A/N: Yay! Chapter 13, finally we are getting somewhere.

Okie-dokie. Thanks to TheNextPoliticalDynasty (no...wait...I'm used to saying her name, but she has no computer to read my story so...sniffles, no review...as of YET!), then I guess it's just xXxSarahxXx (glad you like the Cornchip Girl/Gus couple...but are you so certain TJ and Spinelli are getting back together?) and goofymonkeychild (thanks for coming back, my review board missed you). TWO HOURS, it would take me sooooo much longer to read ten chapters of this. I'm a slow reader...prolific writer...sloooow reader. You guys both rock so much! I just wonder where momo-chan is...sniffles...

Okie-day (I've been typing for five...no wait, six hours straight, I'm in a weird mood). Lucky Chapter 13, ENJOY!

Chapter 13:

"Hang down your head Tom Dooley, hang down your head and cry...hang down your head Tom Dooley...poor boy you're bound to die..." Gus opened his eyes weakly. The scratchy song was his first clue that his captor had returned. It had been some time since he'd eaten or drank any water. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face and soaked his clothes, causing them to cling to his body, mingling with his blood. Why was it so damned hot in there? His captor had returned several times, her comings and goings were hard to keep track of. The only ways Gus could tell that she was there was from her occasional giggles, the record turned on or off, playing old folk tunes, or her mere poking and prodding whenever she felt like torturing him. He had several burn marks now as well as cuts and bruises; his whole body ached from hanging there the whole night. He'd given up talking to his captor, she never listened, and his throat was too parched now for him to form words anymore.

"Poor boy you're bound to die." The whisper, so close to Gus's ear, startled him. He jolted slightly, struggling against his bonds that wouldn't break. "What use are eyes?" she asked quietly, her hands trailing along his face. He squeezed his own eyes closed, praying that she would leave soon. "You can't see, can you? So, what use are eyes." She pressed her thumbs against his eyelids.

"I can see!" Gus insisted, though it was a struggle and came out a harsh whisper, barely audible. She paused, pulled away. Had she heard him? Was she listening? Was she finally ready to reason? "Please," he started, "I don't know what you want from me. I have to go back home, to my wife...my child." He felt a cold hand come to his cheek; her claws digging into his flesh. He held the pained cries in as blood began to ooze down to his chin.

"You know what I want," came the whisper, "I want you to suffer...I want you to feel pain...I want you to see the pain of your friends...I want you to break...I want them all to be broken..." She trailed off, moving away from him. Gus heard the door open and close. She was gone again.

Gus moved his hands, wiggling them, looking for any loosening of his bonds, searching for a weakness in the rope that held him. He felt some object bite into his hand. He hissed, stopping all movement. Whatever it was, it was sharp. He felt blood trailing down his wrist, soaking into the rope. He squirmed, attempting to dig the sharp object from his flesh. Perhaps he could use it to saw the rope. He pulled it out, willed it out, biting his lower lip from the immense pain. Finally, he held it between his fingers, examining it through his touch, being unable to see it. It was small, one side like a knife, the other too smooth to cut through the rope. He worked his fingers to the bonds holding him, using the object to saw at the knot, back and forth, his eyes closed, praying to whatever higher being would listen. He felt the strands of the rope break, slowly and surely coming apart. He could feel that the rope was thick, that it would take time. But he had time. His fingers were sore from the constant motion, but he willed himself to keep going. He had to keep going. For his wife, the love of his life, and his unborn child that she carried. For the gang, who he had to warn about the psychotic woman that was after them.

Gus closed his eyes tight, hoping that the woman didn't come back before he was finished, before he had a chance to escape. That's all he needed. A chance. This one chance.

-0-0-0-0-

Theresa sat back in her chair, breathing softly, her eyes closed. Gretchen had finally finished telling her the story, about everything that had happened fifteen years before, of everything that had recently been happening. TJ was impressed. She took a very non-biased standpoint in the story telling. He thought of putting in that Mary Anna was his fault, but he decided it was best not to. Mikey and Gretchen looked as though they were getting sick of hearing his self-loathing speeches. Theresa was hard to read for a long time, sitting there, a hand gently rested against her belly. Finally, she opened her eyes and stared at all of them.

"I always wondered...she just disappeared," Theresa sighed, "I didn't know Gus had anything to do with it...or that fire...it's so horrible. He never talked about it. He just, didn't want to talk about Third Street often. When we did talk about Third Street Elementary, we'd talk about all the times we'd spent together. I did think it was odd that he never spoke about you guys, but I remember that by the time he moved away, none of you were really close anymore. Of course, everyone on the playground noticed, for a time. Then it just became a normal sight, you guys hanging out with other people, and no one cared anymore."

"Are you upset, that Gus never told you?" Mikey spoke up. He'd sat in silence the whole time, reflecting on the things Gretchen was saying.

"No. I understand why he couldn't. Gus was always like that, he knew what he had to do, and so he'd do it, no matter how hard it was. I know that sometimes he looked as though he needed to tell me something, and he seemed to be arguing with himself over it," Theresa smiled serenely, sadly, thinking of her husband, "He could keep a secret. I love him for that."

"Are we done?" TJ asked, grasping his head, "It's just...loud."

"TJ, were you drinking?" Gretchen inquired, giving him a once over.

"Maybe a little," he answered, then groaned laying his head down, "Maybe a lot. I have to go." He made his way out of the room, slipping into the back restrooms. They tried to pretend they couldn't hear his retching, and for the most part, they couldn't. But they had a good idea of what he was doing back there and it made them all queasy as well.

"What's the matter with him?" Theresa asked, "He looks like hell. He's not the way I remember..."

"I guess we forgot to mention the quarrel he had with Spinelli," Gretchen sighed, "They'd been dating apparently and recent strains on their already strained relationship caused an unexpected break up. Needless to say, he's not taking it very well."

"Spinelli and TJ," Theresa repeated, almost confusedly. Mikey shrugged and Gretchen nodded, both taking it to mean she doubted it was true.

"I know that them being together may sound odd, we felt the same way. But it's true, whether you believe it or..." Mikey began.

"Odd?" Theresa interrupted, "Them breaking up sounds odd. I always thought TJ and Spinelli were made for one another. I love Gus, but I always envied how well TJ and Spinelli fit with each other...like soul mates. Maybe you two were just too close to them to see it, but they're right together. I can understand why TJ's so upset; he must feel like he's lost a huge part of himself, half his heart maybe. I can imagine Spinelli is just as bad."

"Worse even," Gretchen stuttered, awed at the retrospection on Theresa's part.

"Oh cruel fate," Mikey cried, in a fashion that resembled the younger him, "How can we make this better? How can we help our heart ached friends?"

"Our heart ached friends?" Gretchen restated, staring at him with dripping sarcasm.

"You can't tell me that you don't feel the friendship returning in your heart?"

"I feel something returning...but I'm thinking that's my breakfast," Gretchen laughed sardonically, "Please Mikey, you share one touching moment with TJ and you think we're all the best of friends again?"

"Forgiveness is divine," Mikey stated.

"And loathe is a sin," Gretchen replied scathingly, "So send me to hell."

"What about the others, that signed the pact?" Theresa interrupted, trying to break the tension and bring them back to the important matter of her husband's absence.

"We contacted most of them," Gretchen explained, "They were to meet us here today, but every one of them bailed."

"I didn't get a hold of...let's see...Ashley A. and Ashley T., nor Randall, but that's all. The rest of them were supposed to be here, but they all called back and changed their minds," Mikey put in. Theresa nodded and the door to the bathroom opened, they could hear the toilet flushing in the background. TJ reappeared, clutching his stomach and head.

"I don't ever want to drink again," he moaned.

"It's good that you learned your lesson," Gretchen told him. She found her purse beneath the table. "I have a breath mint in here somewhere..."

"Maybe I should go home..." TJ started. They heard the squealing of tires outside, a silver Cadillac rolling up on the sidewalk in front of Kelso's. The companions turned to look outside in confusion. Who the hell could that be? They saw the car door swing open, a fashionably dressed young woman stepping out, her fair hair a wild mess. She walked to the other side of the car with a prideful stride; opening the door and helping someone climb out.

"Is that...Vince?" Mikey asked, pulling himself up and walking a few feet to the front door.

The young woman and man made their slow and steady pace up to the small diner, Vince leaning against the blonde woman. She was tall, sleek, dressed in designer clothes and wearing sunglasses. Her make-up was faded, and she looked like she'd been through hell and back. She kicked the front door of Kelso's open gently, pulling Vince inside and waving at the car for her driver to leave, which he did. She helped Vince stumble into a chair and straightened , stretching her back and taking a deep breath.

"That was, like, such a strain," she exclaimed loudly, much to the dismay of TJ's pounding noggin, and flipped her sunglasses atop her head, looking out at the awestruck occupants of the room. "What?"

"Ah...Ashley A.?" Gretchen finally managed.

"It's not really Ashley A. now," she giggled, showing her finger with the wedding ring. Theresa seemed to, subconsciously, rub her own much smaller wedding ring with a sort of injured pride. The others seemed to shake from their shock, looking at Vince who looked like he'd taken quite the beating himself. He'd changed out of the hospital gown in the car, back into his clothes, which were wrinkled and stale, and had huge bags beneath his eyes. He was sitting stiffly, uncomfortably, trying not to lean against his back.

"What happened to you?" Gretchen demanded.

"I was attacked," he told her, "What does it look like?"

"Oh God," Theresa whispered, burying her face in her hands, "Gus..."

"It doesn't confirm anything," Mikey attempted to comfort her, but failed miserably. Vince looked at her, with a look of confusion.

"Who are you?"

"Explain things to him," TJ commanded, "I have to call my parents and tell them where I am."

"I have to call my parents too," Vince said, "Before they send out the National Guard in search of me. But I would like an explanation," then shooting an indignant look towards TJ, "I knew I'd want one before I got here." TJ ignored the comment, walking behind the counter, still clutching his head. Maybe Spinelli was better with Vince, even if he was a jerk, he wouldn't sleep with another woman. TJ felt the bile rise again at the reminder. He picked up the phone, dialing the house number, wondering if his mother was home. His father picked up on the first ring, which was odd considering he should have been at work.

"TJ, is that you?" Mr. Dettwieler cried into the phone, "TJ? TJ? Theodore? Son?"

"Dad, why are you home?" TJ asked.

"Is that TJ? Give me the phone," he heard his mom say in the background. There was some shuffling and Mrs. Dettweiler's voice filled TJ's ear, "TJ, where are you?"

"Kelso's, mom, can you keep it down...why's dad home?"

"We were worried sick when you didn't come home, and then we get a call from Flo about how Ashley's gone, which by the way you should tell her to call her mother if she hasn't already, and then we hear on the news that there was an arson attack on an old friend of yours from school...what was her name...Ashley Tomassian, or something like that."

"Ashley T. was attacked? Is she alright? Wait...Spinelli's missing?" TJ cried in the phone.

"Ashley T. was attacked!" Ashley A. cried from where she stood.

"The girl is okay, she's suffering from a few burns but that's about all. Isn't Spinelli with you?" Mrs. Dettwieler replied.

"No. We...well...we..." TJ looked to the others, staring at him with interest, he dropped his voice, "I think we broke up."

"What?" Mrs. Dettwieler screeched, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. TJ held the phone away from his ear. "What happened? What do you mean you broke up? Did she break your little heart, TJ? What did that little slut do to you, my poor baby? I knew that tramp was no good to begin with...I mean, look at her parents..."

"No, mom...it's not Spinelli's fault...I...well...I was being stupid and I..."

"What did you do to her? Answer me, young man. I raised you to treat women better than..."

"Mom!" TJ cried, "Calm down and answer me. Spinelli didn't come home?"

"No, and I can see why. She must be so heart broken, so upset...the dear child..."

"Mom, will you give me some answers."

"Don't snap at me, young man," Mrs. Dettwieler replied sharply, "That little Ashley was going to give me grandchildren and you screwed that up."

"Give me the phone back, sweetheart," Mr. Dettwieler said in the background, trying to soothe his wife while prying the phone from her hands.

"I mean, sheesh, what is wrong with my children? First my eldest son decides he and his wife aren't ready for children...and Becky, don't get me started on the daughter...a different man every week! My youngest was my last chance, and he completely messes things up...my last chance...I want grandchildren! But nooo...my kids can't give me any...I give them life...grandchildren is the least I could ask for, right?" Mrs. Dettwieler rambled on, handing her husband the phone and throwing her hands up in despair.

"Dad, is mom going to kill me when I get home?" TJ asked, pale.

"Of course not son..." Mr. Dettwieler answered, then paused to glance at his wife, "But I think you'd better stay away from the house for awhile..."

"What about Spinelli?" Vince asked, having dragged himself to TJ's side. TJ shot him a dangerous look before prodding his father with the same topic.

"Spinelli, dad, tell me about Spinelli," TJ said.

"I want to know about Ashley T.," Ashley A. demanded, coming up behind Vince.

"No, Spinelli," Vince said stubbornly.

"I would like to know about my friend, is she alright?"

"Where's Spinelli?" Vince demanded.

"Will you guys get the hell away from me!" TJ cried. They looked at him stunned, and then preceded to back off slowly. TJ shook his head, "Jeez...Dad, first tell me what happened with Ashley T." Ashley A. shot Vince a triumphant look, then turned with concern to TJ.

"Well, someone set fire to her motel room, locked her in," Mr. Dettwieler explained, "At least, that's what they're saying on the news. The firefighters got there in time to drag her out and save her. She's at the hospital now, being treated for minor burns and possible lung damage from inhaling the smoke."

"She's fine, Ashley A.," TJ called over his shoulder, reiterating the news, then speaking to his father again, "And Spinelli?"

"Apparently, Joey says he left her in his room when he went out in the middle of the night, but when he got back, she was gone. Her parents can't find her anywhere. They called us, thinking she was over here. It was the strangest thing, they thought she was staying at a motel; they wanted to know if we had the motel information. But it's alright, we set them straight on that matter," Mr. Dettwieler went on, TJ slapping his forehead, massaging the bridge of his nose in annoyance, "She hasn't called, or anything. It's the middle of the day...she isn't with you? We're all worried what with this arsonist running around town. We haven't had this much of a stir in our little town since...well...since the murder at Third Street Elementary..." For a moment, TJ thought his father was talking about Mary Anna, but then realized that her disappearance was never confirmed as a murder.

"What are you talking about, dad?" TJ finally asked, "What murder?" He saw Gretchen straighten, and Mikey perk up, even as Vince and Ashely A. were already paying close attention, they both shifted uncomfortably.

"Well...when was it...two, three years ago now, I think. What was that, sweetie?" Mr. Dettwieler called, placing a hand over the phone, "You remember better than me. Oh, that's right," he put the phone back to his ear, "It was three years ago, in the school gym."

"Who?" TJ asked, his heart caught in his throat.

"Let's see...it was the janitor, right, honey? Yeah, the janitor."

"Hank?" TJ gulped, seeing his company look downcast, fearing the worst of the beloved man from their past.

"No, not Hank. What with so many new kids, and Hank getting on in his years, they hired a new, younger janitor. In fact, I think you did know him. He went to school with you. What was his name...Mandy...no that's a girl's name...what honey? Oh, Mundy," Mr. Dettwieler chuckled.

"Mundy," TJ repeated. He remembered the redheaded school bully well enough; a dropout and a real problem child.

Mundy had given TJ and Spinelli a great deal of trouble throughout Middle and High School. Mundy had had some sort of thing for Spinelli and he wouldn't leave her alone, and Mundy could scrap just as well as she could. TJ got fed up with it and finally stepped up to deal with Mundy himself. They'd gotten in a fight in the 9th grade, right there in the cafeteria of the school. Mundy had pulled out a knife; a real wicked switchblade and Spinelli stepped in to help, but only got in the way. Mundy ended up slicing her arm open, which left a scar that she still had to that day. Mundy ran off leaving Spinelli bleeding and screaming curse words and threats after him, with TJ panicking by her side. Of course, that was Mundy's last day at the school, he never showed up again and no one could track him down. The police hadn't really given it too much work. They knew Mundy's family and expected so much from him. Mundy, inevitably, blamed TJ for the whole event and TJ, in turn, wanted to kill Mundy for what he'd done to Spinelli. They'd had a running grudge ever since. TJ couldn't say the news of Mundy's death was all too upsetting for him, if it weren't for the circumstances.

"How did he die?" TJ asked, unsure how he'd take the answer.

"They're not certain, they found his body smoldering in the gym," Mr. Dettwieler answered solemnly, nervously. He obviously didn't like talking about the subject. "The school's been closed ever since. Though, I have heard rumor that it was going to be opening up again soon. But before, all the students have been going to, was it Ninety-Eighth Street Elementary? Yes, that's it. All the while the school underwent an investigation and also had to deal with a great deal of media. I feel so much sympathy for Principle Prickly...and Miss Finster, she took the most heat from what happened, being the last one to see Mundy. I hear they're going to tear the gym down though, and they're renovating the interior of the school. It's always suffering from vandalism of some sort...never could figure out who was up to that."

"And they're sure it was Mundy?"

"That was the final decision, according to the newspapers," Mr. Dettwieler replied, "Your mom wrote you all about this, didn't you read it?" TJ chuckled nervously.

"I just forgot is all..." Truth was, TJ hardly ever read the letters his mom wrote him. They were always filled with boring news from the town, something about a pie convention, or the annual fair.

"Why are you so interested anyhow? It's old news," Mr. Dettwieler said, "We're talking about Spinelli now."

"I know, dad. Look, I got to go, Vince has to call his parents so they can stop worrying about him," TJ said, "Bye dad."

"Okay, bye son. Call if you hear anything from Spinelli." TJ hung up the phone and looked to the others, "Mundy was always into bad things...it was probably something he got himself in trouble for..." TJ told them, after filling them in on the conversation he'd had with his dad, trying to shrug it all off as nothing big, "Mundy had nothing to do with the pact anyways. Though...it is odd that they found him in the gym."

"How did he...how did he die?" Gretchen ventured, looking ready to burst into tears. Theresa was staring at her husband's broken glasses, turning them about in her hands. Mikey was staring blankly at TJ and Vince and Ashley A. stood, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

"They don't know...whoever did it lit his body on fire afterwards," TJ explained quietly, "I just don't understand, does that have anything to do with it? I mean, what happened. It couldn't, right?"

"Ashley T. was attacked and Spinelli's missing. We've got bigger problems than 'who killed Mundy'. Mary Anna, remember? Let's stick with that and forget about any other murder cases going on in this town. There's no way they're connected," Vince mumbled, "So can we stick to one things at a time. Who knows who's next on that psycho's list."

"We think it could be Mikey and me," Gretchen spoke up, clearing her throat, "Since our letters are missing now."

"What letters?" Ashley A. asked.

"That's right, we couldn't contact you to ask," Mikey said, "Mysterious messages in brown envelopes, you didn't happen to receive one, did you?"

"Did they look like this?" Ashley A. asked, pulling a brown paper from the pocket in her jacket. She put it in Gretchen's outstretched hand. Gretchen removed the letter that was inside and read it aloud.

"Ashley A. in the end will truly be SCAN-DA-LOUS..." Gretchen looked up at Ashley A. with a raised eyebrow, able to tell immediately that the handwriting belonged the young woman before her from the heart dotting the "I". "You don't still write like this, do you?" Gretchen questioned mockingly.

"No," Ashley A. retorted scathingly, "And if you must know, scandalous is no longer in my vocabulary. I only use it when myself and the other Ashleys get together and talk about old times...the better part of the old times at least."

"Another piece of the puzzle," Gretchen sighed, pulling out Spinelli's remaining envelope.

"I don't understand though," TJ said from across the room, "If the envelopes disappearing is an indication of who the next target is, than Spinelli can't have been taken yet, or attacked, because hers is still here, right? Then where is she?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions. We haven't figured out the pattern yet, TJ," Gretchen told him, then beneath her breath, "There might not even be a pattern..."

"What does Spinelli's say?" Ashley A. asked curiously.

"Well...it says..." Gretchen dumped the contents of the envelope out, rearranging the pieces to form the note and discovering something interesting. "There's another new piece," Gretchen exclaimed, holding it up with the other piece they'd recently found, the new piece reading, "you'll be". Gretchen tried to fit them with the other pieces, but they wouldn't fit. "Odd..." she mumbled under her breath.

"Spinelli, you are best at hide-and-seek, but he will soon find you..." Ashley A. read aloud, and then looking up asked, "Why's it all ripped?"

"Came that way," the four former friends told her in unison, unflinching.

"O-kay," Ashley A. said, "I have to call Ashley T. to make sure she's really alright. She'll have her cell phone on her. Can I get through?" She shoved her way past TJ and Vince to the phone and picked it upn

"I still have to call my parents," Vince tried to argue, but Ashley A. was already dialing. "Hey, don't you have a cell phone," he cried.

"It's in my purse," she told him while the phone rang, "This is easier." Vince rolled his eyes. He looked at TJ.

"Why do you smell like alcohol?"

-0-0-0-0-

Gus felt the last few strands of the rope break away, and with the force holding him up gone, he slumped weakly to the ground. He knew the general direction of the door, even with it being so dark, so he felt his way along the ground, crawling. He knew it wasn't too far away from him, feeling the wooden floor, eyes wide, searching the dark. He could see the light through a crack in the door, slamming his head into something hard in front of him. It took him a time to recover, he sat down, breathing heavily, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks. He used the hard, obtruding, object to pull himself up, knocking something smooth and delicate to the ground, hearing it shatter. He thought nothing of it, not caring what he damaged on his way to escape. The hard wooden object was a table blocking his path. He ran his hands along it, trying to find the edge, using it to support his weight. He was so close to the outside, he could smell it. He could almost feel his wife in his arms again, taste the cool refreshing chill of water running down his throat, hear the sound of his wife's voice and laughter.

There was a piece of paper, something, that slipped beneath his fingers. A photograph...something...a clue as far as he was concerned. He stuffed it in his pocket and stumbled his way around the table towards the door. He touched the slab of wood that stood in his way to the outside world. He attempted to open it. It wouldn't budge. His heart sank. It was locked. Why hadn't he realized that his captor would lock the door, ensure that no one came in and found him? He pulled at it, banged on it, begged it to open, tears streaming wildly down his cheeks as he beat on the door in frustration. He'd been so close...so goddamned close.

Gus searched about him, feeling for something he could use to jam in the door and rip it open, slicing his fingers on sharp, useless objects that he found scattered around him. He slumped against the door finally, giving in once more. Maybe he could overpower his captor when she returned. She had the advantage of sight over him, but that hardly made a difference in the dark. Why wasn't anyone outside? Why didn't anyone hear his calls? He strained to listen. There were no kids laughing and playing outside. No sounds of people talking or chatting or walking by. No cars, no nothing. Just the sound of water.

Water. If this was indeed the old boathouse, which Gus didn't doubt it was what with the lack of people and the sound of water surrounding the building, it opened up to the lake. He let his senses guide him, trying to recall the strenuous swimming and diving lessons he'd taken to prepare for his trip down the Amazon River when he was in the Peace Corp. He moved slowly, towards the sound and smell of the life giving liquid and found the end of the walkway easily. He sat down on the edge, taking his shoes and socks off and slipped his feet into the water, it was like ice compared to the heat he'd had to endure. He removed his shirt as well, discarding it. He could leave these objects behind. While he didn't know if it was day or night, he trusted that once outside he could see better, if not by the sunlight than by the light of the moon.

Gus took a deep breath and whispered, "For Theresa," before slipping into the water and swimming forward.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli opened her eyes, her head pounding. She was in a small room, that much she could figure, and there was no door that she could see. She looked around her, focus coming back to her, mouth dropping open. Pictures. They were everywhere. Pictures hanging on the walls, covering all four of them completely, so that Spinelli couldn't even discern the color of the wall behind them. But that wasn't the most shocking part of the pictures. They were pictures of her, of her and TJ together. Her face was ripped out of a few of them, older ones from when they were younger. They were pictures from her middle and high school years, but also candid shots of her and TJ together in New York. Her heart pounded in her chest. There were a few of her and TJ in bed together she blushingly realized. One of her in the shower, a lot more of TJ in the shower or changing. Shots that no one could have possibly taken. Then there was one, one picture lying in the center of the room. She went to it, picked it up, her hands trembling uncontrollably. A picture of a doll; a dirty, disgusting, broken, blonde, porcelain doll, held in the arms of a blonde haired, brown-eyed little girl that should be fifteen years dead.

Spinelli threw the picture away, ripping pictures off the wall in frustration, in fear, only to reveal more pictures.

"Who the hell are you?" she cried, demanding answers from the empty room, "What do you want from me? You sick, perverted..." Giggling. Someone was giggling. "You can hear me..." Spinelli mumbled, and then screamed, "You can hear me! I know you can! Let me out of here! Let me out! Face me! You coward, you fucking coward!"

"Pretty...pretty little doll..." came the careful, shaking, childish whisper, "So fragile...so weak...so helpless..."

"What? Doll? What are you talking about?" Spinelli demanded, "Answer me!"

"Made of glass...made of porcelain...so easily shattered..."

"Stop it," Spinelli commanded, screaming uselessly, she gave up, "Let me out...please...please let me out...please leave me alone..." Spinelli sank to the ground, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms about them, hiding her face, whispering, "Teej..."

"So easily broken."

END A/N: So, as one friend escapes the evil mystery lady's clutches, another falls victim. It's gonna get a lot worse for the gang before this is over. Since no one gave me sufficient reason (or any reason for that matter) to change this story back to the "R" rating, it's here at "PG-13" to stay...I think...

hm...there was something else I needed to say...oh yeah! I meant to bring up the death of the janitor in an earlier chapter, but there just didn't seem a right place for it until now. I wasn't going to use Mundy as the janitor, either, but I couldn't think of anyone else...so any Mundy fans out there, please don't hate me or flame me or anything.....

Oh, and those lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from an actual old Folk song entitled Tom Dooley, it's very pretty actually, for a song about a...ahem...hanging.

Oh and, will someone rename this chapter. I went to post it, and didn't even realize that I didn't name it, so I just tossed on the first thing that came to mind. Give me another name for it and if I like it enough, I'll change it to that and credit you in the next chapter. Unless everyone likes the title already...

Now that you've read it, GO REVIEW! I'm accepting anonymous reviews now, thanks to weaslypotter (why didn't you tell me I spelled your s/n incorrectly? I'm soo sorry)...so...GO REVIEW! I feel like I'm cheering...GIVE ME AN R...GIVE ME AN E...GIVE ME A V...ahem...

THAnks for reading...please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. See ya next update!

WHAT DOES THAT SPELL? ...apparently REV! hehe. Okay I'm done.