Okay, I'm pretty sure I have the best reviewers ever! Thank you guys so much! Every review makes my day!

sheridanodell: yeah, I think Mimi needs to come clean my house too haha although mine has never been quite as bad as Connor and Murphy's!

Belladonna: yep, Mimi is a painting fiend, apparently!

Rickii101: yay! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! I know, she's sort of like a mother to them sometimes XD

ShiveringTree: Glad you enjoyed the chapter!

Kelso18: I'm glad the chapters didn't disappoint you! I hope you like this one too!

Valerie Mackin: your review seriously made my day! Or rather my week! I always feel bad about doing filler chapters even though I feel that they're necessary, and your review made me feel much better about doing it! haha! Thanks!

Just so you guys know, I just finished rereading this entire story, and I'm sort of in love with it. I really enjoyed writing this one, so I'm starting on a sequel now! Hopefully it won't take me too long to get it written!

Chapter Ten

Trouble is a Friend

He's there in the dark, he's there in my heart

He waits in the wind, he's gotta play a part

Trouble is a friend, yeah trouble is a friend of mine

-"Trouble is a friend" by Lenka

The next morning they were both gone when I woke up, though they'd left a note in Connor's chicken-scratch handwriting that they liked the way the living room looked. I was glad they appreciated my hard work, but I was starting to miss them. I was living with them now and I still didn't see as much of them as I had at the hospital.

Even though my arms ached, I made another trip to the hardware store and bought another can of paint with what was left of my allowance. I almost bought a pastel pink but then I reminded myself that I was nearly twenty-one years old and I bought a blue color instead. I used it to paint my bedroom.

I was sitting up that night, eating a bowl of ramen by myself and feeling quite lonely, when the news came on. It was another report about another group of tortured murder victims, still unidentified. The news reporter talked again about the Saints, wondering if they were behind the murders or not. Public sentiment seemed to think not. I frowned, a forkful of steaming noodles halfway to my mouth. Who the hell were these Saints they kept talking about?

I made it my mission to find out. The next day, while Connor and Murphy were out, I took a trip to the library. They had reserves of all the newspapers, so I started looking through them. It was a long process, even if I only focused on the front page. I found a couple stories, but I kept going back until I got to the very first one.

It was about Connor and Murphy. It even used their names. Apparently they had been involved in a bar fight with a couple of Russian mobsters and came out victorious. They'd killed the Russians but weren't charged; it was declared self-defense. The media called them the Saints of South Boston. This had happened right after I was admitted to St. Rose, so that would explain why I hadn't heard anything about it.

The next articles didn't name the twins. They were about two vigilantes that were going around offing members of the Russian and Italian mobs here in Boston. The papers called these vigilantes the Saints as well, though they seemed not to know who the Saints really were. I found that a little odd.

The articles got worse and worse as I went on. Eventually I got to one where three men, very clearly Irish, had shot a mob don in the middle of a courtroom and then disappeared. They were Irish, for god's sake. And the media hadn't put that together?

While I may have suffered from dysthymia, I wasn't an idiot. I also wasn't ready to quite jump to conclusions, even if the pieces all fit. The guns and the cops and the secrets. It was like a giant conspiracy. I figured I'd mess with them.

They came home for dinner that night, looking tired but with a smile for me. If they really were these Saints from the papers, I was probably their little slice of normal that kept them grounded in reality. No wonder they kept me around. I hummed "The Saints Go Marching In" while I set the table.

Murphy looked up sharply from where he was unlacing his boots, sharing a worried look with his brother that I caught out of the corner of my eye. "What's that you're singing, love?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh, just 'The Saints Go Marching In,'" I answered cheerfully. "You know: 'Oh when the saints go marching in! Oh when the saints go marching in! Lord how I want to be in that number when the saints go marching in!"

They didn't answer, just continued to look at each other with an unreadable expression. They probably had twin telepathy or something.

I made my next attack about a week later. We were all sitting on the sofa, watching another television report about mutilated victims. It seemed to really bother Murphy and Connor; they watched every report religiously. I didn't think they were behind it. In fact, I figured they were gone so much every day because they were trying to find the sicko who was.

"Hey, what do you guys think about saints?" I asked in an offhand manner, painting my nails candy apple red.

They both looked at me incredulously. "What?"

"You're both Catholic, right? So you know about saints, right?" I didn't look up from my work. "Patron saints and all that shit? I was just wondering if there was a patron saint for those who get tortured, like these poor people they keep talking about on the news."

Murphy ran his fingers through his hair and Connor let out his breath explosively. I really had them on edge. "No, we don't know anything about that. You can probably pick up a book on Catholic saints if you're interested."

"Hm. I might do that." I capped my nail polish. "Well, I'm off to bed. Night boys."

It was October by now and still I played my slow game. I'd wait until they were no longer holding their breath, waiting for one of my little jibes, and then I'd let them have it. I asked whether they thought the New Orleans Saints would make it to the upcoming Superbowl. I asked them if they celebrated All Saints Day, which was coming up at the end of the month. I even asked them if they listened to the band The Saints or ate Saints Pizza.

And the tortured victims continued. There was a group of bodies found once a week, always at a different location. According to the bright young news anchorwoman who announced the grim stories each week, the cops were baffled. I didn't doubt it. With every news story that was announced, I watched Connor and Murphy grow grimmer and grimmer.

We were watching the news report of the fourth mass homicide, victims tortured like usual, Monday evening. I'd cleaned up the dinner dishes and was perched between them on the sofa, a copy of War and Peace open on my lap. I'd looked up to watch the news report.

"What shitty news," I complained. "And right before my birthday, too."

That seemed to catch their attention. "Your birthday's coming up?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it's the fifteenth. Friday."

Murphy grinned despite the seriousness of the news report we'd been watching. "And you'll be twenty-one, right?" He and Connor exchanged another look, this one leaving them both with big, goofy grins.

I felt a little suspicious. "...Yes?"

Connor slammed his hand down on the armrest of the couch, still grinning. "Well then, we'll have to go out to celebrate, won't we?"

Bahahaha Mimi is so evil sometimes! Sorry this chapter is a little short, but I think I'm updating fairly quickly so that should make up for it! Please review and let me know what you think!

Oh, also, everyone should look up and listen to the song used for this title! I'm not usually one to push music on people, but everyone should listen to Lenka. All of her music is super adorable, and 'Trouble is a Friend' is one of my favorite songs! I first discovered her when I was in a lyrical piece to this song, and now I listen to her almost every day! So check her out!