Hi my lovelies!
I promised another update for this weekend, and here it is! I did not get 3+ reviews, but I just went again and uploaded because...well, I wanted to, I guess. The next chapter will have lots of Ariel/Adrian drama. I think you'll like it. The next chap will be up soon as well.
Remember the question, if you have not answered it! YES OR NO TO A SEQUEL?
Please continue reading and reviewing! I love all the support this story has gotten, and how far it's come, and it's all thanks to the fans.
Thanks to Flying By Wire and Avril Lambert for their reviews!
Three strikes, you're out. The rule applies to everybody—priests don't get out of it.
-Meg
In the waiting room, the bishop spoke to a doctor and then sat down in a chair, picking up a Sports Illustrated magazine.
"Something's wrong," Meg whispered.
"You bet," Phoebus hissed back. "Priests don't read Sports Illustrated."
Meg closed her eyes. "I'm not talking about the magazine, Phoebus. I'm talking about that guy! He's the one Esme was talking about. The guy that apparently tried to rape her."
"Let's ask." Phoebus was an intimidating six feet, godlike in stance with muscles and a six pack. He could take almost anybody down. His blonde hair cascaded down to his shoulders, and he brushed at his goatee as he strode boldly towards the priest. "You're Reverend Frollo, right?" he demanded.
The receptionist nearby looked up, and then returned to her work. Meg got up from her chair and joined Phoebus.
Frollo, with his thin wrinkled face, nervously looked up at Phoebus. "Yes. Do I know you?"
"No," Phoebus replied. "I'm wondering how you knew Esmeralda. The girl in the hospital."
Meg rubbed the back of her neck. It wasn't a subtle approach at all, and Frollo could defenitely back out of it and say he found her unconscious on the ground and took the liberty of calling the police.
And that's exactly what he said. Frollo smiled pleasantly. "The girl had jumped off the roof of St. Peters. I happened to be at my balcony eating, and I saw her on the ground. I thought she had merely fainted, but when I went down to observe, she was clearly bleeding from the head. So I called the police." Frollo clasped his hands. "Anymore questions, boy?"
Phoebus looked at Meg, at a loss for words. His explanation was thorough, flawless. There was no reason to suspect this old man for anything.
Meg decided to go the straight route. "That's not what Esmeralda said. She said you invited her in to pray. Then you invited her upstairs to eat in your room, and as you were eating, you began to sexually harrass her, and to get away she jumped off the roof, injuring herself in the process. It was not a suicide attempt, and you're lying."
Frollo got up. He was a bit taller than Phoebus, but his wiry arms and thin elderly physique wouldn't be much against Phoebus's thick muscly arms. "I'm telling you, girl," he snarled. "I am not lying." He gave her a wan smile. "I think that it would be wiser to listen to a man in his senses, rather than a girl who fell off the roof." With that, his small dark eyes slowly traveled up and down Meg's body, taking in her wide hips, her pouty lower lip and her cleavage.
Meg narrowed her eyes in a hostile way. "Some priest you are," she remarked. "And a liar too." She quoted one of Frollo's famous sayings, looking at him seriously. "If anyone's going to hell, it's you, Reverend."
Phoebus was glaring at Frollo. "You better confess, old man," he said. "Before we go straight to the cops."
Meg turned to look at Frollo, and she almost shrank into the ground. His gaze was so penetrating and hellish that she almost squirmed in her dress looking at his face. He had almost become like the devil, and he had squeezed his hands into fists. He gathered up his robes, glowering at them, looking like for a minute he was about to attack the two teenagers, and then he caught the receptionist watching. Quickly, the woman with her large glasses slid out from behind the desk and walked over. "Is everything alright?" she asked, looking from Frollo to Phoebus to Meg.
Meg bit her lip and glued her eyes to her shoes. Phoebus was talking. "Naw," he was saying. "We were just talking to the Reverend here and asking him what he knew."
Frollo was still staring Meg down. Meg turned away. "Phoebus, let's go. We're leaving."
"No," Phoebus replied, still firmly standing there. "We have to stay here for Esme. And besides, Quasi and Holli might come back anytime, and they might bring food. Or coffee."
Meg looked desperately at Phoebus and then glanced at Frollo.
Without a word, Frollo grabbed his leather satchel and his hat with a red ribbon tassel coming out the top. It looked like a black graduation cap, and Meg sucked in her breath as he plopped that thing on his head and started gliding towards them.
Meg quickly stepped out of the way, unbearably freaked out by the priest, and he hurried out the door.
Seconds later, the hospital doors slammed with the indication that Frollo had just left.
As usual, Phoebus didn't notice anything strange and sat down and picked up the Sports Illustrated Frollo had left behind on the front table.
"Phoebus," Meg whispered. "I have a bad feeling. About Frollo. That he might try to hurt us."
"For confronting him?" Phoebus leaned back. "Pfff. No way. You're not alone in this, Meg. Don't worry."
Meg stared at him anxiously, then returned to her usual bored neutral expression. "Whatever, Phoebus. Whatever you say."
The silence hurts.
-Ariel
Triton had gone off to Austria on a business trip the day before Ariel had been released from the hospital with a broken foot in a secure purple cast, and a pair of crutches. The Triton Girls were silent as Attina, her eyes set angrily on the horizon, drove the girls home.
They didn't bicker, they didn't speak, they didn't even look at each other.
Last night, Andrina had taken a plane out of New York into California, and she was never coming back. She hadn't even said goodbye to any of the girls, only a "Suck it, loser!" to Arista.
Aquata opened the door for Ariel and she slid out, limping and using the crutches to bring herself to the door.
Arista was sitting on the couch, wearing a sucky JCPenney sweater. She stood.
"I called Adrian," she told Ariel.
Ariel limped to the couch and lowered herself down gingerly onto the gingham print. "Yeah?"
"I said, 'Hi, Adrian, it's Arista Triton,' and he said not to waste my time talking to him and hung up the phone."
Ariel gritted her teeth. "Okay. I'll go over."
"Go over where?" Attina was in the doorway, hands on her hips in her usual Attina stance.
"Somewhere." Ariel had it up to here with the damn silence, but she was grateful Attina had finally spoken, even if it was to nag or scold.
"You're not going anywhere." Attina glared. "You have a broken foot and you're in crutches. None of the girls are driving you. You can't drive. So I don't think you're in any state to go anywhere."
"I'll walk then," Ariel responded.
"You only have one foot available." Attina's face turned red with Ariel's sidebar comment.
Ariel blinked. "I'll limp then. It doesn't really matter. I'm going to Adrian's house."
"No." Attina was shaking, quavering with rage. It looked like she was going to explode. Her stance, her red face, her angry, shaken words, it all reminded Ariel of a volcano.
"No?" Ariel staggered to her feet, balancing on the crutches.
"No!" Attina raised her voice, and took a threatening step forward. "I'm in charge. Daddy is gone, and I'm in charge. You answer to me. And I forbid you, Ariel, to go anywhere. You will sit here and take bedrest, damn it!"
"You forbid me?" Ariel leaned forward. "You forbid me?"
Attina didn't back down. She lowered her voice to a catty whisper. "You want me to sail across country to California too, Ariel?" she asked in a menacing voice. "Is that what you want?" Her voice broke. "To get rid of me?"
"NO!" Ariel collapsed back onto the couch, defeated. "Attina, I need to see Adrian. I need to make sure he's okay—I need to—"
"He's fine!" Attina shouted. "Every single freaking day you remind me more and more of...more and more of...well, Mom! You remind me of MOM!"
Ariel was taken aback. "What was wrong with mom?"
"She had no sense!" Attina roared.
"You adored her, from what I can remember!" Ariel yelled back.
"We all adored her, but she had this rebellious streak that Thank God none of us got." Attina narrowed her eyes. "Except you."
"Attina—" Ariel began.
"That damn music box." Attina gritted her teeth. "That stupid music box that played that stupid song that our stupid lovesick daddy gave to Mom. Our house was raided for illegal purchases from foreign countries because of this fight Daddy had with some politician in Nepal or something, and all of a sudden, there's a gunfight when Daddy takes out his rifle. Daddy took it out as a threat. He didn't harm anybody. But somebody got scared. So they decided to start shooting. Daddy moved us all to the basement and out the door. And he got Mom out to safety too. But that..." Attina's face grew bright red and she shut her eyes. A few hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and her voice grew loud, high and shrill: "That—that DAMN MUSIC BOX. She had to go back for it! Because she couldn't live without an arsy piece of plastic!" Attina was breathing loudly. "She went back inside and they shot her. End of story. The Triton Girls are left motherless rich girls whom their Daddy spoils so they don't end up doing stupid things like getting in a mad foreign gunman's way."
Ariel had never remembered the story like that. Attina was changing it.
"Attina—" Arista was shaking her head. "Attina, that's not how it went."
Attina turned away, sitting on the armchair and covering her face with her hands, now openly crying. Some of the girls had tears in their eyes, and they turned away as well.
"How I remember Daddy telling it," Ariel started to talk. "Was that you got your foot stuck in that bad step on the basement stairs. Your foot went all the way down, and you couldn't release your leg. Mom came running down the stairs, and she took a while to help you get loose. You got away to freedom, and suddenly, a raider kicked the music box down the steps. Mom thought she could get it, and she ran back to it—right when the gunman opened fire. She did it to save you—she thought she had time, Attina. She loved you. She really did." Ariel looked around at the girls. "She loved all of us."
The girls looked around, murmuring, and then slowly they went their own ways. Attina was left sobbing on the armchair, Arista went upstairs complaining of a nasty headache, and Ariel couldn't bring herself to comfort her own sister, so she grabbed her crutches and limped out the door and down the street. Adrian lived nearby—she'd just hurry down and back before sunset.
But it would take much longer than that—if only Ariel knew.
Regular POV
7:22 p.m.
Breaking News.
The news came all over TVs across New York state.
The neighbors of Reverend Claude Frollo had heard him screaming and singing loudly to himself inside the house, in his garage.
Greg and Terri Wazowski, two of Frollo's neighbors had been out gardening when they smelled smoke and heard the smoke alarm going in Frollo's house.
They rushed to the scene to investigate and look through the window, and found fire consuming his family room.
Of course, they called the police, but the fire department had already been notified. Soon, fire trucks were whirling down the street along with cop cars and an ambulance. The horrified couple gave an account that they had heard Frollo screaming and singing, and that they didn't know what was up, or why there was a fire eating away at the insides of his house.
The fire fighters came back outside and said that Frollo had thrown himself into his giant fireplace. The fire had burned him all up, and he was gone.
Claude Frollo had committed suicide.
"My, my, I feel bad," said Terri Wazowski, shaking her head at the news cameras. "Poor Frollo. He was quite the motivational speaker at church at times. Very empathetic about this kind of stuff. But he also seemed like a scary man to me."
"Yes, he seemed a bit...off," Greg Wazowski confirmed with a wary smile.
"His ghost will defenitely be haunting me," Terri joked with a grin.
A young blonde girl stood by the sidelines, outside the yellow Caution tape, staring at the burning house, the firefighters, and the media news vans. She tapped a lady on the arm. "What's happened?" she demanded.
"Claude Frollo committed suicide!" The lady told her. "Burned himself alive. Jumped straight into the fireplace. Why?"
That's all the girl needed to hear.
"Hey!" the lady grabbed her wrist. "Aren't you Holli Would? Don't you dance at Bronson? I've seen you there—"
Holli twisted away and began to run.
Meg was right. Phoebus and Meg must've confronted him, and he must've been scared of the heat catching him, so he had committed suicide to get away from the pressure. Holli shook her head as she ran. I've been a bitch, she thought.
She ran as fast as she could towards the hospital.
For the first time in forever, Holli wanted to say she was sorry.
Please review guys!
3+ reviews! The rule is still up! And if you have any sequel ideas or ideas to incorporate for the Crystal Thief, let me know. I'm always open to suggestions.
Until the next update, lovelies!
Bye!