I rest up a bit, I can make it to my soccer game in good shape. Is Dad coming to tonight's match?"

Linda nodded. "Probably," she optimistically stated. "He never misses any of your games."

"You're right," Pattie let out a giggly sigh, "it was silly of me to even ask."

Linda leaned over and gave her sister a short kiss on her cheek. "Just get some rest; you'll feel better tonight."

These comforting words made Pattie smile as she shut her eyes, ignoring the pain in her bones and discomfort in her stomach and chest. She'd be fine. Linda even said so.

And Linda was always right.

The hour seemed long—much too long—as Linda stared at the clock's ticking hands for the entire duration of it, listening to Pattie's rough breathing and feeling her slight shivers. Not even the warmth of the summer day seemed to keep her calm.

The sound of the door opening rose Linda from her seat on the couch. "Dad?" she called out.

She was greeted by a: "Hey, Linds!"

Nothing could stop the wild grin on Linda's face as she greeted her father. He smelled of sweat, mixed with cologne and a twinge of beer, but she paid no attention to that and fell into his arms. He tackled her into a ferocious hug.

"How's my girl?" he looked at his daughter with his soft, cerulean eyes. "Did ya get into any fights with Pat?"

"Naw," Linda shook her head and stared down at her olive-skinned hands, unaware that they were nervously trembling. "Quite the opposite. She fell asleep an hour ago."

Her father frowned. "She got so much sleep last night, though."

"I know," Linda shrugged, "but I wanted her to be rested up for her soccer game."

A smile escaped from her father's lips. "Linda Fallon, you're the best."

"Thanks." She sighed and watched as her dad walked over to Pattie.

"Pat?" he looked down at her and gently placed his palm on her forehead. Then he glanced up at Linda. "She's a bit pale."

"Maybe she's sick, mn?" she worriedly suggested. She wished it would be something as simple as a cold or flu. "She was showing me her strange freckles earlier."

Her father nervously stroked Pattie's cheek. "Pat, wake up. It's time for your game."

No response.

Linda leaned over. "Pattie?" she whispered and shook her sister gently. "Pattie, c'mon. You're going to be late."

Still, no response.

Her father rose. "Call 911," he blurted out. "Dammit, the one day I don't leave you with a babysitter, and Pattie's like this."

Linda rushed out as her father longingly stared at his sleeping daughter.

"C'mon, Pattie," he whispered into her ear, his breath tickling her cheek. "Pattie Natara Fallon, please wake up…"

He was pleading for her to rise.

Because he knew what was going to happen next.

He'd experienced it before, after all.

"Natara," he whispered into her ear. "Wake up, it's time for work."

Five year-old Linda walked in, her cocoa-colored hair bouncing at her shoulders. Behind her sat one year-old Pattie who teethed on a nearby toy.

Natara didn't stir.

"Nat?" he nervously spoke louder.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Linda wondered aloud. "Is Mommy okay?"

Mal, that was her father's name, nodded reassuringly. "Oh, she's fine. She's just taking a nap, that's all."

Linda strolled over to her mother and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking it gently. "Wake up, Mommy…" she joined Mal. "Wake up."

But she didn't. She never did, not even when the doctors tried to.

And then Mal came to realize the true meaning of the six-lettered killer.

"Pattie," he whispered again, "Pattie…"

Linda burst in the room. "An ambulance will be here in a few minutes. Has she woken yet?"

Mal shook his head. "No."

A nervous wail escaped Linda's lips.

"Hey," he whirled around to face her, "don't worry. The doctors will be able to get her up. They'll coax her with lollipops and bubble gum, and then she'll wake up."

This brought a smile to Linda's lips as she sat down and watched her peaceful sister's closed eyelids.

The smile faded quickly, though.

It left when Pattie was pronounced dead at the UCSF Children's Hospital.

The grin was gone, and was replaced with several tears.

Mal's eyes were stone-dry, however, despite the burning feeling in his chest as his emotionally inner walls came crumbling down. He marched straight up to the solemn doctor. "What killed her?" he forcefully demanded, even though he already knew what it was.

Dr. Snidow sighed. "Acute leukemia did the nasty trick," he shook his head sadly and shuffled through the papers on his clipboard. "And according to my records…" he paused slightly. "…it did the same to her mother, too."

Cookies for the person who guesses where the rather retro names of Pattie and Linda came from.