Ten Little Bohos
2. Sleep
Ten little Bohos went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were nine.
Nine little Bohos sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little Bohos traveling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Seven little Bohos chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.
Six little Bohos playing with a hive;
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.
Five little Bohos going in for law,
One got in Chancery and then there were four.
Four little Bohos going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.
Three little Bohos walking in the zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.
Two little Bohos sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was one.
One little Boho left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were none.

It was hard for Collins to resist the strong urge to empty the contents of his stomach as he carried his best friend's corpse into the elevator and rose up four floors to the top one. Maureen Leah Johnson, the first person to ever know he was gay, his best friend from his childhood years, the one kid he could trust in grade school, was just killed because someone had put a few nuts in her taco. It was supposed to be a party. It was supposed to be a celebration.

But she had died.

The word "died" seemed to final to Collins. It bothered him. That's why he hated saying goodbye: it seemed much too final, like he would never see them again. Anyone who was a close friend he would surely see again, so he'd say "see you later" or something. Never goodbye, because he'd see them again.

But he wouldn't see Maureen again. She was dead.

And he had been framed for it.

His best friend! "Stupid," Collins muttered, shaking his head and biting his lip. "Stupid." Of course he was close friends with Mark and Roger, but Collins and Maureen had bumped into the two when they were at a nightclub once. Mark and Roger had known each other forever, he and Maureen had as well. It seemed like a perfect situation.

The room seemed to be closing in on him. He wanted to punch the walls, but Maureen was draped so daintily over his elbows that he decided not to rustle her beautiful frame. The elevator dinged and he stepped out, careful not to trip on the space between the elevator and the floor.

He chose the first room he saw and managed to get the door open. With care, he placed Maureen's dead body on top of the comforter and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry this happened, baby," he whispered, "we'll give you a proper burial once we get home. I promise. I love you, and don't worry—I won't let the murderer get out of here alive. That's a promise, girl." He kissed her softly before stepping out of the room.

Now he'd have to hear it from Mark. The little twit had his heart set on the fact that Collins was "out for Maureen's blood." Groaning and grabbing at his head, the "blood seeker" stepped into the elevator again and watched as the floors slid below him.

Guess who was waiting at the bottom of the elevator? Albino boy himself, tapping his foot impatiently as the glass came to a stop and the doors split open. "Where'd you put her?" he spat, staring the generously larger man in the eye.

"Room fifty-one on the fifth floor," Collins returned in the same tone, but pain was inevitable in it. Mark's eyes softened a bit and he walked back to the Meeting Room with Collins by his side. "Look, man, I know it looks like—"

"It wasn't you," Mark looked up at him, his eyes glazed over with fresh tears. "I know it wasn't. You couldn't kill anyone, I was just so angry... and—and..."

"I got ya, man," Collins nodded. "It happens." What, your best friend accuses you of murderering your other best friend? Oh, yeah, that happens all the time.

Mark shook his head. "Collins, now they all think you've done it," he told him solemnly. "It's all because of me."

Collins smiled falsely, hoping it looked real in contrast to the situation they were in. "Mark, not everyone listens to you."

The door to the Meeting Room burst open and there was Roger, making a beeline for the front door. "Roger, where are you—"

"Out." Roger replied coldly, heaving open the lobby door and walking out into the twilight. Both Collins and Mark sighed, one of the two casting their gaze to Mimi, standing in the doorway, holding onto the doorframe for dear life. The other, Mark, stared at the door Roger had just exited from, knowing that the pain wasn't going to help him much.

He knew it wasn't Roger. Roger couldn't deal with death; causing it would torture his soul. He knew it wasn't Collins. Obviously, Joanne was out. He trusted Sam with his life...

Benny!

It had to have been Benny. Alison wouldn't have done it—women don't kill anyone, let alone each other. Plus, Alison always loved Maureen. When people complained that she was annoying, she was laughing out loud. Angel never would kill anyone, and that was that. Benny must have done it, that conniving little bastard!

Of course the two of them had been close at one time, but Mark always thought that Benny felt sour toward Maureen after the protest.

Deep in his heart, Mark knew that no matter what he trash talked about Benny, Collins was still to blame. Joanne had her mind set on it. Sammy would think it. Angel would deny it, but deep inside even she'd feel it. Everyone would blame Collins. Hell, Roger even blamed him, he could tell by the way he stared at him. And Roger was a brother to Collins.

Mark ran a hand through his hair. He had finally screwed his best friend over.

They entered the room and immediately Collins sat down in a chair and dumped his head into his hands. Instantly, Angel was by his side, encompassing the big man in a hug fit for a bear.

Mark walked over to the shaking Joanne. "C'mon, Jo, you can sleep in me and Sammy's room tonight. We have a two-bedroom. If you'd like, you can share a bed with Sam, and I'll take the other room," he checked with Samantha and she nodded vigorously. "Come on, Joanne, let's get you in the shower."

As Sammy led Joanne out of the room and Mimi and Angel volunteered to help, Mark turned to the scene before him. Food was everywhere from the food fight that had erupted, things had yet to be cleaned up, and Roger was nowhere to be found. Alison, as soon as she regained her bearings, quickly followed the rest of the girls to help Joanne in any way possible. Benny muttered a swear.

"Shit, guys, who the fuck would do something like that? To Maureen?" he shook his head and kicked the floor.

Mark snorted. "Why don't you tell us? Straight from the horse's mouth, first hand."

Surprised, Benny stumbled back. Collins felt his own mind race. Now Mark's blaming BennyMaybe he had proof. Process of elimination? He racked his mind for possibilities. Well, he wasn't about to think any of the women did it—they were very close with Maureen. How could Angel have done it? She was basically a walking life-giver.

Something deep in Collins' mind spoke. Why is Mark so quick to blame?

He shut that down. No. At this point, he could eliminate Mark. No matter what he denied, Mark always loved Maureen. He'd always have a special place for her in his heart, and vice versa with the drama queen. Maybe not in the same context, but it was there.

Roger couldn't even deal with death, so how the hell could he cause it? Who did that leave?

Himself and Benny.

Since he was pretty damned sure that his body hadn't taken over himself and made his heart and soul go freaking AWOL, that left Benny. But how would they come up with proof? Nothing could drastically be done unless they had proof... "Mark!" Collins cried out, as loud as he could. "Mark! Wait! Mark!" the perfect solution smacked Collins between the eyes. "Mark!"

Mark and Benny's conversation (could you call it a conversation? They were screaming insults at each other) stopped on a dime and Mark walked over to Collins. "What?"

"Your camera!" Collins breathed, "Weren't you filming? You must have caught who did it! You have to find your camera!"

That was all he needed to say. Within minutes the room was a mess—shit was everywhere, and Mark's camera was still nowhere to be found. "Keep looking!" Mark screeched, opening the stove and then closing it with a clang. "It's around here somewhere!" He opened each of the cabinets and then slammed them shut, frustrated beyond belief.

They looked for hours. Hours and hours and hours, until every square inch of the room had been searched through. Peeved, Mark collapsed on the couch. "What purpose did that frigging serve? Now this room looks like a shit sty, my camera is still gone, and there's an effing murderer in this place!"

Collins winced. "Mark, we could always just move upstairs," he suggested.

Mark nodded, setting his jaw. "That's what we'll do."

Pushing himself off the couch, Mark walked toward the front door. "I'll go get Roger. Collins, go get the girls. Benny, go with him." And with that he was out of the building, searching for Roger, who was probably halfway across the island.

"Benny..." Collins began, clapping his friend (he could still call him that) on the shoulder, "Mark's a little... out of control. Don't take his blaming seriously," he hid the fact that he agreed with Mark. If, in fact, Benny was the murderer, he didn't want to be targeted next.

Benny was silent.

The two of them walked into Mark and Samantha's bedroom, merely watching as the three women hugged each other tightly. "Hey, guys," Collins muttered quietly. "Where's Alison?" he asked them in a soft tone.

"In the bathroom with Joanne," Mimi answered, looking up at Collins. Finally, she couldn't take it—she had to jump up from te couch and throw herself into his arms. "Oh, Collins!" she wailed, clinging to his body and sobbing into his chest. "Collins, what—I don't believe—who could do that—I mean—it's Maureen!"

Shaking his head, he hugged Mimi back. "I know, Meems," he mumbled. He kissed the top of her head. "I don't know who could do such a thing to her." He held the petite girl close to him. Nuts had never seemed so obscene. "Guys," he announced discreetly, "we're moving up to the second floor. The Meeting Room is shit now, so we're just going to use the one upstairs."

The girls modestly nodded. "I'll go get Joanne and Alison," Angel soot up and walked over toward the bathroom door, knocking three times before entering gingerly.

Collins sighed. What a night to kick off their vacation.

— — — —

"Roger!"

Mark's calls were drowned out by the vicious winds whipping at his face. That had been one of the few downfalls of this vacation—for some reason, Alison had said, there were very very ferocious winds late at night. They'd brushed this off, sure that they wouldn't be outside late at night, but then again, nobody really expected Roger to run out of the house in a fir of pain and rage. Maybe Roger was just unpredictable.

Right, Mark chuckled to himself. "Roger!" he roared again, cupping his hands over his mouth. His right side felt oddly vacant—what Roger accused to be a man-purse wasn't by his side. A loud growl emerged from somewhere, and Mark did a quick 360. No matter how angry, Roger wasn't known to growl.

Bears! Mark suddenly thought. Or maybe... a murderer?

Deep down, Mark knew that the murderer wasn't one of his friends. It just wasn't possible. Even Benny, who he thought he had dirt against, wouldn't have the heart to kill someone. Whenever Benny caused someone pain he apologized a thousand times.

He thought he was taking the easy way out, blaming Benny. Who would be easier to blame? He'd betrayed them once and came back, he was the most vulnerable. It was kind of lame of him to do it, but he wanted Benny to blame because he had the most excuses. He didn't want to blame any of his other friends, in case it was true.

Alison was an open person. She loved everyone, no matter what. In a way, she was like Angel: peacemaking and full of life. As soon as she was welcomed, she returned the favor, and everyone instantly knew why Benny had chosen a woman as nice as her. Could she have done it?

On his side of the fight, he was sure that Samantha wasn't the murderer. Did it need to be clarified? In the short year they'd known her, Sammy had proven herself a best friend to Maureen, which was a slight downfall for Mark—Maureen told Sam all of his secrets. Especially the embarrassing ones. Sam didn't have a heart of stone, she couldn't kill Maureen.

"Roger!" Speaking of him. Roger didn't do it, either.

In his mind, Mark went through each of his friends, and anyone he knew. How could any of them committed such a crime? It really could have been any of them. Any of them could have figured out that Maureen was allergic to nuts. Roger, Joanne and himself were the only ones who knew directly, but it was so strikingly possible that one of the others could've found out any other way.

He rifled through all of the people who ever knew Maureen. The manager at the Life? Maybe he tapped in on the conversations and kept track of the nutlessness of Maureen's orders. Right. Nanette Himmelfarb? Did she know Maureen enough? Okay, Mark. Could it be... the Man? Well, he never knew Maureen, but he did know Roger and Mimi, and didn't he go to Maureen's protest? Maybe one of his closest relatives was trampled by a cow in their early stages of life and ever since he had this weird thing against cows. What the hell? I'm going crazy.

Stressed, he brought a hand to his forehead and sighed deeply. He realized he'd been standing in the same place with a total look of distance on his face for a long amount of time, just screaming Roger's name over and over and over. IT was starting to get a little on the chilly side, and after he noticed this he started shivering.

"Ro—!"

"Mark, would you stop screaming at the bottom of this tree? I'm right here."

Craning his neck upward, the statement was affirmed. There was the long-haired wonder himself, hanging from a tree branch. "I saw something huge start running toward me, so I booked it and hid up this tree. Hell, it probably could climb trees, but I didn't know what to do. I lost my way and figured I wouldn't make it back alive anyway."

Pretending to be brave failed Mark at that moment. 'Um, okay, why don't you, um, get down and maybe we'll, um try to get back?" Nervousness oozed in his voice. "I think I, um, remember the way." Um, um, um, um.

"You always say 'um' when you're nervous," Roger laughed, and, with grace that Mark was almost unworthy of, jumped from the tree and landed softly. "Don't look at me like I'm a ballerina, Mark."

Well, at least he was high in spirits. "Yes, I do," he confirmed. "I always have said 'um,' even back in Scarsdale."

"Maybe you should work on that."

Right, Roger. It's at the top of my list, below stay alive but above get over the loss of my first love. I'll get back to you on that one. "Okay, I'll try," he gulped, trying to sound confident. The squeak in his voice proved failure.

It started to rain. Not hard, but a light drizzle.

Something hit Roger that moment. To this day he doesn't know why, but it did. "Shit, Mark!" he screeched, bursting into a run. "The lock down! Ah! We're going to be stuck out here, because she doesn't know how to shut it off, it's impossible! Oh, my God! We're going to die!" his running sent him into a frenzy, yet somehow he made it to the hotel.

The rain started pouring down from the sky, the clouds seeming to open up.

When Roger ran into the door, nothing happened. "Open up!" he pleaded, yelling, and Mark went for the windows. The wind whipped sticks at his face. "Come on, please, help!" Just open the door!" It was pitch black out now, the sky looked like it had sucked in the moon and left them with no light whatsoever.

A muffled voice came from inside the door. "I can't open it!" the voice was equally terrified. "Listen to me! Do not stay near the hotel! The bears are attracted to it at night! Get as far away as you can without getting lost and hide in a tree! Do you hear me?"

Roger nodded, looking over his shoulder. "Yeah, I hear you!"

Loud banging came from indoors. "Benny, stop trying to bust your way through the door!" The person tried to say something else, but a loud crack of lightning cut them off.

Roger flipped so his back was against the door and he studied a blob off in the distance. At first, he squinted, unsure of what it was, but then his eyes widened and he screamed bloody murder. Mark felt his blood sing with fear. What? What, Roger, what is it?" he could feel sobs trying to rip through his throat as he tried to talk to Roger.

"Mark, run!"

Mark had never been one to disobey orders.

And so he ran. He ran like the wind. He ran for Maureen. He ran for Samantha. He ran for Roger. Well, actually, he told himself he ran for these people, but in all trut, he was running because he really wanted to live and he was quite terrified of bears.

There was a loud noise (a battle cry, maybe?) and the blob came tearing toward them. Mark pumped his legs, pinching his thumbs, trying to get the pain to transfer into adrenaline. Far ahead of him, Roger scurried into a tree, cheering his friend on. "Hurry, Mark! Come on, you have this! Come on!"

The he tripped.

Face first, Mark Cohen tripped into the mud at the worst possible time in his life. His glasses went flying across the dirt, and his new blurred vision rendered him incapable of sight. Instead of dwelling on this gruesome fact, he shot to his feet and flailed wildly in the direction he thought was correct. The direction toward Roger.

Wrong. The being ran into him and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Up in the tree, Roger cursed. His best friend had just been ran into by something that clearly wasn't a bear. In fact, the thing looked like a human. A man. From what he could see, there was no hair, and he was a very muscular man. So here he was, cowering in a tree from a Tarzan, while his best friend was on the ground, lights out.

Frankly, that pissed Roger off.

With stealth, he hopped from the tree and approached the figure. Whatever it was charged Roger and stuck out its leg, kicking the rocker in the jaw and sending him flying back into the mud. The coppery taste of blood entered his mouth and he felt one of his back teeth jerk out of place. He turned his head and spat it out, fury surging through his body.

He took two steps and went to punch at him, but he drew away, ducking and doing some sort of roll. "Get out of here!" Roger seethed, kicking the man—hard—in the chest.

The guy fell to the ground, wheezing, and looked up at Roger. "Roger?" he choked out, holding onto his chest.

Collins!

Roger dropped to his knees and crawled over to his friend, apologizing. "Oh, my God, I thought you were the murderer!" the two said at the same time, and then laughed. "Jeez, that bear knocking the breath outta me wasn't too pretty, and then you, running so fast... I don't think I have any air left in me," he chuckled. "Where's Mark?"

"Good question." He blinked. "And, wait—rewind. Bear?"

As if it were planned, Mark came stumbling out of a bush and rolled head over heels. "There's something out there!" he screamed, and then turned his attention to Collins. "Collins? Go kill it! There's something out there, it's going to kill us!" he hid behind the big man.

"I came out after you guys didn't come back," he said to Mark. "We were all worried sick. Of course, I forgot the lock down would screw me over, but it's great that you guys are alive."

There was a rough gust of wind and some sort of creature roared. Mark jumped a mile in the air and looked around feverishly. "I swear, there's something fucking out there!" he pulled Roger ot his feet and motioned for Collins to join them. "I can hear it coming, c'mon!"

The three men started tearing through the forest. "Mark, bears can run faster than we can, you know," Collins informed over the clashing thunder. It was still pouring.

Mark wished he had windshield wipers for his glasses, because rain and mud was everywhere. The growling from behind them only grew louder, and Mark screamed. Just keep running, he reminded himself. Never stop running. He was certain that Roger and Collins were in front of him.

Then he realized that he was alone.

"Roger?" He screamed, spinning around. "Roger? Collins?" No response.

He almost had a heart attack when someone's arms were underneath his armpits and he was being raised off the ground into a tree. When he turned to face his attacker, he saw Collins, equally terrified. "Collins?" he asked, dazed. "Collins, where's Roger?" his words were slurred from the fear still trying to escape his train of thought.

Collins moved to the side the tiniest bit on the branch to reveal Roger, curled up near the trunk of the tree. A hand was drawn to his face, like he was making sure it was still there. Mark noticed something really wrong—he was crying. And not only that—he wasn't only crying—he was bleeding.

Bleeding. Injured. Roger Davis was bleeding. A lot, from what he could see.

"Why is he bleeding?" Mark demanded, trying to scurry towards his hurt friend, but almost losing his balance. He allowed Collins to steady him as he pressed for answers. "What happened?" he asked, still trying to lean so he could see Roger. "Why is he bleeding? What the hell?"

"A bear," Collins explained solemnly. "We all got split up, I found him with this..." he shivered. "A huge bear, like, on top of him. I hit it with a huge stick that I found, it backed off for a second, long enough for me to get Roger out of there. He tore a pretty big hole in Roger's chest, and his face is pretty mauled. I'm just glad I got there before...before..." he trailed off.

"Are you sure it wasn't the murderer?" Mark questioned, leaning a little bit more.

Collins shook his head forcefully. "No, it was definitely a bear. I swear. It was huge, and furry, and it sounded like one. While I was pulling him away, he just kept repeating Maureen's name over and over again, like he was... I don't even know. He was just afraid that he was going to end up like Maureen—dead. I think the pain of her being dead is finally hitting him."

Nodding, Mark knew he'd heard this before. "Like with April," he said rhetorically, and Collins agreed. "It finally all came down to him in one thrash of reality."

"What do we do now?" This was a new voice, and Mark turned to look at Roger, his face completely covered in blood, tears mixed in. He couldn't help but wince—he'd never seen Roger look so... helpless.

"We wait," Collins answered.

"For what?" Roger spoke again, trying to wipe the blood off his face but not succeeding.

"For the morning."

— — — —

If she had to, Alison would pace a hole through the floor. If pacing would give her answers, she would do it all night long. No matter what. "Who killed Maureen?" she asked for the tenth time in the last minute, and Benny, making himself a cup of coffee on the other end of their hotel room, shook his head.

"I have no idea," he admitted.

Frustrated, Alison brought her fist down on the counter. "No! Wrong answer!" she sighed heavily and sat down, only to rise back up again and start pacing some more. "That's all I've been hearing all day long... I want some damned answers!" She shook her head, the tears flying off of her face. Maureen. How could Maureen be dead?

"Allie, baby," Benny soothed her, trying to hide his own agony, "everyone wants answers. Nobody understands who could do such a thing to Maureen. It might not be one of us," he told her, "someone could be on this island right now, out in the storm, waiting for the lock down to shut off so they can kill us."

Very visibly, Alison shuddered. When her lover noticed this, he put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. "Allie—"

"Benny," she whispered, reaching up to put her hands on his shoulders, "Maureen was my best friend," her quiet voice quivered. "I will not rest in peace until her murderer is found," she spoke defiantly and stomped her foot. "This was supposed to be a vacation, and look what it's exploded up into."

He shook his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I know, babe."

— — — —

The bedroom where the four women were in was so eerily quiet that it scared Mimi. They thought that they should be talking about something at least... but nothing seemed to be right. She'd try to start talking but nothing would seem relevant to what was going on... nothing at all.

"So who do you think did it?" Joanne mumbled from underneath her blanket, which was covering her face entirely.

This shocked the other three girls—Joanne seemed to be the least likely person to say it. "I—"

"It's better for me to talk about it," Joanne confessed, pulling the blanket away. "Pain was always easier for me to talk about... and I don't want to bring down this vacation."

More shock.

"Don't look at me like that," she tried to kid but her eyes were filled with pain, "this is supposed to be..." she sighed, "a vacation. I'm going to try to put this behind me for now... and we'll deal with it when the boat comes to pick us up. What else can we honestly do? We can't just be sad this whole time... can we?"

Sure, Mimi was about to answer, but she wanted Joanne high in spirits. If she could hold herself together, then everyone else could as well. They'd deal with it.

The next morning the guys came back, and Roger's wounds were tended. The worst of it was the gash in his chest, which was fixed easily by Collins (he'd taken some medical classes at one point in time). All in all, it just hurt a bit when he breathed too hard, and Collins guessed that it'd heal soon.

And they lived their lives.

Two days passed, and they finally decided to get back into the swing of things. They walked into their Meeting Room in a glum mood, but it only took them a short time to realize the real reason they'd come—to relax. Things would never be the same, of course, but they could play pretend for a little while, right?

They all got very incredibly drunk. The horde of Stoli that Collins had brought was dished out to everyone and they drank, laughing about the craziest things that seriously shouldn't be funny.

The night ended and couples returned to their rooms, Joanne remaining in Mark and Samantha's room for another night.

The next morning came very quickly, and the first ones up were the three men who'd survived the night in the wild. They could take alcohol very easily and were barely hung over, so they took it to themselves to make breakfast. "Angel's sleeping like a baby," Collins remarked. "She could never drink well," he chuckled.

"Mimi can, but she sleeps in late anyway," Roger snorted and finished making the coffee, pouring he and his friends cups.

"Heh," Mark laughed nervously, "Sam can't drink at all. She'll be asleep all day, at this rate."

The next people awake were Benny and Alison, walking in side by side. "I smell bacon," Alison muttered sleepily, and the boys laughed. "What? I'm like a moth to the flame when it comes to bacon..." she drifted over to where Collins was preparing it. "Yum, Collins, you always did make great bacon."

Benny helped set the table and Alison sat down, holding back her urge to jump up and stuff all of the bacon in her mouth.

Mimi stumbled in next, soon to be followed by Joanne. Samantha came in last, looking like a train wreck in its entirety. "Jeez, Mark, I thought I told you to never let me drink that much," she complained, holding a hand to her head. "So dizzy... I don't think I've drank that much vodka at once before..."

They sat down to eat, and about halfway through their meal, Mimi noticed that Angel still wasn't with them. "Hold on, I'll go get her," she perked up and flew from her seat, grabbing a piece of bacon and fleeing from the room.

She walked down the halls and approached Angel and Collins' room, knocking a few times on the door before entering softly. "Aaaaangel," Mimi cooed, walking over to the bed. "Angel, wake uuuup!" She dangled the bacon in front of Angel's nose, but the man in the bed didn't move.

"Angel?" Mimi asked, dropping the bacon and starting to shake the form. She put a hand on Angel's face and quickly recoiled it—it was freezing cold.

"Angel!" she screamed, not loud enough for the people on the other side of the hall to hear, however. "Oh, my God, wake up, Angel... wake up..." the body didn't move.

She screamed bloody murder.

Across the hall in the Meeting Room, Roger heard Mimi's scream and dropped his fork, pushing back from the table so fast that his chair fell to the floor. Soon after he stood up his friends followed, running as fast as they could toward Angel and Collins' room.

"Mimi!" Roger screamed, and finally made it to the door. He forced it open and tore in, relieved when he saw Mimi moving and alive. But her hand was holding someone else's... Angel's.

"No," Collins choked out, and threw himself at his still lover's form.

"She's dead," Mimi cried, dropping the hand and kissing Angel's cheek. "Angel is dead."

Everyone in the room went into shock, and Roger felt his heart break again. Maureen... and now Angel? Without thinking, he fell to his knees and enveloped Mimi into a hug, squeezing his girlfriend as tight as he could. For some reason, he started apologizing... apologizing that this was happening to her. Two of her best friends—gone?

As Collins hugged his boyfriend's corpse and others wept, one single thought was heard around the room. Who's next?

Another victim.

Sleep.

A/N: An Angel of the first degree :(

Just for the irony of it all, I'm making Collins very interested in this case. He's gonna be very serious and all Law & Order (hmm. Why does that ring a bell?)

Speaking of Collins and Law & Order, I was watching that the other night, and he didn't show up. WHY? I was really PO'ed, the only reason I watched it was because I wanted to see Jesse!

I didn't get as many reviews last time, which was kind of depressing. Please keep reviewing. I can see those of you who have faved/alerted this story who aren't reviewing:O SHAME ON YOU!

Anyway. Sorry this kind of took long to get up, it's like 12 pages long and I DO have a life now! I went to my cousin's house (my cousin the RENThead) and I watched the movie like a thousand times because my LITTLE cousins (two are 7 and one is 10) LOVE the movie. –shivers–I mean, okay. That's kind of bad... first graders and a fourth grader?

REVIEW!

Steph.