WEDNESDAY, mid morning…

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(Endless gibberish: this chapter is a day after the last chapter but two days before the chapters before that because it said three days prior and everything, you know that was Friday and all and blah blah blah…)

(for the thicker ones… -kidding, not even I can understand what I just wrote up there- You know the last chapter, stupidly entitled 'Three days prior'? Well, that was three days prior to Friday, and this present story is two days prior, and thus this takes place the morning after the tow-truck/Replica incident. Make sense? If it doesn't, just leave a review and I'll fix it.)

But just to note, I just ate a batch of moldy strawberries because… I was sleepy and -er- didn't know they were moldy…. And um…. Yeah…..

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"Urg…" Dylan was not a morning person, and that was quite evident. With a groan, she tried to push herself up, only to not succeed and fall harmlessly back onto the worn couch. With a clammy hand, she reached up to relieve her sweaty forehead. And by instinct, when she heard her cell ring, she reached into the depths of her back pocket, only to find that it wasn't there. Immediately alert, Dylan's minor injuries didn't seem to plague her anymore.

"Hello?"

She knew that voice. She knew that voice so well. But was she dreaming? Why was she hearing it now? And then, her vision still cloudy, she cast a disgruntled but wary look around the room, and pulled herself to sitting position.

"Good morning, Helen." With a flick of her strawberry blonde hair, Dylan desperately searched the room, to find Shaemus standing at the side of the couch, his hand deeply rooted in her hair to prevent her from rising. But as he said this, he bent over to inspect her painfully cautious and alert face, cellphone still perched on his ear. He gave a savage smile, one she did not return, and shoved her bubblegum pink cellphone into her hand.

"Your girlfriends want a word with you."

Cautiously, she raised the phone to her ear, trying to figure out where she was all the while. But Shaemus had closed the door and blocked the window, all she could see was a well furnished, yet battered, old room with dusty bookshelves. Some machinery sounds could be heard even through the thick wooden door.

"Dylan! Are you alright? Where are you?"

Pausing a minute, she surveyed her injuries. Nothing serious, just a bit of blood trickling down from somewhere on her forehead, a few cuts on her arms, and a slash from what seemed to be a small knife imbedded on the side of her stomach. Slowly, she replied to Natalie's eager voice.

"Hey Nat…" she ignored the gun raised to her temple, she knew what that meant. 'Don't say anything bad and I won't have to shoot you.' Of course he didn't actually say it, but it was implied.

"I'm… somewhere. Not too badly injured, can't remember anything…" Shaemus's handgun was pushed harder into her temple, and she cursed vividly.

"Fuck off Shaemus, I'm on the phone!" she swatted the gun away and turned to face him, propping herself up with an elbow on the side. He gave her a malevolent grin that betrayed both love and hate, something she hadn't seen much before.

"I know you wouldn't shoot me, so don't try."

"DO you know I wouldn't shoot you?"

"Yes."

"Fine then, you clever girl…" he checked the safety and chucked the gun across the room, where it landed with a soft thump on an armchair about ten feet away from where Dylan was sitting. Reluctantly, she brought the phone to her ear again, but kept her eyes glued to Shaemus. She knew he had something else in mind.

"Natalie?"

"Hey! Are you still alive?"

"Yes, Natalie."

"Cool! So where are you, exactly?"

"I don't know."

"Well that helps."

"I'm sure it does."

She didn't know why she was being sarcastic with her rescuers and friends, but maybe she was just grumpy. Shaemus, however, seemed to have noticed and was smiling bitterly to himself.

"Well, we'll try to find you, but I don't know how we--"

"Are you done yet?"

"NO. Put a book to your ear and pretend it's a phone."

With a growl he slammed himself down on the couch, one hand around Dylan's throat and the other reaching for her cellphone. She grimaced and tried to breathe, but held one of her arms all the way back to prevent him from getting it back.

"Give -- it -- back!" he snarled.

She couldn't help but feel like they were little seven year olds, fighting over a toy. Things were always so awkward and strained around each other. With interest, she noticed he wasn't so interested in killing her anymore, only severely injuring her and knocking her unconscious and taking her cellphone. And that wasn't so bad, she was expecting that.

She threw the phone over to the armchair, where it landed quietly beside Shaemus' handgun. Growling, his head swiveled around and targeted the landing spot of the cellphone. She kicked him off of her and they both stumbled towards the armchair, each pushing the other out of the way, to get to the gun and cellphone first…

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Tell me, was that corny? I just wanted to know.