Author's Note: Well, I'm back. I could say other things but, instead, I'm going to let this chapter speak for itself. Five chapters to go. And props to anyone who can tell me who the cats are :)

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner.

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a Maldição de Diabo

July 29, 2007

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.

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PART FIFTY FIVE

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There was a slight groaning sound and it took Diana a second to realize that the sound was coming from her. It was a deep, if quiet, noise that started at the bottom of her chest and rose up through her throat before escaping out through a partially opened mouth. As soon as the groan had erupted from deep within her, she knew she was conscious again. And not only conscious – but back in her own body.

Her eyes were still shut and for good reason. Despite knowing for sure that she was herself again, the girl did not know where she was and she was not all that interested in finding out. Her head was foggy and, for some reason, there was a strange sharp pain cutting into her right side.

What is going on…?

And that was when Diana remembered what had happened, where she had just been. It was a struggle to hold onto everything that she had seen; the details were vanishing as if they were grains of sand slipping through her fingers. But she could still see very vivid flashes – and that was enough for her to recall most of the fatal vision, including the big reveal: Oscar Delancey had, nearly one hundred years ago, killed Stress Rhian.

Hey, Stress? Diana continued to keep her eyes closed and her breathing slowed as she focused all of energy on contacting Stress. Now that Jack's photograph of the two of them, plus Oscar, had revealed that it was Oscar who had murdered Stress, Diana wanted her to be the first to know. After all, her life was the one that had been stolen by the Delancey boy – it was only fit that she was the first to learn the truth. Did you see that? Did you see who… who killed you? It was Oscar. You won – you and Jack… Stress?

There was no answer from the dead girl, though. And, if Diana would have been thinking straight, she might have noticed that; she might have noticed that it had been quite awhile since the last time she could hear – or even sense – Stress's presence. But, to be honest, Diana was not thinking straight. She was still trapped, half of her consciousness lingering in the severity of the vision she had just witnessed.

"Diana?"

"Diana?"

The voices, spoken almost in stereo, had the power to remind her that she was, wherever she was, not alone. She could hear as someone – no, two someones – called for her but she still resisted. She kept her eyes closed stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge their voices. The flashes were still hovering before her mind's eye and she held onto them. If she lost sight of them, and forgot what they meant, then she would have nothing to tell Jack.

Jack.

"Diana? Can ya hear me, kid? You alright?"

That's Jack's voice. Jack is here… what is Jack doing here?

"Diana… hey, I thought I heard you make a noise. I don't know. Maybe you've got gas or something. Right?"

Wait… wha—? The cab driver? Patrick? What the hell is he doing here? And with Jack? Huh?

There was a grunt this time but it did not come from Diana. "Yeah, that's right, punk. The Daite girl has a vision, one that screws with her, and then comes back with gas. Of course." Jack's voice was gruffer than before, with a mixture of annoyance and suspicion thrown in for good measure. "Cause, you know, it couldn't have anythin' to do with how weird she went over the last coupla hours, huh?"

Okay. Maybe I don't want to know what is going on. Hours? What time is it?

Slowly, since she was still feeling this phantom pain on her right side, Diana sat up on what she knew had to be a bed. Only then, when she was propped up against the wall, feeling a bit more certain about herself – even if she had no idea to what was happening, following the discovery of the identity of Stress's murderer – did she open her eyes.

"Eek!" She scrambled backwards, very nearly bumping her head against the brick wall in her haste. Immediately after opening her eyes Diana had found herself face to face with two sets of anxious eyes, one brown and one cyan, both equally disconcerting at such a close proximity.

The owners of those eyes, both Jack Kelly and Patrick Conlon, stepped back when she shrieked, though neither was aware of the other's movement. They were staring at the obviously distressed girl, instead.

"Hey, kid, calm down. Everything's alright." It was Jack who was the first to speak; Patrick just stood there as he continued to watch Diana cautiously. She was breathing heavily, eyes darting about nervously, but Jack could tell that she was herself again – at the very least, it was a relief to see that those nervous eyes were once again green rather than golden.

Jack had adopted a softer tone when addressing the teenager, a tone that was quite at odds with the way he had spoken to her earlier that afternoon. There was just something about the way that Diana was acting – skittish and wary – that obviously worried the ghost boy. When she did not say anything in response to his words, he waved his hand in front of her face. "Diana, kid, you are alright… aren't ya?"

Without another thought, Diana pushed his hand away from her face. She shook her head once and both the foggy feeling in her head and the phantom pain in her side disappeared. Not only that, but the flashes from the visions abruptly faded – the truth, however, remained. For as long as she lived Diana doubted that she would ever forget the expression on Oscar's face when he stabbed Stress or the feeling of absolutely agony as the knife ripped through flesh.

"Jack!"

Her voice, as urgent as it was, surprised her almost as much as it did the boys but she did not care. It was too much right then for her to deal with – too much happening all at once – and she thought that, by focusing on something besides what she had just seen, it would be easier to understand later. And what better way to lessen the strain on dwelling on Stress's murder than telling Jack all about it?

Not to mention that fact that she found it very strange the way that the two boys were still staring at her – she did not like the attention. She wanted it to stop and figured that, by reminding Jack of his purpose, she could get them to stop watching her as if they expected her to vanish before their eyes. Unfortunately for the girl, though, she just did not realize that, by yelling out the ghost boy's name, she was all but demanding that they look at her.

"What?" Jack pulled his hand out of Diana's reach, slightly annoyed but more worried about the way she was currently acting. Still, there was an undeniable sulky quality to his voice now.

"You'll never guess what—"

She stopped.

As if it had just occurred to her – and it had – Diana knew that she could not tell Jack about what she had seen… not straight away, at least. The way she figured it, if she came right out and told Jack that it had been Oscar Delancey who was responsible for Stress's untimely death then the curse would presumably break and she would never have the chance to learn who, exactly, the monster was that killed the poor girl. And, given her insatiable curiosity, that would never do.

What, then, could she do?

"I'll never guess what?"

Um… She shook her head, annoyed at herself for opening her mouth before she had had the chance to really think about what had just happened. "Oh, uh, don't worry about that, Jack. It's nothing."

Jack's eyebrow raised. "Nothing? I don't know what happened to you, kid, but I'll say this: it wasn't nothing. So, what did you see? You had to have seen something, right?"

She did not want to lie but, just then, she did not want to tell the truth either. That left one option: change the subject and Diana, she knew exactly what she wanted to discuss instead. "Jack, who was Oscar?"

He threw his arms up in the air in frustration. "Oh, not this shit again. C'mon, kid, didn't we already go through this?"

I knew he was gonna say that, Diana thought to herself. But, just because Jack was as predictable as she knew he could be, that did not mean that she was going to drop it. She would not tell him another thing about anything until she knew – really knew – who the Delancey boy was.

"Yeah, but you never really answered my question, did you? I know you knew him… but how? How does he fit into this? And I don't mean anything about this weirdo who's been stalking me. I'm talking about the Oscar from when you were alive. Who the hell was he?"

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean why?"

"Just what I said: why? What is so damn important about Delancey that you're stuck on him?"

That stung. Even though Jack did not know everything that Diana knew about Oscar, it bothered her to no end that he assumed she was fixated on a killer. "Stuck on him? I'm not stuck on him, you idiot! I just want to know, Jack. Why's that so hard to understand?"

Jack crossed his arms over his chest as he looked down his nose on the girl. "Come off it, kid. You've only been involved for a week—not even a week, six days. You don't get off playin' like you know everything, demanding that I tell you stupid details that ain't important. I'll tell you what I think you should know. That's it."

"Oh really?" Diana shot back, livid. How dare he talk to me like that? And all I've been trying to do is help him! "How about—"

"Hey, hey, hey… whoa there, Diana." Patrick held up his right hand, shaking his head in disbelief, as he drew her attention back to him. To be honest, in the midst of their heated discussion, both Jack and Diana had forgotten all about the living boy that was present with them and his voice cut through the tension as they turned to look at him.

He could see that her green eyes were trained on him and guessed that the ghost boys' invisible ones were as well. He cleared his throat. "Alright. Look, I've been holed up in here for God knows how long now and, yeah, I've seen some crazy shit. I've been spun around like a fucking top," he said, spinning his pointer finger in the air to illustrate his words, "and I've seen a girl float through the air. Now, I haven't lost my cool yet," he lied, "but I'm gonna if someone doesn't tell me what the hell is going on here."

Diana opened her mouth to respond – Jack did, with a "ah-Ha" – but Patrick cut her off. When he spoke, his voice was full of biting sarcasm. "Yeah, sure, I know that there's some sort of Casper haunting this Commerce and talking to you, Diana, but newsflash: I can't see him. I can't hear him, either. And, I'll tell you this, it ain't all that great not knowing what you and your… friend are talking about. Shit," he said, finally losing the sarcastic tone; he sounded antsy, instead, "I want to help but I need to know what I'd be helping you to do."

Right then, Diana did not know whether she should feel flattered, guilty or both at Patrick's outburst. It was nice to hear that Patrick, after witnessing all of the supernatural occurrences he had that afternoon, still wanted to help. But, really, what could he do? She knew everything she needed to know, it was just a matter of using that information to break the curse for once and for all.

That did not mean that she wanted to flat-out refuse his help. He looked so eager to do what he could – or, at least, learn what had been going on ever since he followed Diana into this strange abode – that she did not have the heart to tell him no right out. "That's nice and all, Patrick, but… I don't know. It's so confusing, I don't think I'd be able to explain it all as good as it deserves. And," she said, thinking back to all she had just seen, "I really don't have the time to even try to explain."

"Confusin' ain't the word for it, kid," Jack snorted. "Besides, why does he need to know anything? You should just get rid of him. He's not worth your time." There was almost a pout to his voice but Diana ignored it. She had the feeling that what Jack wanted was to instigate another fight; if he did, then her attention would be on him again and he would be able to find out what she had just seen.

He underestimated the girl, though. She knew that was exactly what he was trying to do so, rather than give in, she just ignored him.

Or, at least, she tried to.

"I mean, look at him. He's just an imitation of Spot, and not even a good one. He'd have been a scabber, I bet," Jack continued, purposely egging the girl on.

That was enough. "Hush, Jack," Diana snapped, turning to look over at Jack. He held up his hands in defense and she rolled her eyes. She was getting tired of Jack slighting Patrick and wished he would just stop already. The cab driver was still there, wasn't he? He had not asked to be freed; he was actually interested in what was going on and wanted to help.

Patrick was still tapping his foot against the floor, entirely unaware of Jack's latest insults. His curiosity was piqued and he would be damned if he went on his merry way without finding out what was going on. "Listen, Diana, you want to know who this… what was it? Oscar?" Diana nodded. "Yeah, Oscar. Now, you want to know who this Oscar dude was, well, I want to know who your ghost pal is. Like I said, maybe if I get a little info, then I can help you get some. What do you say?"

Diana spluttered for a bit, trying to figure out where to go from there. "Um…" She had nothing. Off to her side, Jack was laughing now. She ignored him. "You know what, Patrick? I would but I'm still trying to get something out of Jack here."

But that did not stop Patrick. He snapped his fingers and picked up the black book he had been looking at before. "I've got an idea," he said, waving the book around. "Why don't you have Casper write down what he knows about that Oscar guy in this book I found so I can read it, too? Then, when he's writing in here, you can tell me what's going on and, after he's done, we can both look."

It was, both Jack and Diana had to admit, a good idea and so simple, too. He may not be able to talk to Jack but he should be able to read anything that the ghost boy had written.

And, if the girl had not recognized the book that he was so cavalierly waving around, she would have been impressed at the plan. However, she did recognize the book and, at once, Jack knew she had, too. Diana inhaled deeply, sharply, her pointer finger extended. She pointed at the black book clasped lightly in Patrick's loose grip. "Where did you get that?"

"I found it. Right over here," he added, surprised. He pointed at the pile of photographs that was stacked haphazardly to his side.

She shook her head impatiently. "Not you. I was talking to Jack." She spun around so that she was facing him. "Where'd you get that book, Jack? That looks just like the book from my night table."

Jack thought she had been talking to him but had chosen not to answer in case Patrick was going to take the fall for Diana's escalating nerves and rising temper. However, as she coldly eyed him, he knew that that plan was not going to happen. There was only one plan that was going to succeed, he figured: Lie. He ran his hand through his hair before attempting to adopt a charming smile. "What, that? It's just a book, Diana. I saw it in your room the other day, got bored and thought I'd read it."

The girl did not look like she was buying a word of his lie so Jack thought he would try to get her mind off it. Inwardly cursing the nosy Conlon boy from picking it up – while, at the same time, cursing himself for leaving Les Jacob's journal lying about – Jack said, "Oh, come on, Diana. You remember." His lips were curved mischievously as he could not help but say, "The day I saw you naked."

Even now, faced with an ever-looming deadline and a Daite girl that spent more time in the past than in the present, there was still a streak of mischief that shot through him and he had no problem taking advantage of it. He had a pretty good idea how those words would affect Diana and Patrick.

He was right.

"Naked? When you saw me naked! Oh, Jack, I'm gonna… gonna… ooh!" Despite her outburst – or probably because of it – Diana's pale face went as red as a beet at once; Patrick's mouth, after hearing what she had to say, dropped open.

But the boy did not remain surprised for long. A wolfish grin was firmly in place as he glanced at Diana, "Naked? Now why wasn't I there for that?"

Her next reaction was immediate. Diana turned around and smacked Patrick on his upper arm before snatching the book out of his grasp. As he rubbed the spot where Diana's palm had struck him, she stalked over to Jack and hit him on his right shoulder. The ghost boy had been expecting it and, perhaps because he felt a tad guilty, he kept his form solid so that Diana would have the satisfaction of hitting him.

"Perverts," she muttered under her breath, her face still colored with a reddish hue.

She was obviously distracted while in her angry state and, before she could stop him, he had grabbed the book out of her hand. His reasoning behind doing so was twofold: he did not want her actually reading what was inside it and, at the same time, he thought it might appease her if he did something unexpected. Which he did – he agreed with Patrick.

"You know what, Diana, I think this boy's right. I should be grateful that he's offering to help me, especially with the deadline getting closer and closer. So, why don't I write down a couple of facts about Oscar and you, you fill in this idio—Patrick," he said, correcting himself at the last minute. He grinned cheekily to cover himself. "It can't hurt."

Reluctantly – most reluctantly – she agreed. "Fine. I guess."

She waited until she had seen Jack pick up a pen from atop another of his many piles and actually start writing on a random page halfway through the black book before turning back to face Patrick. The blond boy looked a bit wary when she turned her gaze on him -- he was obviously expecting her to say something about his earlier comment – but the nervous expression did not last. As soon as Diana started to explain everything – well, not everything – that she knew about Jack's Devil's curse, his nervous expression quickly faded into one of confusion and then one of interest.

She left out quite a lot, only telling him the basics: how, one hundred years ago, a girl called Stress was killed and how a doofus named Jack Kelly was conned by the Devil into giving up his life in order to avenge her murder. Diana tried her best to explain her family's role in the curse but, seeing as how she did not want to let slip the information that Stress, herself, had given her, it sounded very shaky; she did not blame him for looking as skeptical as he did.

"So, you see," she said, finishing up her explanation, "Jack only has a bit more time left until his hundred years are up and it's up to me and him… and you, now, if you still want to help," she added, "to figure out who killed her." She paused, attempting a weak smile. "See? I told you it was complicated."

"Yeah…"

And that was all Patrick said.

Of course, thought, that might have been because, just as Diana finished telling her tale, the open black book had begun to float towards the pair of them. Well, it was not exactly floating; Jack was carrying it over to her so that she could read what he had written. However, seeing as how Patrick could not see the ghost boy, it was, for all intents and purposes, floating to his eye.

Diana, like Patrick, did not say a word as she accepted the book from Jack. He bowed his head in a mock-salute before stepping away, leaving the other two to read what he had jotted down:

Oscar was a bum, simple as that. But, I guess, if you really want to know, I can tell you. I knew him for years, ever since I was thirteen. I was a newsie, one of the best there was, and Oscar, he worked down at the distribution center with his ape of a brother, Morris, and their sleazy uncle, Weasel. They always got off on picking fights with anyone who couldn't fight back but I took care of them.

They was both dumb but Oscar, he was the smarter of the two Delancey brothers. I guess you could say he was the brains and Morris, he was the muscle. That's why Oscar was the worst one. He was a bad guy and all, a real hooligan. But, when I look back on it, they weren't all that tough.

Oscar was a real pain in my side until the summer I was seventeen. That was the year of the strike and, after it was done, that was last we saw of the Delancey's. Weas got fired from his job and he took his bum nephews with him. They never bothered us newsies again, even after I died.

From what I gathered from the Oscar that we both know now, he got himself killed when he was still pretty young. As soon as he bit it, he went on to work for the Devil. A soul collector, he calls himself. Me, I still think he's a low-life jerk and I can't wait to break this damn curse and rub it in his ugly face.

There. I hope you're happy now, Diana. That's all I know about him.

Ignoring the dig at the bottom of the page, she kept on reading. In fact, she was reading the small, slanted print a third time when Patrick elbowed her in the side, effectively ripping her attention away from the page. "Well, that was definitely more interesting than the shit in the beginning of this book, right?"

Diana, still preoccupied by thoughts of Oscar Delancey, barely noticed what Patrick had said; at the very least, it did not occur to her to question his comment, considering she was under the assumption that the book was blank. "Wha—?"

Jack, though, knew exactly what Patrick had meant – and wanted to keep that knowledge from Diana. Wiithout even a warning, he reached out and grabbed the book from Diana's open hands. He snapped it shut before tossing it onto the bed behind him. "Now, kid, why don't you tell me why it was so damn important that I told you about Delancey."

She took a deep breath, trying to get her head straight. After all that, she still had no motive for Oscar, no understanding why he would do something so vicious as killing Stress. Well, except for revenge… but murder over a childhood grudge? Could it be that simple? I guess I'll never know…

But it was time for Jack to know the truth. It would not be fair to keep the information from him any longer. So, with a sigh (and a silent goodbye and good riddance, should the confession kill the curse), Diana told him.

"Well, Jack, it's simple. Oscar Delancey killed your Stress."

Diana waited for it. She did not know what she expected but, regardless of what she thought should happen at the breaking of the curse, nothing happened. Jack still stood there, a look of utter surprise on his face. Whether or not that surprise was from the understanding that it was Oscar who had killed his girlfriend, or surprise that he was still stuck in his hideaway, Diana did not know. She was too busy herself, looking around to see if anything was different.

"Is that… is that it?" Patrick was the one to speak up. He shrugged his shoulders as he looked over at Diana. "I don't know, did something happen? I didn't see nothing. Is, uh, Casper still here?"

It took Diana a second to answer him; she was preoccupied with tapping Jack on the arm, making sure he was still there. He was, though he, too, was momentarily speechless. "Yeah, I think so. I don't know what's going on, though. Nothing, I think. Jack, how do you feel? Any different?"

The ghost boy nodded once then stopped. He shook his head instead. "Nope." He scratched his forehead, his lips turned down in a confused frown. "That can't be right. I don't feel different at all. Satisfied, but not different, really."

There was a moment of silence while the three of them kept to their own minds before Diana thought to clue Patrick in on Jack's last response. Almost whispering as she turned to face Patrick, she said, "He's definitely still here but he says nothing's really different. Nothing's changed."

Patrick shook his head, holding up his hand in a gesture of utter confusion. "Alright, I may be the new guy here and shit but didn't you just tell me that Casper was hanging around because he needed to know who killed his girlfriend?"

Diana nodded.

"And didn't you just tell him who done it?"

She nodded again, a little frustrated at how simple Patrick was making it all sound.

Patrick shrugged. "Alright, then what's going on?"

"I don't know," Diana confessed, as confused as Patrick appeared and as disappointed as Jack looked, "but it's not what I thought would happen. Unless..." She paused, turning her head so that she was looking back in the ghost boy's direction, "unless it was all a joke. Maybe the Devil wasn't ever going to let you win."

If Diana thought that such an idea was one that would appeal to Jack she was mistaken. He gave a terse jerk of his head, denying her suggestion. "No. If there's one thing that the Devil ain't, it's someone who goes against a deal. But he is tricky," he admitted. There was another moment of total quiet before Jack snapped his fingers. He had it. "That's it. The curse ain't broken until I know all about what happened that night. Yeah, I know who killed her but… there's gotta be more."

Diana sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Anthony Higgins. It's gotta come down him… what did you say, Stress? "Watch out for Tony. I wish I could tell you more about him but I can't. You're going to have to figure that out on your own." Damn it, I should have known it wouldn't be over until I figured out what his role in this mess was. Crap.

"Why? Is there something else you know, Diana?"

There was no denying the suspicious tone in Jack's voice. His hands were clenched at his side and his lips, rather than remain curved downward in a frown, had thinned.

She gulped. "Not… not really. You see, remember when I was asking you about your friend, Anthony?"

"Race? Yeah. What about him?"

"We—ell…I kinda get the feeling that he's got something to do with this. Not him, I mean," she said, backpedaling quickly as Jack opened his mouth to comment, "but his grandkid. Tony Higgins. He's, uh, he's going to be visiting with my aunt tonight and, I don't know, I just get the weirdest vibe." She laughed – it was a fake laugh – and took a step away from Jack… and a step closer to Patrick. For some reason, it just seemed safer to be closer to him.

But all Jack did was bob his head up and down slowly, as if taking the time to digest Diana's suspicions.

"Alright, you know what, you might just be right, kid. I mean, there's gotta be more to this and, who knows, maybe it does have something to do with Race's family. There's still close to a month left, right? It couldn't hurt to pop on over to Ria's place and check this guy out, huh?"

Well, that went better than I expected. Feeling altogether relieved, Diana opened her mouth to tell him what she knew about Tony but she never got the chance. Before she had even said a word, someone else had taken the opportunity to speak.

Yesss… ssso very clossse…

Clamping her mouth shut, she turned around, looking for the source of that hissing voice; it was high-pitched but resembled a whisper and Diana had the strange sensation that she knew who – or what – it belonged to.

As she looked around for Four – that damn cat's got to be here somewhere – Jack continued talking, "Okay, Diana, me and you will head on out to Duane Street." He jerked his thumb over at Patrick who was leaning against the brick wall, oblivious to the discussion but not to Diana's not-so-subtle search for Four. "We can lose this bum on the way, what do you think?"

When she heard the quiet that indicated that Jack had stopped talking she nodded. "Yeah, Jack, sure. Whatever you say…" she said, not really knowing what she was saying. She was too busy squatting down to the floor of Jack's hideaway, eager to see if Four was hiding under the bed again.

That was when she saw it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something twitch and she straightened up. The reason why she had not noticed Four sitting at the head of Jack's cot was simple: the fair-haired cat curled up on the heart-shaped pillow was not Four.

She blinked once, then twice, certain that her eyes were playing tricks on her. But, no… when she opened her eyes up the cat was still sitting there. It was a longer cat than Four, though that might have been because it was stretched out now. Her fur was sleeker than Four's and very close to blonde in color; her eyes were a bright blue. When it caught sight of Diana gawking at it she lifted a paw in what could only be described as a wave.

What?

Diana looked away again. It was one thing to notice that a second cat had found its way into Jack's room but to see it wave at her? That was strange, even by Diana's (new) standards.

"Mew."

She could not help it. The cat sounded so forceful, so authoritative, that she had no choice but to look back over at it.

Diana started to gasp in surprise before quickly suppressing the sound; she did not want to draw the boy's attention over to her again. It was bad enough that she was becoming convinced that she was seeing things.

It was a different cat lying across the bed where the blonde cat had been.

This cat was larger than both Four and the other cat, though the dark fur was just as sleek as the stranger; her tail was thin and long and currently twitching about as Diana's mouth dropped open. She actually recognized this cat – and not just by the size, shape and color of it. In fact, it was the creature's eyes that made itself known to her: the cat had one blue but the other eye… it was purple.

Two different color eyes, just like Fae. Just like…

Twoey, that's what Jack called this cat. This is Two! This is Jack's second cat. Holy crap!

Now that she recognized the cat, Diana wanted nothing more than to point out her appearance to her former master but, just as she made to turn around and tell Jack, she noticed that something was different about Two. She was changing…


Wait—what the hell's happening
now

As she stared in awe at Two, something strange was happening to the feline; she did not remove her eyes from the cot, despite the buzz of Jack's nagging in the back of her head. This was too important – it proved to Diana that she was not as crazy as she thought. It really was happening.

The brown cat was sitting up now, looking up at Diana, but she was not as brown anymore – not really. Her dark color fur was fading away into a blond color, a few shades darker than the first strange cat she had seen. The two different colored eyes melded into a shocking blue… but wait.

This third cat did not have two good eyes but, rather, one; the left eye was all but shut, a scar running down the length of its eyelid. It was a shaggier cat than its predecessors and, as Diana took a tentative sniff, she noticed it smelled funny. Dirty, almost.

This cat, with its one working eye, glared at her before turning its head away. It turned in a circle – she noticed with distaste that this cat was a he – before facing front again and jumping to the wooden floor. He landed with a soft plop before sitting down at her feet.

She had the strange urge to reach down and touch this cat, if only to make sure that he was real.

"Hey, Diana. Are you comin'?"

She shook her head, ridding it of the insane urge, before turning to look over her shoulder at Jack. The ghost boy was standing in front of the inner brick wall, waiting, his right hand resting gently on Patrick's unknowing shoulder. Eyes wide, foot tapping and his stance impatient, it was obvious that Jack was ready to leave his hidden room.

Diana nodded. "Oh, uh, yeah, Jack. I'll be right there. I just needed to… to…," she said, struggling to come up with a plausible excuse for her strange actions, "to grab this picture of yours real quick." She swooped down, proud of hber improvisation, and picked up the dropped picture of Jack and Stress (and Oscar).

Once she had bent down, and the picture was safely face-down in her hand, Diana slyly looked back over at the strange new cat.

But it was not that strange, half-blind cat sitting in front of her any more. Instead, it was Four that was sitting, her rump on the wooden floor, paws settled neatly before her, bushy brown tail curled in front of her and, unless the girl was imagining it, Four's little pink mouth was twisted into what could only be described as a secretive smile.

"Meow," she mewed, a crisp short sound to let Diana know that she saw her, too. And then she winked.

Did she… did that cat just… wink at me? The photograph falling, forgotten, from flustered fingers, Diana hurriedly stood up, backing away from Four as fast as she could. Blinking in surprise – she did, didn't she? – the girl did not stop until she was standing right beside Patrick

There was just enough time then for the cat to hiss out a barely audible, "Thanksss," before Jack reached out and grabbed Diana's upper arm. His hand, though Patrick could not feel it, was already resting on the Conlon boy's shoulder. As soon as his hand had closed around Diana's arm he used his supernatural power to pull the three of them through the brick wall and out of the hideaway.

They were gone so fast that none of them were present to witness it when Four just simply faded away into sheer and absolute nothingness.