Okay, Chappie 14 coming right up! I have started school ,week three coming up. Sorry that I haven't written in so long. I came back from church camp a week before school and my brain just went blank. What could I do with the story? Well, I think I'm back with ideas. So, read on. And, as always, R&R! Thanks! -SP

Peals of laughter erupted from my chest as I reread the note. "We know," I chuckled before bursting into another fit of giggles. "What kind of prank is that? It isn't even scary. We know. Oooo," I snorted derisively before putting my prized letter opener back in its case.

"Honey, what's so funny?" Mom asked as she came upstairs.

"Oh, nothing, Vict- Mom!" I stopped myself before I uttered a word that was way worse than any cuss word. Victoria. The thought caused me to laugh even harder, for whatever reason. By now, I was crying from the sheer force of my laughter.

I heard rapid footsteps before Mom was in my room. "What in Sam's name is wrong with you?"

I decided to quote my letter, which I had perfectly memorized. Might I say calling Mom Victoria would have produced better results? "We know," I could barely choke the words out before I was cackling again.

"Who knows what?" Mom's voice was deadly quiet. Her tone sobered me up real quick.

"I don't know. Someone sent me a dumb prank letter. Here I thought Harvard was already knocking at my door," I handed her the stupid letter.

Seconds later she was up and out my door. "Laurent! Laurent!" I heard her call Laurie's name. There was panic in her voice, definite panic.

I went racing after her, confused beyond belief. "Mom, Mom, what's going on? Mom!"

Mom turned around for a quarter of a second. "Go back to your room. Laurent!"

"What is it, Victoria? What is wrong?" Laurent appeared from nowhere. I blinked and shrugged it off. He was the fastest person I knew.

"We know," I responded for her in my creepiest voice.

"Who knows?" Laurent asked. His voice was weirdly unsteady.

"I Volturi," Mom whispered.

I groaned in frustration. She was speaking her stupid foreign language again. Was it Italian this time? Volturi sounded Italian-ish, didn't it?

"Mama," I affected my best Italian accent.

Mom whipped towards me, red eyes glowing like coals in a fire, "Go to your room now, Anne James Still-Heart!"

Mom had the voice. You know the one. Every mom affects it when they mean business. She was basically saying do or die. Quite wisely, I complied.

"Butterfly," Laurie called after me as I retreated for my room. "Pack as many things as you can in your black suitcase. We're about to go on a trip."

In my room, I pulled out my suitcase just as Laurent had asked. My head spun as I tried to figure out what in Sam's name was going on. I'd received a prank letter that Mom and Laurie were convinced was not a prank letter, and now we were going to who-knows-where.

I had half a notion to curl up in my bed and cry. I was confused and frustrated and hurt. Then, the worst thought in the world occurred to me. Mom was having us run away three days before Charity's funeral! Letter be durned.

It didn't matter what came at me, be it letters, zombies, vampires or any other manner of creature; I was going to that funeral. Mom couldn't do a thing to stop me.

I shoved my suitcase to the side defiantly. I dug around in my box of all things art and found a thick black sharpie and piece of poster board. I used said sharpie very liberally on said piece of poster board. When I had written what needed to be written, I settled insolently on my bed to wait. Mother and Laurent would be up very shortly, of that I was certain.

I felt a heavy sense of déjavu as the events unfolded. When we moved from Maine to Oregon things had gone down quite like this. The catalyst may have been different, but, if it was anything like last time, I was going to camp out, throw a fit, and be hauled to the car kicking and screaming.

Unlike last time, I had a real reason to stay in Oregon until Friday afternoon. And, that, that gave me all the ammunition I needed.

"What on earth are you doing?" Laurent asked as he ascended my staircase an eon later.

"Protesting," I replied quite snarkily.

Mom came up at that time, curious to see if I'd actually done as Laurie said. I caught her lips quirk up, barely suppressing a smile as she read the all-too-familiar sign aloud, "None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free. Goethe."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Laurie inquired. He'd never get it; it was an inside joke betwixt my mother and I that had formed the day she forced me from Maine.

Mom sighed and muttered, "She thinks I'm a tyrant because I keep uprooting her against her will. It's Anne's way of declaring herself a victim or 'slave'."

Laurie grunted, "Only Anne."

"Hey, I'm still in the room!"

"As we are both well aware. You should be in the car," Mom glared at me.

I flipped my sign over.

"Oh, you're just a barrel of laughs aren't you, Anne?" Mom was starting to get irritated, really irritated.

Laurie scanned the sign carefully. He chuckled as he stated, "I will not be moved."

"I have a funeral to attend in three days. We can leave after that, Mom, but not a second before."

A humorless laugh escaped from Mom's lips, "Huh, funny how I recall a situation exactly like this. Guess who won?" her last words were more of a growl.

"Victoria, calm down. Surely we can reason with ma fifille."

"Ha, there isn't any reasoning with this child," Mom was smiling, but it was a cold smile. I blinked, simply blinked, and, suddenly, I was hauled over her shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes. An indignant shriek escaped my lips as I writhed in her grip.

Laurie gasped, "What will the neighbors think, Victoria?"

Mom growled again and set me down on my own two feet. I was away from her in the span of two seconds.

"I want you to get you're white little behind in that car before I count to five!"

"Wait, how do you know my butt's white?"

"One!" Crap, here she went with the count down. Stupid me for getting distracted.

Laurent turned to her and touched her shoulder. "It's only three days."

"Two!"

"Mama!" I felt a few tears trail down my cheeks. My pleading was to deaf ears. She wasn't listening to me anymore.

"Three!"

"I need this!"

"Four!"

I didn't know what to do. Once she said five, it was all over. She'd fling me into her car and whisk me away to wherever she wanted. The worst part was I couldn't do a thing about it. At least, that's what my mind said. My body said something completely different.

A cry shattered the air as my conscious took a step back and unwisely gave my subconscious the reigns. My subconscious wanted to make them listen to me. It wanted to make them hear my voice.

I reached for my suitcase and flung it at Mom's head. She deflected it, but looked extremely irate for having done so.

"You did not just throw a suitcase at me, young lady!"

It was this statement that, for whatever reason, caused me to fly completely off the slippery handle of sanity. There was not an item in my room left untouched. Mom saved many of my precious glass and ceramic knickknacks from being decimated by the wall behind her, but most were shattered beyond repair. The funny part was I couldn't care less what got destroyed. I couldn't care.

My comforter was thrown from my bed, my art stuffs strewn across the room, and my notebooks were sent flying at Laurie. Papers came out, some I didn't want Mom to see, some I didn't want Laurent to see, but that didn't matter either. Abaddon- the Angel of Destruction- had become me.

Eventually, there was nothing left to destroy, not really. I began to run out of steam and was quickly restrained by Laurent. He was very practiced in this part, down to the words he whispered in my ear. "Shush, it's alright, butterfly. Shush."

The last few tendrils of anger evaporated as I imagined- not for the first time- he was my father. It wasn't difficult for me to revert back to my four year old self as I wrapped my arms around Laurent's neck, sniffling back tears. Had I really been crying that whole time? The thought was fleeting, replaced by the next. Laurie, you're my protector from all evil.

Mama came over and encompassed both of us in her icy embrace. She was our shield, the rock of our family. Without her, we'd all drown in a sea of darkness.

"Mama," my voice was hoarse from my mental breakdown. "I need to go to her funeral."

"I know," Mama whispered into my hair.

My body quaked gently as the adrenaline began to wear off. I blinked another watery tear away, realizing that my vision was going fuzzy.

I barely got out my next words, "Something's wrong," before I found myself unable to talk. I watched Laurent quickly leave the room, his face paler than normal.

"You're iron levels are probably low," Mama sighed calmly. "Always happens after you have an episode." She picked me up like I was just a wee babe and descended the stairs to the kitchen. I slumped against her, a rag doll with a heartbeat.

Laurent was just finishing making me a cup of hot Kool-Aid when we entered. Mom set me down in a chair, supporting my weight partially. Laurie placed the mug in front of me along with an iron tablet. My hand shook as I struggled to pick up the pill and place it obediently on my tongue.

Mom brought the too-heavy mug to my mouth and aided me in washing down the ever-so-important pill. After that, I don't recall what happened. My vision had finally given way and all that was left was this excruciating pain in my throat. I'd never felt a pain so horrible.

I cursed Mom for making me take that pill. The Kool-Aid had brought an acute awareness of what I'd done; the nature of my shrieks had snapped my vocal cords clean in half. Nothing could ever hurt like this. This was an eleven on a pain scale of one to ten. If the darkness hadn't trapped me in its oppressive being I would've been screaming at the top of my lungs, thrashing in my mother's grip, begging her to put me down like the dog I'd had when I was seven.

Fortunately, as the thought crossed my mind, everything seemed to shut down and my mind was blanketed in darkness.

Waking up sucked. I'm putting it plain and simple. I felt like I had one of those hangovers people are always complaining about in the books, except it was a jillion times worse. The only fortunate part was that my throat wasn't aching as much anymore. It was down to a dull throbbing.

The unfortunate part was that I wasn't even in my own bed. I was in Mom's bedroom. That meant no pencil, paper, or any other drawing mechanism to pass the time.

I groaned and attempted to get up. I succeeded in sitting and rotating my body towards the edge of the bed, but I could barely stand without falling backwards on the golden coverlet. This was not going to fly.

There was nothing wrong with my legs. They were not going to fail me, not now at least. Using the bed to support my full body weight, I let my legs drop to the floor. It was icy cold and made me want to withdraw to the comfy, warm bed. I resisted.

Next I gave a little body weight to my left leg. It took it pretty well, so I did the same to the right. Before I knew it I was standing. I smiled brightly before shuffling out the door. Well, let me correct myself, in to the door. Yes, you can bet your bottom dollar I ran right into that sucker before grabbing the nearest object for support. An empty fish bowl is not the wisest object to lean on when you need stability. It slipped from beneath my fingers and shattered against the hardwood.

Thoroughly chagrined- though no one was watching- I made the quickest getaway in history. I couldn't bear to consider what fun Laurie and Mom would make of me before laying down the law if they knew I was the culprit. Then again, who else would shatter a glass object in this household? Only me. That thought wasn't one of the many that were racing through my head, unfortunately. It was more like, 'Get outta here before Mom sees the bowl and grounds me for eternity. Outta sight, outta mind. No one will ever realize I just shattered a fishbowl if I just get away.'

That being said, I sort of wish Mom and Laurie would have swooped in to help me find the kitchen. In my haste, I'd gone farther down the wing and gotten lost. Yeah, you heard me. I was lost in my own house. It sounds awful, but I'd never been in that wing before, mainly because it had Mom's bedroom, two guest bedrooms, a mini-library, Laurie's office, and Mom's office in it. I had no reason to explore bedrooms, no interest in touching the thick, expensive books in the library, and, if caught exploring Mom or Laurie's office, I was more done than a turkey on Thanksgiving. Even I knew my limits with that one.

I finally located a back stairwell and moved slowly, carefully down it. Agony shook in my bones with each step I took, but it was getting better. The more I moved, the less I hurt. That was another thing I knew from experience. If I persevered, I'd be much better off than if I'd babied myself.

The first floor proved to be a closet-like room. A place where Mom had likely decided to stack all her unopened boxes, particularly the ones she wanted to rot and die because they were filled with useless junk she'd never part with. There was one special word for what Mom was- a hoarder.

I indulged myself as I passed by the stacks of boxes, slowly reading the things on top with a grin. Halloween. Memories. Thanksgiving. I almost stumbled over one box that was blocking my way to the exit. Anne's Things.

Woah, wait, Anne's Things? I drew closer to the large box and tugged the flaps open. Inside was a slew of old-fashioned memorabilia. There were fancy gowns folded ever-so carefully, woolen mittens and scarves, beautiful jewelry imbedded with expensive gems, and dozens of letters written in a script too stunning for words. This must've been my great-grandmother's things.

"Anne, what are you doing in here?" Mom's precise footsteps filled the room.

"Oh, um," I tried to put the letters back, but it was of no use.

Mom knelt down beside me and began gathering the paper up. "You shouldn't be out of bed. You got classes starting later on today and you need to be rested well."

I couldn't help the correction, "Well rested, Mama."

"Nevertheless, you know what I mean. Anne's things aren't something you need to be peeping at. They're very old and very fragile. And I know you broke that fishbowl."

I blushed nervously and made my way out of the room only to find myself in the living area downstairs. Huh. I sighed and began the grueling climb up the main staircase.

A few thoughts occurred to me halfway up the stairs: 'Why were the lights already on when I came downstairs? Why was that box in the middle of the room?'

Mom must've been looking through Anne's things before I was, walking down memory lane with a grandmother who no longer existed. It was quite depressing to think about, to think that one day I'd be walking down that memory lane with Mom and Laurie.

Wrapped up in my thoughts, walking became even easier. I made it to the kitchen without any other unspeakable mishaps and poured myself a very tall glass of Kool-Aid. Getting fat was the least of my worries. I just struggled throughout the entire house looking for this stupid pitcher. It owed me more than six ounces.

The microwaved nuked the Kool-Aid to a nice, piping hot temperature that tasted amazing on my tongue. With every drink I felt strengthened and, soon, the burning disappeared completely.

"Anne," Laurie walked into the room. "How are you feeling?"

"Better!" I smiled as I drained the last of my glass.

"I know there was more than a quarter in that pitcher when I made it last night," Laurie commented as he moved to put it back in the fridge.

My face turned beet red, "I'm sorry, Laurie. I was so, so, so thirsty. I had to have more than six ounces."

He sighed and shut the fridge. "Be more careful. We're almost out of Kool-Aid packets."

"Oh, the travesty!" I feigned fainting. "You'll have to go to the store and buy more! They're a dollar a packet, oh no!"

"Sarcasm is not appreciated little lady," Mom commented as she came into the kitchen. She looked sad, probably still thinking about Great-Grandma Anne. "You should be thanking me. I cleaned up your room from your little episode last night and even bought you some paint cans so you can paint your room after you get your homework done."

"Really?" I perked up at the thought. "How can I ever thank you, dearest, sweetest Mother in the entire universe?"

"You can start by not drinking all the Kool-Aid," she snorted as she took the pitcher out of the fridge. "What was the limit again?"

"Six measly ounces," I put on my best puppy-dog face. "I'm a big girl, Mama. See, I'm getting muscles. I need all the nutrition I can get," I pouted and tried to showcase my nonexistent muscles.

"There is no nutrition in sugar and water, child. Try eating a sandwich."

"But, but," I forced crocodile tears from my eyes.

"No, no crocodile tears!" Laurie moaned. "You're too old for that."

"Fine!" I huffed and strode towards the door. I really needed to get started on my schoolwork. "I guess I'll be off to torture now."

"Send me a postcard!" Laurie smiled and waved.

Mom, being ever so wise, added, "If you can spare the time. I know how much fun you'll be having."

So, this is a bit shorter, but it has a lot of things going on in it. Is it too much? What do ya'll think? R&R! "She dealt in lies... because lies were all she knew."