.11
A/N -- I know this has been forever in coming, but with the slowing of reviews, I don't know if people actually like this. I know that T2 isn't the most exciting thing in the world, but I've got several more children to (Alan, Lezli, Mikaele, Frances!) and I don't know if I can do it. I mean, geeze, I don't the next kid for three more chapters (you can count on that, it's all written out in my outline).

T3 and T4 are much better than T2 . . . T0-T3 are actually setters for T4 . . . ::giggles:: I just drank a quarter glass of Irish Cream Liquor. Yummi. Anyway, so, keep on. This one isn't my best chapter, but it has a TON of information that I had a bunch of fun making up. Ask Jaci, I am the QUEEN of lists. My lists are like perfect.

Part. 12

Getting home was easier than I would think it to be. I do not remember getting harrassed by the sector police. Maybe I did. I do remember getting lost in my thoughts, my memories, of Martin and my other siblings.

When I was younger, I was always with them. We were the Ultimate. It was always 413, 923, 169, 968, 032, and 666. It was always Lezli, Mikaele, Martin, Frances, Alan, and Tyronica. We were happy, truely happy, to be together. When had it gotten to the point where I was willing to give it up?

I was willing to give it up; willing to give it up save their lives. Why in the hell did I feel so bitter about it? Why in the hell did I feel so pissed off that I had to drop Martin off?

Come on, I mean, I hadn't seen him for three years, nearly four, and it wasn't like we hadn't caught up. Hell, Martin and I had talked for hours. I'd even gotten the little bugger to stop refering to Manticore as home. I know that Mom and Dad were happy that way, and I liked keeping Mom and Dad happy.

{vivid thoughts}

the man turns to me. I look at him codly. Why in the hell is he using my real name, the slimeball? Lovingly, I fingered the gun that was in the pockets of my slacks. Good gun, I think idly.

my voice is void of emotion. The man, David, squirms. Let the little bastard squirm.

We have the footage from the Ansemblo shootings.



{/vivid thoughts}

I shook my head, trying to get the images out of it. For just a moment, I pondered the words that had gone through so quickly, then, sighing, I wearily placed it in a large cabinet already a quarter of the way filled with memories that weren't mine.

I had decided, early, that as soon as one of the memories that weren't mine suddenly surfaced, I would attack and conquor; the memory would be filed away for later reference. Maybe, if I was ever stuck in the middle of no where, I would file them away into men, women, boy, and girl memories, for easier access. Or, maybe, I would file the memories into the drawers as squabble, political, family . . . there were so many ways to file them . . .

I sat up, bored with my thoughts, and wandered aimlessly around my house. There was nothing really in it to amuse me . . . nothing, except, Martin's book . . . I hastily went to my desk, looking for the small notebook that he had given me, where I had carefully copied down information on my siblings.

I hadn't really read what I was writing . . . I had been rushing, not seeing the words, but just the letters . . . it was as if I had been a young child copying from a book. I hadn't been reading, I had been looking at pictures.

Flipping it open, I looked at the page and started reading, really reading, the words throwing themselves off of the page. It was no longer, Oh-this-is-Miki's-page. It was Miki's life, written down on one tiny page . . .

MIKAELE


Barcode: 436798137923

Given name: Mikaele Brooks

Height: 5'2"

Weight: 98

Eyes: Light Blue

Hair: Light Blonde

Birthdate: October 17, 2010

Location: Riverheights Group Home # 89, New Hamshire

School: Parkside Intermediate School

GPA: 4.0; 4.0; 4.0; 4.0 (last four quarters)

General Accessment: Very large group home, with three hundred other students. Not the cleanest of the homes that I have visited. Seems very dedicated about school work, very concentrated on excelling. Top grades, afterschool activities.

Reading between the lines, I could see Mikaele's character all over the page. She was always, I remembered, a work fanatic. I could see her working endlessly on her home studies . . . it was amusing to say the least.

She lived in New Hampsire . . . a little close to New Jersey for me, but what could I say? It wasn't my fault that she picked it, it wasn't her fault if she liked it there. Maybe she didn't like it there . . .

{vivid thoughts}

How much? I ask. I'm wearing a tight, red dress. Red is always the best to wear when you're on a job; the blood don't show up real good and you can make a clean get away. Who would suspect a broad with a nice figure, walking away in a hot little number?

Fifty G, no more, Little Pup shifts in his shoes, glancing around. In the light, his scar looks like dog pissing on a tree. It was Little Pup's name on his cheek.

Fifty G? I mock. Jesus H. Christ, who the hell does he think I am? Why, for fifty G, I could blind him, nothing more. Come on, Pup, you know if I get caught I go to the Dubse'ef, and I ain't talkin' bout no bathroom.

Pop didn't give me clearance for no more, Little Pup looks around, uncomfortable at the thought of the W.C.F. Well, the little bastard might as well be uncomfortable, his sister is the one who went and killed her husband and then confessed, the idiot.

As soon as it hits the high point . . . I glance into the shadows behind Puppy's head.

One fifty, I tell him. Puppy nods, then reaches into his pocket. I reach into mine, take out a gun, check the silencer, and shoot him. Less than ten seconds, it took me, from the time the bugger started moving his hand, I call into the shadows.

Lucy, girl, you got it all, Bret tells me. C'mon, we gotta ride ass to the restaurant if we gonna make our diner reservations.

{/vivid thoughts}

Idly, I push that thought into the filing cabinet. Freaking sterotypical thought, at that.

A dog barked a few blocks away. Judging from the sound of the bark, it was a German Shepard; an expensive dog that I didn't think fit into the neighborhood. I glanced uneasily at the door, but the knob remained in the same position.

Turning the pages until I was at the beginning of the list, I saw myself at Alan's page.

[gray thoughts]

I'm sitting on my bed, after the lights have been turned off, trying to mediate. I have to go to the bathroom so badly, I am praying for daylight. It isn't that I can't sneak out of the barracks and go to the bathrooms. I can. It is just that I cannot be invisible at the same time.

I turn to the left. Martin and Lezli are both sleeping on their side, away from me. I can see their faces clearly in my mind's eye. Lezli, with her dark red stubble and her bright green eyes, probably has her nose scrunched up. Martin, his skin and eyes dark brown, has the look of the half-awake.

Immediately after, I can see soft blonde and blue of Mikaele, her face serene and un-worried in sleep. Frances, her hair getting long again, has her lips stuck out, her tongue between them.

Then there is Alan. His hair is blonde, so pretty and golden, with these dark red colorings. His hair is an inch long, maybe slightly shorter. I can see places where it is blonde, places where it is red. He is mixed . . . his eyes, I can see clearly from memory, are hazel.

I appreciate the colors and shapes and everything about him. He is most definately pretty.

My prettiest brother.

[/gray thoughts]

ALAN


Barcode: 409785616032

Given name: Alan Quintanilla

Height: 5'6"

Weight: 141

Eyes: Hazel

Hair: Brown

Birthdate: August 4, 2010

Location: Five Corners Group Home # 74, Arkansas

School: Five Corners Middle School

GPA: 4.0; 4.0; 4.0; 4.0 (last four quarters)

General Accessment: Clean home, one hundred forty children in it. The school is about a block away. Well adjusted.

The little amount of information that Martin has in the book spoke volumes about my brother Alan. I could remember how quiet Ally was, how content he was to be in the background while Lezli or myself was up in the foreground. I pictured Ally some place, happy, drawing, or . . . maybe writing jokes . . . I could remember how witty he used to be . . .

Thoughts about Ally angered me. Alan had been so quiet, so funny, and so pretty. I wondered if he was any of these things, or if he, like Martin, had matured and changed.

Would I recognize him if I saw him in the street?

I looked down at the page. Frances . . .

FRANCES


Barcode: 425765147968

Given name: Frances Knotz

Height: 5'4"

Weight: 117

Eyes: Dark Brown

Hair: Dark Brown

Birthdate: May 6, 2010

Location: Fremont Group Home #4, New Mexico

School: P.S. 44

GPA: 4.0; 4.0; 4.0; 4.0 (last four quarters)

General Accessment: Better than average group home, only thirty-three other children in it. School seems adequate. In all honors classes.

Frances . . . could anything be upsetting to Frannie? Of all of us, she seemed to be the most normal, the most ready to fall into life. Even Martin had this certain aura about him that didn't scream, I'm a norm! Frannie did. Frannie would make it in the world.

I turned to the last page, knowing very well who was next. There it was, across the page, just as it had been the first day.

LEZLI


Barcode: 425838243413

Given name: Lezli Witting

Height: 5'7"

Weight: 148

Eyes: Bright Green

Hair: Dark Red

Birthdate: January 23, 2010

Location: Snape Group Home # 43, Texas

School: Snape Intermediate School

GPA: 4.0; 4.0; 4.0; 4.0 (last four quarters)

General Accessment: Class treasurer. Fairly good group home with plenty of resources. Has plenty of friends, seems to be starting to notice the boys. Keep a note on that.

As always, Lezli was center of attention. Would she ever be anything other than the center of the group; the big cheese? Boys . . . she was the one I worried about. With Lezli's shocking good looks, or, as shocking as I remembered them, the boys would be all over her.

The thought didn't please me. Not at all. Lezli was my sister and . . . boys were boys. Good God, couldn't you stop boys from being boys?

{vivid thoughts}

I glance up angrily from the pile of paperwork that I have all over my desk. Its David, the arrogant asshole. I had been afraid it was my boss, Laraby. Speak of the Devil, here he comes. David slinks off toward the corner.

Casey Billings, I've got more to add to your pile, Laraby tosses a thick file on my desk. Bastard.

Thank God he didn't see me, David says when Laraby passes.

I am irritated. There is no God, only the government.

{/vivid thoughts}

That memory disturbed me. I quickly filed it away and turned the page, trying to block the irritation that I felt at David, the smartass . . . wait . . . I dropped the book on the desk, then fled to the comfort of bed and sleep.