**** Hello everyone, welcome back. Sheesh the popularity of this story is starting to freak me out. I've never had this many views before, or any reviews at all (from someone I don't know, that is...) so you can imagine I'm starting to feel a little pressure from the crowd.

Well you all can just knock it off! I've got a Biology test this week and I need to be thinking about glycerides and amino acids and not...This crazyness. But really, don't worry about me. I'll work it out, because I kicked logic to the curb and spent my study time writing this chapter! It's a transitional chapter, moving into the next phase here, so it may put you to sleep. I don't know, maybe you like excessive dialogue.

No Illustration this time. I have been working on one, but it belongs to chapter five. Hey, and if you don't care about illustrations...tough beans. Ignore them.

Love you guys! See ya soon!****

Chapter Four

Tip the Bottle Back

The next morning Yoko woke up feeling cramped and drowsy. She rolled over and flailed as she fell off the small couch, bruising her bum on the hard wooden floor. She groaned, giving voice to her misery and disorientation. She looked around and didn't recognize where she was, and immediately her heart started pounding and her hand reached for her rifle.

Slowly she recalled the events of the night before and the memories calmed her, though they also put her in a gloomier mood. After their room at the inn had been raided and spotted with bullet holes, she, Kamina and Simon had stormily departed in the hopes of finding hospitality elsewhere. There were no other inns in Cascade, so they had been lucky to be taken in by a kind family on the north side of town. Their dinner had been meatless but still appetizing, though the sleeping accommodations were arduous at best.

Kamina and Simon had slept on the floor, giving Yoko the couch for the night. She rubbed her neck and wondered if the floor would have been more comfortable.

"Well, at least I got some sleep," she mumbled. Poor Simon would probably have deep bags under his eyes this morning; he had been so distraught over what had happened at the inn that he had been unable to catch even an hour of rest. He hadn't wanted to talk about it, choosing instead to lie in a dark corner and fret himself sick.

Yoko shook her head sadly. Simon had every right to be upset, but at the same time she knew that he would soon forget his worries. Once they put Cascade behind them, that orphan boy would eventually become the last thing on his mind.

Looking around the small room she discovered that Simon was not there. Kamina was still grumbling senselessly in his sleep, stretched out on the floorboards while the cool morning light painted his skin a light blue.

Feeling a touch of worry, Yoko wandered into the kitchen and found the mother of the family standing at the stove. She was stirring some kind of yellow vegetable in a frying pan, filling the small room with a heavy, burnt scent. The cheerful woman was humming to herself when Yoko walked in.

"Good morning," they both said.

"I was wondering," Yoko went on, "did you happen to see that little boy who was with us? I can't seem to find him."

The woman smiled gently, though something in her eyes seemed worried. "He left late last night dear, after you and your older friend had fallen asleep. Our daughter saw him from her bedroom window, walking down the street all alone. I thought he was just getting some air, and I didn't want to wake you. I hope he hasn't gotten lost."

"Simon? Lost?" Yoko pretended to laugh. "He's too smart for that. Don't worry about him."

After politely excusing herself, she hurried back to the living room and franticly kicked Kamina awake; silencing his raucous shouts with the news that Simon had run away.

Clomp, clomp…shff…clomp, clomp…

…Shff…Worn shoes sliding on the slick stone of the bridge railing, the golden-haired boy gleefully laughed as the white bandages snapped over his shoulders, waving like tails in the bitter wind. He grinned and touched his forehead.

No pain. No blood.

A miracle.

Clomp, clomp…shff…

At the other end of the bridge he saw a small figure in blue rushing toward him, every stride toting fear…or maybe it was just desperation. It was a strange look this other child wore. The golden-haired boy was not used to looks like that.

"Be careful," Simon called. He was nervously watching the other boy's feet balanced on the stone edge, trying to banish thoughts of him falling headfirst into the freezing water dozens of feet below. He was starting to wonder how long he could go on worrying over this stranger; after only one day he was emotionally exhausted.

The boy smiled at him devilishly, an expression Simon had not yet seen cross his pale face. He stopped, looking up at his friend from a wary distance. "Why don't you come down," he suggested. "Let me fix those bandages before they fall off."

The strange expression blinked out and the boy frowned. He searched in his pocket, and then drew something bright and metal out to display in the shaded sunlight. Simon gazed upon his precious core drill in the boy's dirty hand, feeling sick surprise splinter though his chest.

"When did you—" he started.

The boy's shoulders drooped, and he tilted his head thoughtfully. "You didn't notice it was gone?"

Now Simon's surprise advanced into full on shock. He had come to think that the golden-haired stranger was mute, for he hadn't said a word since they met, even when he was being chased by the angry townspeople. Somehow those words he had just spoken were unreal, and for a minute Simon wondered if he'd even heard them at all.

"I stole this earlier," the boy explained. "When they were shooting, you were distracted. It was a good time." He tossed the drill lightly in his hand, seeming to study it. "I thought you would notice right away that it was gone. And, that I took it."

"I didn't," Simon admitted. "I didn't know at all."

This didn't seem to make sense to the other boy, and his eyebrows knitted even closer together on his forehead. "Then…why are you still here?"

Simon met his grey-eyed gaze, hesitating to speak, afraid of something that he couldn't quiet name yet. What was it? What did that look mean? Something in this other being was familiar, something about him was screaming out, fighting all the other noise just to impart some overlooked truth that Simon was dying to know.

What the hell do you want to say?

"I know who you are," Simon said. "You're Linus. The one everyone in this town hates so much, though they won't tell us why. But you went to Paradise. You know what it's like there."

"Paradise," the boy whispered contemptuously. "Paradise, he says. More like hell." He laughed enthusiastically for a long time, as if he had said something truly hilarious, giggling on until the sound seemed to have worked into the air and chilled it even further. He began walking along the stone railing, moving away from Simon and muttering to himself.

"Send Linus out; go find Paradise boys. We found it, we found it, we did," he chuckled eerily. "More like it found us. I fell though, saw the blood, but I made it back. Why did they look at me that way? The bridge fell, and then they started to throw stones. The cuts always bled. And it never stops. Not ever."

Simon caught up to him, fearing that he might fall. "Linus, what happened when you went to Paradise? What did you find there?"

"They'd been looking at the sun too long, you see," Linus mumbled. "They looked and looked all the long day, and the next. Were they blind? But they caught us still. That didn't fit, not at all."

Simon grabbed his sleeve, trying to stop the boy's steady progress. "Stop, don't tip that way! You're going to fall!"

Linus laughed again and began to sing, "Tip the bottle back, John! Tip the bottle back! Tip the bottle back, tip, tip, and tip!" He crouched down and looked into Simon's face, grinning wildly like a wolf. "Tip the bottle back, Simon! Tip the…bottle…back," he gulped, suddenly looking crestfallen and ashamed. "…fill up."

Though the two of them were not close together, even the edges of Simon's vision seemed to be filled with the other boy's tragic face. He could not begin to grasp the sweeping desert behind those eyes, though the glimpse he caught of it drove a spike of fear right through his core.

"I know," he said gently, "I know that something terrible happened to you on that mountain. You weren't always this way, were you?"

Linus forced a smile. He muttered, "I guess I've been playing a few too many games, right Simon? Got to stop licking these old wounds."

Biting his lip, Simon clutched Linus' wiry wrist as he straightened and prepared to jump down from the railing.

A rude bang abruptly shattered the peaceful morning air, making them both jump. Simon cried out when Linus' left side jerked back as if he had been hit on his shoulder with a hammer, the force of the unknown impact throwing his balance over the edge of the bridge. A sparkling splash of blood leapt up from a small hole in his collar, and the next breath he was toppling headfirst into open space.

"Got 'em!" came the joyful hoot.

Simon hurled himself at the railing but the thin wrist he held twisted roughly out of his fingers. He was grasping cold air, and Linus was falling off the bridge, away from him toward the black water so far below.

There was so much fear on both their faces, but with chaos flying down, haughty mortality rolling up from beneath, and the stampede of sour joy charging in from the side, it could hardly even be noticed.