Roses Are Red

Chapter 4: 2 months, 3 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours and 54 minutes

I parked far away from the employee parking lot, because I read somewhere that pregnant women need exercise, even when they're tired.

Bull.

What I need right now is for someone to carry me. Even though I don't work here anymore, I walk inside and go up to the elevator like I still do. Who cares, the receptionists aren't even paying attention. They're sitting there at that big old desk, pretending to work, but I know the truth. They're all downloading Jonas Brothers songs and checking their Facebooks. I may be 26, but I'm not stupid.

In the elevator, I prepare to face Nancy. I know she's up there, twittering away and prancing about and…doing things. Probably sitting there in her little revolving chair, waitingwaitingwaiting for me to come in to pick up my paycheck, or anything, just so she can trap me. I know she's on to me, but I can only hope that she isn't on to me being on to her being on to me.

The elevator doors separate, and I quickly straighten my back so that it doesn't look like I'm concealing a beach ball under my shirt. Four months along, and I'm not showing too much; it is my first pregnancy after all, and I've always been on the skinnier side. What bothers me is, essentially, myself, since Dr. Harrison told me that I was…pregnant. First and foremost I felt shock; I was pregnant. Pregnant.

Whereas most women felt overwhelming elation, and happiness, and hope, I just felt…overwhelmed. I'm having a baby. A baby. Another life is growing inside of me, and I'm terrified. How was I supposed to raise a child? Better yet, how was I supposed to raise a child alone?

The first week (after he told me) was torture. I was convinced that my doctor was wrong, and my charts were mixed up with someone else's. I told myself this when I went to bed at night and found myself automatically sleeping on my side, as opposed to my stomach. I told myself this when I woke up in the morning, with the need to empty my stomach of everything in it. I told myself this throughout the day when I got randomly tired, and needed to sit down. The fatigue and morning sickness wore off a while ago, but I was still nervous.

Could people tell? Was I obvious?

I trained my mind to keep from getting too scattered; with me I carried a tiny blue notebook, in which I wrote down anything important, so I wouldn't forget. Currently, I was just filling it with lies. The lies that I had either told people already, or that I was planning to tell them, if they asked about myself, Arnold, or any other prying questions.

But even when my mind was in order, my body wasn't. In all honesty, it's one thing to know in your brain that there's another life form inside of you. It's a completely different thing to feel it. It was only a few days ago that I felt the baby move, for the first time. I was in line at the grocery store, and suddenly I feel something brush up against my stomach. Gasping loud enough to alert the cashier, I bent over in shock and it happened again. Subtle as it was, when I realized what was happening, I could feel nothing but shock and happiness, even if it was only for a moment. The baby moved. Our baby moved.

Joy was suddenly replaced with desolation. No, our baby didn't move. My baby moved.

My shoulders fell as the realization hit me. I'd have to get ready for this child. I'd have to go to lamaze classes and be the odd woman out. I'd have to suffer through cravings and cramps and crankiness, and have no one to turn to. And the vision of being in that delivery room, surrounded by nurses and doctors, sweat beading my brow and pain on my face, with no one's hand to hold but a random, scared physician's assistant, made me cry, right then and there. The man in front of me in line offered a wrinkled Kleenex, and I was too upset to question it.

I was in this alone. And it was all my fault.

Stopping in my stride between the rows of identical cubicles, and painted a firm, angry look on my face. No. This wasn't my fault at all! Arnold did this! I didn't force him to leave me for those other women! I didn't force him to lie to me about things getting better, and making changes, and starting over. And (this didn't even cross my mind until just now), I didn't force him to eat that cookie. That's right! I told him they were for the new neighbors. He didn't even have to take one…and since Arnold voluntarily ate the cookie, he killed himself by proxy. It was clearly suicide. No judge could find me guilty, no jury could convict me.

I'm innocent.

My hands are clean. The thought of my husband committing suicide should not have brought me as much comfort as it did, but…it did. Guilt, for some reason had been eating away at me for weeks, and now, my conscience felt clearer than ever. I momentarily wondered if I should start telling people that, but I decided against it. If I told people that Arnold killed himself, they'd want to know how, and why, and how I found out. Then they'd want to see the body, or something. No, the present lie would have to be enough for now.

Distracted by my newly freed conscience, I didn't notice Nancy coming right at me.

"Helga!" she squealed, earning her the attention of nearly everyone around. Why does this crazy woman think that I like her? I've never told her that I like her. I don't think I've ever even hinted at it. I went to her garden party, and ate her little squares of bread with the grey goop on them, but nothing more. Nothing that would lead her to think that's it's okay to hug me every time she saw me.

Once I felt her arms encircle me, I got nervous. What if she felt my belly? What if she asked about where I've been? What if the baby kicked right now and she felt it too? Much to my relief she stepped back from me, shortening the hug and taking a look at me. Oh no, she was taking a look at me! I tried not to look like a typical pregnant woman, so I wore a blue button-down shirt with plenty of room for me to grow into. Seeing as it feel over the waist of my pants, no one had to know that they had an elastic waistband. Even with my attire in check, I caught a glimmer of something in Nancy's eyes. Suspicion? Doubt? Uncertainty? Whatever it was, I had to distract her from my belly somehow…

"Helga?" she began, looking me in the face and tilting her head to one side, looking confused. "Why…why are you sticking your tongue out at me? And why are your eyes crossed?"

Is that what I was doing? I kind of let my face do whatever it wanted for the sake of distraction. I guess it worked. "Oh that? It's umm…a…customary greeting. In…Argentina. That's where Arnold is, actually." I added. I made a mental note to make a physical note of that, so I didn't end up telling someone else that he was in…Bolivia or something. Arnold is in Argentina, Arnold is in Argentina, Arnold is in Argentina…

"That's nice…" she said, skeptically. She suddenly perked up, and spoke in a higher tone. "So how have you been? I've missed you so much lately!"

"I've been alright. Doing this and that…I just came to get my paycheck." I said, fumbling with my purse strap. I really needed to sit down or something. Looking to my left, I could see the light from the break room. In the break room there were chairs. And, oh…the Coke machine. Coke. I haven't had one in weeks. The doctor says caffeine is bad for the baby, but it's all I've wanted since I found out. I feel like some sick, sorry drunk…only I'm addicted to Coke. Guess that would make me a sick, sorry Coke-head. Only I'm addicted to the beverage, not the powdery white stuff.

"Did you hear me?" she asked, leaning in way too close. I didn't reply, but I did consider sticking my tongue out again to get her to step back a few paces. "I asked if you wanted to have a seat with me in the break room. I'll get James to have it ready for you by the time you leave."

Oh! Seat! I'd love to have a seat…but in the break room? Ugh, the lure of the Coke machine shall be my undoing. "Sure." I said, following her to the dimly lit room. Until then, I didn't even notice that I was clutching the strap of my handbag so tightly. Releasing it, I felt the blood flow more freely into my fingers. Stealing a glance from Nancy's back, I looked at the purse strap, knowing what I'd see in advance, but making sure just in case anything had changed…

…Nothing has changed.

In the perfect shape of my clenched fist, I found a red handprint marring the white of my purse. Having spent the last two months or so at home (alone), I was almost used to the sight of this mysterious red liquid. I still could not identify it; it had no odor, no taste (yes, I tried to taste it) and, outside of the confides of my mind, left no permanent stains. It was just that…a stain. I no longer spent my time trying to decipher and avoid it, but merely watched out for it and grew accustomed to the nuisance. The same thing goes for the "hallucinations". I was very used to them…up until last night's. It was so like the others but still so different…

I roll over in bed. Again.

I use my pillow to stifle out the noise from outside. Again.

I fail to get any sleep at all. Again.

And, once again, I get up from the bed, to play onlooker to the party that cannot be silenced. Not by the neighbors, or the police, or myself. No one can shut them up. And so, I live with it. For the last 47 nights, I have lived with it. You would think I'd be used to it by now.

I'm not.

Down the hallway, through the kitchen and into the dining room, I move the tattered remains of the my curtains aside, to gaze into the backyard. The sight should scare, or at least alarm me. It doesn't. I'm used to it.

Almost every person that Arnold and I knew as children is back there. And for some reason, they all look, more or less, the same. There's Arnold's grandparents, and a few boarders by the food table, laughing and arguing animatedly. Their voices are muted due to the glass, and I wish for a moment that I could open the door to call out to them, but I can't. I never can. At least not until the sun rises.

I'm locked in.

I take special notice of Arnold's grandfather, who is parading around the yard with a wine glass filled with cocktail sauce, the edges accented with a few pale pink shrimp. I'm not sure why he's so elated, but he seems to be the happiest person in the yard. Then to Arnold's grandmother, who, despite her age is wearing some strange costume, and reading from a thick, burgundy book. I can't tell what she's saying, but I surmise that it's of little importance, since no one seems to be paying her much attention.

After that, I see Gerald and Phoebe, prepubescent and giggling, which frustrates me a little. I'd very much like to jump back a few years and party in someone else's backyard. Tearing my eyes away from them, I look around watching a few others for a few seconds before growing bored. These strange occurrences are starting to weave together. I can almost guess what is going to happen.

Like, right now, Harold, Stinky and Sid are going to do something mean to Eugene, per usual. Last time, they gave him a wedgie and pushed him over the neighbor's fence. The fence post nearly broke, but when I made my way out there the next morning, it was in perfect condition. Everything back there is always in perfect condition. I don't know why I worry.

On the porch sits Eugene's glass of punch, and I see them putting something in it. I'm not sure what it is, but it's caught my attention. My subconscious may not allow me to go out there, or anything, but I can at least watch with some interest. They scamper away like a bunch of morons; Stinky, a full foot ahead of everyone else, Harold, tripping over his own giant belly, and Sid, scuttling off like a lobster in a cap. In no time, Eugene casually walks over to his punch glass and finishes it off. I can't help but roll my eyes; if I know anything, they've put powdered laxatives in there, and he's about to dash off to the nearest bathroom.

What happens next is odd.

Eugene sort of does a weird twitchy walk, and his face starts contorting a little. He stands up shakily, before doubling over dramatically. What is he doing?

As he clutches the dirt, I can almost hear Stinky, Sid and Harold laughing their pants off a few feet away. Before I can even hope that they haven't hurt him too much, Eugene falls over, his hand draped awkwardly across his chest. Sid, Stinky and Harold go into shock. I have a feeling that this wasn't how the prank was supposed to turn out.

The glass and the activity of the others in the backyard muffle their voices, but I can tell from the looks on their faces that they're panicking. I think Harold's even called out to his Mommy already. Unfortunately, no one in this group is terribly bright, so I watch with mild amusement as they run about, now tripping over one another, looking for something or someone to help them. All the while, Eugene lays on the grass, motionless, and no one seems to notice. At some point, Suzie Kokoshka actually steps over his limp body and heads toward the snack table.

When our asinine assassins return, they're carrying something…a rod, or…a shovel. My shovel. The same shovel I hid in the back of the shed over four months ago. How did they happen to find that shovel? What are they going to do with it?

Stinky begins ordering around the two smaller boys, pointing to Eugene. The two hesitate, but eventually grab his arms and legs, and begin dragging him to the east wall. The East Wall. Stinky points tentatively to the rose bush, and Harold and Sid dump Eugene's body lazily next to it. Without thinking, I've already begun knocking on the glass door, attempting to get their attention. I've never tried to communicate with any of my "hallucinations", aside from my feeble attempts to get out of the house when I first began having them, so I'm unsure of how they'll respond.

The answer is that they don't. They don't respond.

I knock harder and begin shouting at them, as they begin slicing at the dirt near the bush with the shovel. They're trying to uproot it. As Stinky begins stabbing at the ground near the rose bush, I begin twisting the handle to the door, in a vain attempt to get out. The sun is peeking over the horizon and the sky is lightening by the minute. But even with dawn approaching, I know that it'll be too late. They'll have destroyed the rose bush. They will have found Arnold.

Open-palm smacking the door, I ignore the red handprints that it leaves, knowing that I have to stop them. I watch as Stinky, frustrated with the tough dirt surrounding the rose bush, stabs mercilessly at the stump of the bush. Without warning, there is an intense pain in my chest that nearly brings me to my knees. Grinding my teeth together, I struggle to stay on my feet, leaning upon the glass door for support. Before long another shot of pain goes through my chest, in the same spot as before, and I dragged my palm down the door, leaving a smeared red handprint in it's wake. Clutching my chest through the nightshirt that I wore, I weakly continued tapping at the glass, crying out from the pain. The ache in my chest was nearly unbearable, and I sobbed loudly in the darkness of the room, lit only by the light from outside. With each jab that Stinky made into the rose bush- my rose bush- my chest hurt more and more, until I lay helplessly on my back in front of the door, feeling the warm red liquid pouring from my palms and pooling around me. Turning slightly to my left, I can see the sun beginning to rise, casting an amber glow over the sky that is still visible to me from the floor.

My body jerks upward with each thrust at the thick bush, and I can feel it in my chest the second that it finally falls. All that is left is a dull throbbing, spreading from my collarbone to right where the baby bump starts. I can feel my eyes rolling back in my head, listening to the conversation that ensues outside.

"Boy Howdy! What's Arnold doing in the rose bush?" Stinky said, raising his voice above the other noise in the yard.

"Yeah, and why's he's buried eight feet under, isn't it supposed to be six? I'm so confused!" Harold replied, no doubt clutching his head. Oh, I forgot about that. I wasn't exactly paying attention when I put Arnold back there, but I know that it took a few hours more than I projected.

"I reckon Helga's dun beat him down two more feet…" Stinky said. The last thing I felt as Stinky threw the battered and scarred bush aside was the once warm liquid growing clod around me, and my eyes falling shut.

"You look really good, Helga." Nancy said, pulling out a chair at a plain white table and sitting down. I took a seat across from her and allowed my eyes to slide across the room at the Coke machine.

Oh, my dear old friend, it's been too long…

"So do you." I said, more to the machine than to Nancy. Resting my hands on the table, and actually attempting to pay attention to the annoying being before me, and plastered on a smile and looked at her. "So…how's work been lately?"

"Oh, it's been fine. The new girl is nice, but she's awfully quiet. I tried to get her to talk, you know, asking her about her interests and her favorite colors, and such, but she's so quiet; she either doesn't say anything at all or answers me with one word, it's so strange, I can't imagine why she wouldn't want to talk to me…" Nancy went on for another five million years. See, this is exactly why I can't stand this woman. She's so bloody annoying.

Speaking of 'bloody', it seems as though the belt of my purse wasn't the only thing this infernal stain was looking to mar. From my hand came an emergent puddle of the same odorless, tasteless red liquid, pooling about my hands and spreading across the table toward Nancy, who was still chattering on. I kept my hands steady, so as not to alarm her, seeing as she wasn't looking at the table anyway. As I said, I've spent a great deal of the past two months in in my own home, growing habituated to the strange goings on of my mind and body. The bizarre liquid no longer upset me, the dirt under my fingernails and on my clothes was not a bother, because after a few minutes, or hours, at most, they were gone. However, I couldn't tell whether or not they were a figment of my own imagination. The incident in Dr. Harrison's office was the only one in which someone saw me as I was stuck in a 'hallucination', as I'm calling them. No one has ever seen me during said hallucination. Maybe they'd see it too. Not that I'd want them to; I mean, I wouldn't mind having someone freak out with me, as opposed to because of me, but what happens on the off chance that I don't freak out? Nancy would leap up and get all antsy, and ask me what was going on.

"Oh this?" I'd ask her, holding up my hands, palms facing the sky as I further stain the table and begin to flood the break room. "I'm not sure what it is exactly…blood, maybe? Anyway, it comes out of my hands at least twice a day. Do you happen to know where the mop is?"

How about…no?

Nevertheless, I spoke up, interrupting whatever it was she was still yammering on about. "Hey, Nance. Can you hand me a napkin?" I say, lifting my hand to point to the stack of napkins on the table behind her. I chuckle slightly as the thick fluid falls from my outstretched fingertip and joins the puddle that has engulfed the table. The feeling of the warm fluid on my lap is somewhat alarming, but I clear my face of any shock. Obviously, I'm the only one who can see…any of this. Good to know, for future reference.

"Here you are." she says, handing me a few. Even though I know that she can't see all this…I really can't think of another name for it aside from blood, even though I'm certain that it's not blood. Fine, we'll call it blood for now. But that doesn't make it blood. It's not blood. I'm not covered in blood. It's not blood.

I snatch the napkins from her, mumble a word of thanks and begin dabbing the center of my palms. The napkins are instantly stained red, and I toss them aside as soon as they are thoroughly soaked. To me, I'm making little progress. The more I dab, the heavier it flows. To Nancy, I probably look like I've gone cuckoo.

"Um, Helga…may I ask what exactly you're doing?" Nancy asked, looking concerned. She's found a plastic spoon with which to fumble around with, and that is beginning to annoy me as well.

"Oh, I saw on the news last night that…germs accumulate in the center of your hands, so I was…cleansing mine." I explained. I had a feeling that she'd buy it because…well, Nancy's not the brightest crayon in the box, if you know what I mean. She's nice enough, but a genius that woman is not.

"That's interesting…" she said, standing, wearing her polite smile again. "I'd never even imagine that, but I guess it makes sense."

"Present fears are less than horrible imaginings…" I said, not knowing why the words came from or why I said them, but knowing that they made sense to myself, if no one else.

"Did you notice the new microwave?" she said, walking over to the pristine looking, white microwave behind me. I shook my head and waited for her to continue. "Yes, the old one was broken, and anytime anybody used it, it'd start making sparks fly all over the place and once, Casey-that's the new girl, by the way- her macaroni and cheese caught on fire. So, I think one of the senior staff members donated this. It's quite nice isn't it?" she asked, looking over at me.

"Yes, quite." I agreed. To be honest, despite the blood and the Nancy and the sparkly new microwave, I still wanted that Coke. I let myself get distracted by the machine again, humming quietly across the room from me and didn't notice Nancy walking back to the table. When I did look back, it was too late for me to discern either of our actions. I was on auto-pilot, and had no time to censor my response.

The spoon the Nancy held came flying toward me, almost as if thrown, and landed on my lap. Of course, my brain did not tell me that there was a spoon heading toward my face; my brain was only sending me "Coke! Coke! Give us Coke!' signals, and caught the spoon out of the corner of my eye, thinking it was a bug, or something more threatening. Leaping up from the table, I pushed my chair back, one hand landing over my heart and the other a few inches under my bellybutton, pushing the shirt close to my flesh and revealing the underside of my telltale bump.

Crap. I walked right into that one. Here it comes…

Nancy gasped, covering her mouth, but only for a second. "I knew it!" she said, with a beaming smile on her face.

"What did you know, Nancy?" I asked, keeping my calm. Maybe she wasn't that perceptive…

"That you're having a baby!" she said, pausing afterward, probably to wait for my denial. When none came, she squealed and began clapping like a child. "Yes! I knew it! You are, aren't you? That's why you're not saying anything, isn't it? Isn't it?" she pressed.

"If I tell you, will you keep your voice down?" I asked, clearly annoyed. She nodded like one of those annoying dogs that people keep on their dashboards. In fact, I think Nancy has a few of those annoying dogs on her dashboard. What a grating little woman she was. "Fine, I am pregnant."

At first, I wanted to kick myself for telling her. But I figure that if I deny it, she'll go to someone else and ask, who will go to some one else, who will go to someone else. And then Nancy and her troupe of someone elses, will go to management and try to hire me back, but put me on Maternity Leave, and then questions will be asked, and visits to the house will be paid, and they'll find my dead husband in the backyard. Letting Nancy think that she was more in the loop than she actually was, helped from keeping her to bother with trying to get into the loop (a.k.a spying). So, I just let her in, a little.

"Oh how wonderful!" she said, launching herself at me.

"Nancy," I began, my voice muffled by her shoulder. "The baby…"

"Oh yes, right." she said, backing off and making sure I was alright. "Well, that's about the most fabulous news I've heard all day…how did Arnold react?"

Although I wasn't looking her in the face, I could tell that any traces of sincere shock would set her off. I didn't even want to imagine what would happen if I fabricated that I didn't tell him. She'd go crazy…crazier than usual, anyway. And in truth, I did tell Arnold. Sort of. Whatever.

"He was…well, shocked, as I was, but very, very excited. We both are." I said genuinely. Nancy was too elated to hint at the sadness in my voice. I so wanted for Arnold to be excited and happy, and a little scared. Just so I wouldn't feel alone with all these emotions. Who knows, maybe if I hadn't…not killed, but….done away with him, I'd still be miserable. Maybe instead of having a baby with me, he want to roam free and start a new life. Maybe it was a good thing that he was gone.

"And you should be! Oh, your first baby together…" Nancy said, drifting off. She was probably imagining babies of her own. Maybe we're in the same boat. Perhaps, instead of blood, Nancy wakes up every morning imagining that she's just had a baby. And she searches the house for it, but can't find it. Frankly, I'd take the blood. Nancy gasped again, holding her hands out in front of her, as if stopping me from moving. I swear, she is the most annoying person in all of creation. "I just had the most fabulous idea."

"What?" I asked, looking as bored as I knew how.

"I can throw you a baby shower! Oh, it'll be amazing! We can have it in my backyard, and decorate the fence with these absolutely adorable streamers that I saw at Baby World, and I can make mommy-friendly snacks and-"

"Actually, that won't be necessary." I said, interrupting her high-pitched rant. "My…sister, is throwing the baby shower. Yeah, she lives in Seattle, and since that's where I grew up, most of my friends are still there, so…yeah." I said. That was partially true. Most of my childhood friends are still living in Seattle, so if I had told Olga that I was pregnant (which I didn't…she's unbearable, but not quite as unbearable as Nancy. Crazy, huh? Someone on this planet is actually more annoying than my sister…go figure.), that would be her reasoning behind doing so.

"Oh, well, that's great." Nancy replied. She didn't sound like it was so great to me. "Let me know if you need anything, anyway…" She probably wanted me to invite her, or some other such nonsense. No, Nancy, you are not invited to the imaginary baby shower that my sister is not having for me in Seattle. Take that.

"Yes, well, I'm feeling tired all of a sudden…" I said, sitting back down in my chair.

"Are you alright, dear? Do you want some water?" Nancy asked, kneeling next to me and looking worried, but keeping that perky voice filtering in my ears.

"I'd much rather have a Coke…" I mumbled to no one in particular.

"Ah Ah Ah…" Nancy said, wagging her finger and chiding me. "No caffeine. It's not good for the baby."

I brought my eyebrows together and looked at Nancy angrily. Did she think I was stupid? If I wanted the Coke badly enough to hurt my baby, I'd have done it the moment I stepped off of the elevator. "I know that…" I replied venomously. Finally, Nancy caught on.

"Oh…of course, I didn't mean to make you mad, I'm sorry." she said, quietly folding her hands in her lap. "Have you found out if it's a boy or girl yet?"

"No." I answered.

"Well, why not?"

"Because Arnold had to leave for…" Oh crap, I know I should have written this down. Albania? Austria? Antigua? Argentina? Argentina! "…Argentina, right after I told him. So there was no time, and I'd rather not go alone." Which is exactly why I'm not going. I don't need to know what gender my baby will be, I'll love him regardless. Any child Arnold would give me would be perfect, in any case.

"I'm sure you can go and just-"

"I'm not going!" I said, slamming my fist on the table, which was still somewhat red. A few droplets splashed onto Nancy's face, but I knew she couldn't feel or see them.

"Are you sure you're not mad?" Nancy asked, not fazed by my anger.

"True! Nervous- very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will you say I am mad?" I said, again questioning the state of my head. I think it's time to go home. "I have to head home." I got up from the chair as quickly as I could (which, in retrospect, probably wasn't very quick at all), and left the room.

"What about your paycheck?" Nancy called from behind me, obviously stunned about my early departure.

"Have the office send it to me…" I replied, turning into the area littered with cubicles and walking briskly into an open elevator. Turning around, I saw Nancy advancing toward me, holding a white piece of paper in her hand, (probably my paycheck) trying to speed-walk and catch up with me. Moving to one side, I pressed the "Door Close" button, and watched as her face was quickly replaced with two sheets of stainless steel metal, my only company being that of a blurred reflection of myself.

Though the mirror image was anything but clear, I stared at myself, bewildered. Where was the glow that seemed to encompass every other pregnant woman on the planet? Where was the eager expectation, the fear and the hope that was supposed to manifest itself with my every move and word?

It was at home, laying quietly under a rose bush. Just my luck.

Chapter Four! Are you guys as thouroughly freaked out as I am? Hope so. Because, I didn't even think this story would get as freaky bananas as it has. And so far, it is very, very freaky bananas.

This chapter is dedicated, in addition to Arnold's Love and theamazingfinn, APV, who pretty much wrote a largo chunk of this chapter. Actually, APV thought up a lot of this chapter, and wrote some of it out for me, and then I just blended it in with the chapter and, now it's fabulous. So, thanks a ton, your addition made this chapter at least 56 times better than it would have been without it!

I don't know what's up, the last sentences of my stories lately have been especially pooey. Maybe I should get a beta...I'll think about it.

-PointyObjects