A/N: Here it is...Drawing Conclusions, chapter 14. No one gave me a better title for chapter 13, or any title for that matter, so it remains the same.
Um...thanks xXxSarahxXx for your loyal review, I love it...I love it...but don't be too confident of anything with my story. I may throw you a curve ball angsty ending...maybe I'll kill one of them off...hm...the possibilities...oh, and YAY! TheNextPoliticalDynasty is back, with reviews for both my chapters, you rock my world so very much. GREATLY appreciated.
Guys, move on to the chapter and ENJOY!
Now to deal with...Cres-can't-spell-my-name-so-I'm-giving-up Moon78, you call that a flame? That was pathetic! It doesn't even sound like you read my story. Were some of the words too big for you? Or was it too long (fyi: the first chapter's only half the size of the rest, ready to give up on reading yet?), or was it too complicated? You disappoint me, I expected better from a "hard" flamer like yourself, why don't you go crawl back under the slimy rock you crawled out from and improve your so-called flaming skill and wait for me to possibly call on you again. That flame held no substance. Telling me I suck? Until you get some of your work off of the "paper" that it's supposedly on and "impress me" with your bad skills, bite your fucking tongue and swallow it while your at it. Unless your chicken, or ain't all your cracked up to be, give me something that'll piss me off, man, not sigh and feel sympathy for your pathetic ass. I'm deleting that piece of shit "hard flame" because it's crap and dissapoints me. And just for the record, you need to freshen up on the definition of a flame, because you don't seem to know. What I wrote Tiny-Rabbit, wasn't a flame, it was a review filled with, say it with me now, CON-STRUC-TIVE CRI-TI-CISM. Flames discourage writers, like your crappy-pathetic-lame-excuse-for-flames (reviews), mine on the other hand encouraged her to keep working on her skill as a true critique should do. Why don't you come back when you have something meaner to say. hm...It'll take you awhile to get to this chapter though and read this message, won't it...oh well. Lots of love and rot in hell.
Chapter 14: Drawing Conclusions
Ashley A. sat on the phone, nodding every now and then, twisting the cord about her finger. She smiled once, frowned a few times, and laughed a bit. Her company watched from the table in awe, trying not to pay too close attention, but unable to peel their eyes away from her mouth, moving rapidly. How could one woman say so much, so fast? Finally, she bade a "good-bye" to the person on the other end with an added "I'll see you soon," and hung up the phone.
"At last!" Vince exclaimed sticking his hand out to her and looking expectantly at the phone. Ashley A. rolled her eyes, but passed it over, stretching the cord a length. Vince limped over to the base, dialing his parents' number.
"I do not want to see the next phone bill for this place..." Theresa muttered from the table.
"I'm going to the hospital," Ashley A. announced, picking up her purse and opening it, digging around for her cell phone.
"How's Ashley T. doing?" Mikey asked. He received a melancholic smile.
"She's got severe burns on her back, legs, hands, and face. The doctors say she could have the scars for the rest of her life," was the saddened answer, "I'm going to meet the other Ashleys there...you know...for support."
"I'm going to the library, to do some research," Gretchen announced, standing up and scavenging the floor for her own purse, "I want to look at some of the original articles on the gym burning down. I didn't follow the story too closely...I want to see what evidence the police found on the arson."
"I shall accompany you. At this point, I don't believe any of us should remain alone," Mikey told her. She nodded approval, slipping her purse strap over her shoulder and leading Mikey to the door.
"I'm fine, mom," Vince was saying on the phone, "No. I don't need dad to come pick me up...have you heard anything on Spinelli? No...okay...I heard...alright. I'll be fine, mom. I'll see you later...I have things to do. Bye, mom. Yeah, I'm sorry. Love you." He hung the phone up and turned to his companions.
"Would you like to go to the library as well, Vince?" Gretchen asked superciliously, obviously knowing the answer already.
"I'm going to go look for Spinelli," Vince told them.
"You're in no shape to do that," Ashley A. pointed out, but didn't argue too long having just found her cell phone and called her driver. "Bruce?" she said into the phone, turning away from them, "Yeah, bring the car around..."
"I'll be fine. I just...I can't sit back and rest knowing Spinelli is out there alone with some psycho hunting us all down," Vince shrugged, moving towards the door.
"I'm coming too," TJ mumbled, picking himself off the table, then gripping it again swaying dizzily, "But I have to stop home and clean up."
"I'm not walking around with you, and I highly doubt that you're on the top of the list of people Spinelli wants to see right now...you're probably the last," Vince protested.
"I don't like it either, Vince, but Mikey's right, we shouldn't be walking around alone. Look what happened to you. You think the attacker's going to just be satisfied with knocking you to the pavement? He or she, or whoever it is, they're looking to finish us off," TJ spat, "Like it or not, I'm coming with you...besides, if I'm last on Spinelli's list of people she wants to see right now, your name is right above mine, second to last."
"Then stay with..." Vince looked confusedly at the brunette woman sitting at the table still, "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"Theresa Griswold, LaMaize was my maiden name," the woman answered, but seeing he still wasn't grasping the concept added dully, "We went to elementary school together...I was two years below you...my dad was in the navy...I used to collect corn chips..." Vince's eyes widened in realization.
"Cornie? Cornie!" he grinned, hugging her tightly, "You look...well, not little...Griswold...you married Gus?"
"You're Cornchip girl? Man, you, like, got fat," Ashley A. spoke up. Theresa frowned at her, resting a hand on her belly. "Oh...Gotta go," Ashley A. turned, seeing the silver Cadillac pulling up. She made her way out of the small diner, leaving the others behind, staring after her in stun.
"I'm staying behind here," Theresa told the others, "I have to open the store. If Gus...he'll come back here..."
"I understand," Gretchen said, nodding.
"I'm going to call the police," Theresa went on.
"You can't do that," Gretchen commanded, "I mean...not yet."
"But..."
"I think the best way you can help us is by calling the others, that signed that pact, make them understand the danger they're in. Mikey, do you have their numbers written down?" Gretchen turned to the taller young man standing beside her.
"They're back behind the counter. Ashley A. will probably speak to the other Ashleys, so all you'll have to do is call Menlo, Francis, and Butch," Mikey explained. Theresa nodded.
"Let's get going, if you have to stop at your house, we can go to the Spinellis' too and talk to Joey," Vince snapped at TJ, "He was the last one to see her before she left there wasn't he?"
"Yeah," TJ muttered, following Vince out the door and not looking too happy at the prospect of seeing Spinelli's brother again.
"To the library then, Mikey? It's quite the distance, so I hope you have your walking shoes on," Gretchen said, turning to him.
"We could always take TJ's car," Mikey returned, pulling the keys from his pocket.
"We'll call you if we find anything," Gretchen said to Theresa, "If you do happen to get a hold of anyone on that list, try to get them to come here to Kelso's, let them know the severity of the matter, if they won't come, at least warn them. We can't afford to mess around anymore."
"Got it," Theresa nodded, hobbling behind the counter and looking over the list while Mikey and Gretchen headed out the door as well.
"Do you think it's a good idea to leave Theresa alone?" Mikey questioned, looking to Gretchen as they climbed in the rental car.
"I don't think Theresa would be a target," Gretchen shrugged, buckling her seatbelt while Mikey started up the car, his own belt firmly in place, "She had nothing to do with what happened."
"I suppose...but should we really take that chance?"
"We have no other options," Gretchen sighed, straightening her glasses, "Can we please proceed to the library in silence, I have a few things I'd prefer to mull over in silence."
"Like Spinelli and TJ?"
"No..."
"Gretchen, please speak to me," Mikey moaned, "TJ has shown me the error of my judgment and I no longer feel any animosity towards you, I would like for you to feel the same."
"Well, I don't," Gretchen snapped, "And I probably won't ever."
"Fine," Mikey whispered in disappointment, turning his full attention to the road.
-0-0-0-0-
TJ slipped into his house silently, leaving Vince behind as he climbed the stairs and headed to the bathroom. If his mom so much as caught a whiff of him, she'd know he'd been drinking and end up getting one hell of an earful. He didn't need that right now. And if she saw him...if would just all be over. That woman had given birth to him and he swore that they never really cut the damn umbilical cord, because she still had some sort of connection to him. She'd know the instant she laid eyes on him that he'd been out last night and slept with someone. It was almost a sixth sense for her. TJ's mom could tell what he'd been up to. Whether it was drinking, fighting, smoking (he learned that in a very painful way the middle of 7th grade), and especially sex. He still recalled walking in the door, the night after his first time with Spinelli, meeting his mom in an almost head-on collision. The first words out of her lips had been, "did you use protection," not "where have you been," or "what did you do," because she apparently already knew all of that. Scared the hell out of him.
The bathroom was empty, which was good for him. He proceeded to wash his face, brush his hair and teeth, and change shirts. He sprayed some of his father's cologne on as an added masque to the alcohol smell, but soon regretted it when he realized how strong and repugnant the cologne itself smelt. With nothing else he could do, he left the bathroom and made his way downstairs again to find that his parents were talking to Vince.
"We're glad you're okay," Mr. Dettwieler was saying, gently patting Vince's shoulder.
"I can't believe that you were mugged...in this quiet town," Mrs. Dettwieler sighed, shaking her head, "Arson, mugging, murders...it's just not the same as when we were kids, honey."
"You'll be good for the game, though, right?" Mr. Dettwieler asked, desperation written on his face. Vince nodded, shooting TJ a 'help me', noticing him on the stairs. TJ sighed, stepping forward.
"Mom, dad?" The Dettwielers both reeled on their son, embracing him.
"TJ, you're alright," Mrs. Dettwieler cried ecstatically, squeezing him tightly, then pulling back, eyeing him suspiciously, and raising an eyebrow. Shit, TJ thought, she knows.
"Son," Mr. Dettwieler greeted, "We were so worried."
"Look, Vince and me have to get going. We've...uh...got things to do," TJ told them.
"Spinelli's missing and you're gallivanting off to who knows where?" Mrs. Dettwieler accused, "My son, the heartbreaker...where have you been all night?"
"Are you wearing my cologne?"
"What? I'm not gallivanting off anywhere..." TJ protested, "I'm going to look for Spinelli...we're going to look for Spinelli." He tried to maneuver past his parents, his mom still eyeballing him angrily, probably recalling the anger of losing her "last chance" at grandchildren.
"TJ...you seem strange...there's something different about you..." Mrs. Dettwieler was saying as TJ grabbed the front door knob.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, mom...hehe..." TJ chuckled nervously, grabbing Vince's arm and throwing the door opening, dragging him outside. TJ stuck his head back in the door briefly, saying, "I'll see you later", before heading back out again and shutting the door gently.
"Alcohol!" TJ heard his mom scream inside the house, "He's been drinking!"
"Let's get out of here," TJ insisted, tugging Vince off. They sprinted away from the house as the door swung back open and Mrs. Dettwieler rushed out, screaming after them.
"Get back her young man! Drinking! I didn't give birth to a drunkard!"
"Sweetie," Mr. Dettwieler whispered, looking about sheepishly, "He's an adult now. He's allowed to have a drink every now and then."
"NOT WHILE I'M STILL ALIVE!"
TJ glanced over his shoulder and he and Vince bounded around the corner and came to a halt on the Spinelli porch, still able to hear Mrs. Dettwieler screeching. The front door opened before they had a chance to ring the doorbell, Bob Spinelli stepping out of the house, saying in confusion, "Now who can that be...?" and nearly running into Vince. He stopped, looking between the panting two boys. "TJ and...Vince?"
"Hey, Mr. Spinelli," Vince greeted, not as out of breath as TJ, though still a bit winded.
"What are you two doing here?" Bob asked.
"We were wondering if we could talk to Joey," TJ finally managed, having steadied his breathing.
"Sure, he's in his room round back," Bob told them, before pushing his way forward to see who was throwing such a fit. "Mrs. D? What are you doing?" TJ motioned for Vince to follow him, knowing exactly where Joey's room was. It didn't take long for Joey to open the door; he seemed to be ready to head out as it was. He gave the two boys a once over before pursing his lips and glancing away in suppressed rage.
"What the hell do you want?" he demanded.
"We wanted to ask about Spinelli," Vince spoke up awkwardly, his voice filled with utmost respect. He was taller than Joey by about a foot and a half, but the smaller man had the look of a killer. He was a short Italian man, evenly tanned, a tattoo on his neck and left forearm, a well-chiseled face pulled into a frown, with the scruff of a day old beard evident on his chin and cheeks. He was frightening to say the least.
"You come around here, asking about my baby sister, after what you fuckers did to her?" Joey spat, looking between the two and focusing in on TJ, "You got some nerve. I let you go Scott-free this morning, and you come back around asking for my sweet, innocent..."
"Cut the crap, Joey," TJ interrupted, "If you want to hit me, go ahead, if not the least you can do is answer our questions. We're just as worried about Spinelli as you." Vince glanced at TJ, obviously impressed, though infuriated as well. He never would have had the guts to stand up to Joey like that and it bit into his ego that TJ, the runt of the group, could. It hurt even more so knowing TJ was doing it for Spinelli, and Vince was still sniveling and cowering before the brutal Italian man even with the safety of the woman he claimed to love on the line. Something went down between TJ and Joey, Vince could tell that much, but as to what it was, he hadn't the slightest idea. He assumed it had to do with TJ breaking up with Spinelli.
"What do you want to know? She came here all upset about you, alright, yelling and screaming," Joey snarled, "Said you broke up with her...said a lot of things I'm sure she didn't mean..." his eyes seemed to flicker with reminiscent grief then regained their fire, "Said it was my fault, and his fault," Joey pointed to Vince, who's eyes narrowed in bafflement, "and her fault. Surprised she didn't blame you, I mean, you are a snake, and after what you did..."
"Just tell us when she left," TJ sighed, eyes downcast.
"She didn't leave...not while I was here. She fell asleep, crying in my arms, does that make you happy?"
"Not in the least," TJ mumbled.
"I came back after I dealt with you and she was gone. I'd put her in my bed, left a note telling her where I was going. She must have found it, it was on the bed when I got back," Joey explained, "She even left her shoes. So wherever she is, she's walking around barefoot."
"She must have gone to Gretchen's house after that," TJ said, "From the way Gretch described her, she was more sedate. Probably calmed down after she slept. Come on, Vince, let's go."
"You punks looking for her?" Joey asked.
"Yeah," TJ answered, "You want to come with us?"
"No. I'm getting some of my friends and cousins together, we're going to search the entire town, it'll be faster that way," Joey spat.
"If we find anything, we'll call your parents," TJ told him. Joey nodded.
"Me and my guys'll find her," Joey shrugged watching Vince and TJ cross the yard and head in the direction of Gretchen's house.
-0-0-0-0-
Gretchen headed immediately to the reference desk as soon as they reached the library, Mikey close at her heels.
"I need all the news articles from fifteen years ago, April 2nd until now," Gretchen stated, staring expectantly at the librarian who looked up at her in surprise.
"Ah...well...um..." the woman stuttered, looking at her computer then at the demanding Gretchen and back down again. "Well, all our newspapers have been moved to microfiche. They'll be in the backroom, that way," she told her, pointing to a door across the library, "You can just go right in and look up what you need in there. It's all catalogued" Gretchen nodded, strutting off with Mikey bounding after her calling a sloppy "thanks" over his shoulder while trying to catch up to the determined young woman.
"Gretchen, what are you looking for?" he inquired, staring over her shoulder as she rummaged through the collection of newspapers printed on the microfiche rolls and properly labelled. She made her way over to one of the large scanners with several of them and placing one of the rolls of film in the scanner. She began searching, the image reflecting in her glasses as she rolled through each article finishing in mere moments before moving on and placing another in. Mikey attempted to get an answer again, "Maybe if you told me what you were looking for..."
"I'm not sure what I'm looking for," Gretchen mumbled in response, flipping nonchalantly through roll after roll. Then coming to a halt, "But it might look something like that," Gretchen began reading as Mikey stuck his head in to get a better look, "School Fire Declared Arson - after much debate over what began the fire at Third Street Elementary Gym, police have finally come to the conclusion of arson. 'The evidence points to an intentional fire,' Chief Gregory announced Saturday, 'Though we believe that it was not meant to burn down the gym.' The police department found clues suggesting the fire began in a nearby dumpster. The arsonist apparently lit some rags on fire using liter fluid, there was a discarded bottle found nearby, and a packet of matches, several burnt ones were found in a pile by the dumpster as well. They were identified as a generic type easily purchased at Merty's Convenience Store and Gas station, sold in bulk. The fire, according to Gregory, must have gotten out of control and caught onto an oil puddle, an overlooked leak, that was beside the gym.
"As to the tale of a child being in the building at the time, the police have declared said rumors to be nothing more than that, rumors. No body has been discovered, as of yet, so fear of any casualty is unfounded at this moment. Though, Gregory does maintain, that it is still a possibility. If any child in attendance of Third Street Elementary is found missing...yatta, yatta, yatta," Gretchen looked up, "Is that it?"
"Were you expecting more?" Mikey asked, staring at her.
"Let's just keep looking, shall we," Gretchen snapped, placing another roll of film into the scanner. Mikey paced the room, watching Gretchen scour the news articles, flicking through them, stopping every now and then to glance over an article mentioning the fire, then, deciding it held no real information, and proceeding to continue with the constant flipping, her eyes moving in rapidly, darting from top to bottom of the screen, amazingly taking in the blurry flash of words and pictures.
"Did they ever find a...well...a body?" Mikey finally ventured, having sat in silence not wanting to break Gretchen's concentration and retrieving rolls of film for her whenever she asked. Gretchen stopped, looking up blinkingly, startled.
"What?"
"I asked if they ever found a body," Mikey restated, "Because...well, the article said that they didn't...so...it's just suspicious is all." Gretchen looked back down at the scanner, flabbergasted, not sure what to say.
"I...well it's never mentioned again," Gretchen attempted to clarify, "But we know that Mary Anna was in the building when it burned, we watched Randall lock the door ourselves. As there was no other exit from the building that we knew of, and Mary Anna was unconscious...and she never reappeared at home...it's only logical to assume that she perished in that fire."
"I suppose..."
"Ah...this is interesting. Nearly three years after the fire, but interesting to say the least," Gretchen muttered, reading the article, "Student Suspect in School Fire - The arson at Third Street Elementary appears to be the job of a young student, perhaps at the elementary school itself or Lincoln Middle School. However, the investigation has been closed due to lack of evidence. There are plans already in motion to rebuild the gym, and construction should be completed by next fall, according to Principle Prickly of the elementary school.
"I didn't know they thought a student at Third Street started the fire," Gretchen murmured, "That can't be possible. Who at Third Street would start a fire?"
"I could think of a few kids," Mikey stated, "Some of which signed that pact."
"You can't think that, Mikey," Gretchen sighed, "No one on that list would have intentionally killed someone, no matter how strongly they disliked her."
"Maybe they didn't do it to kill her," Mikey pressed, "Maybe they wanted to take the prank a step farther, and they pushed it too far...maybe..."
"The fire was started at the dumpster though. You can't even see the dumpster from the gym," Gretchen argued.
"Right...were you looking for anything else?" Mikey attempted changing the subject. He really didn't want to get in a debate with Gretchen, she was better at arguing the point, though he could already see the gears in her head ticking into motion, pondering the very possibilities that Mikey was suggesting.
"I won't know until I've finished looking through all of these."
-0-0-0-0-
Ashley A. stood impatiently tapping her foot, staring down the nurse sitting behind the hospital counter who was talking on the phone with...well her boyfriend from what Ashley A. could figure. Her nametag read Megan.
"Ma'am?" Ashley A. attempted again, "Can I, like, get some help here?"
"Could you hold on, Bobby?" the nurse Megan said in the phone, then turned to the young woman glaring down at her and demanded, "What?"
"My friend is in this hospital, I was hoping to find out what room she was in," was the snide response.
"You'll have to wait while I finish this call," Megan told her, and then turned back to the phone call, giggling at something the man on the other end said. Ashley A. rolled her eyes, leaned forward, snatched the phone from Megan's hand and hung it up. "Hey!"
"Listen here, Nurse Megan! My friend was in a fire; I would like to know if she's all right, and maybe go see her. If you could kindly give me the room number I'll be on my way and you can get back to talking to your boyfriend," Ashley A. snapped, "Unless you'd like me to report you for making personal phone calls."
"You can't do that," Megan hissed, standing up, "I'm calling security..."
"Ashley A.!" a woman cried from behind them. Both women turned, looking to the short black woman running up to them and throwing her arms around the taller blonde haired woman.
"Ashley B.? Where's Ashley T.?"
"Come on, she's down this hall," Ashley B. led her away sending a dirty look Nurse Megan's way. "She's a little bitch, gave me just as much trouble. But that's all right; her boyfriend is, like, so cheating on her. Can you believe this? Someone trying to burn Ashley T. alive, it's like something out of a horror movie, or a crappy story..." They heard the front doors of the hospital slam open and turned. A group of paramedics rushed in, wheeling a white slab into the hospital, a young man lying unconscious atop it, dripping wet.
"He washed up from the lake," one of the paramedics shouted to Megan sitting up now from behind her counter and staring wide-eyed, "He's suffering from minor abrasions and burns. We had to resuscitate him at the lake, he's stable now, but he could have sustained injuries that we aren't aware of."
"There's an empty room down the hall, I'll send the doctor," Megan cried after them as the paramedics pushed their way down the hall, rushing briskly past the stunned Ashleys.
"Gus...?" Ashley A. whispered staring undoubting at the young man pushed past them, "I have to make a phone call, Ashley B." She turned on her heel, rushing back to the front counter and grabbing the phone from Megan.
"What are you...? There are payphones down the hall!" Megan screamed, but Ashley A. had already dialed, and besides, nobody told her what to do.
-0-0-0-0-
Spinelli shuffled through the pictures, her eyes bleary. The taunting had ended, whoever was holding her there was gone as far as she could tell. She'd given up looking for a way out, knowing if she ever found one, it would be locked anyways.
So, Spinelli sorted through the pictures, trembling fingers looking through them, one by one. The snapshots were taken everywhere from the New York apartment Spinelli shared with TJ, all around the city. There were pictures of Spinelli at the gym, in the girls' locker room, sparring, in her home gym, in the bathroom, in public restrooms, shopping, in dressing rooms, in classes, at work! Most of the pictures were defaced; scribbled on our cut up. Though, the ones that bothered her most were the older ones, of her in her old room when she was much younger, one of her making out with TJ at his old house when they were supposed to be studying in, well, it appeared to be the eighth grade. It seemed to be her captor's way of showing that whoever had taken the pictures had been doing so for a long time. The one picture that didn't seem to fit was the one of the doll and the little girl. It disturbed and disgusted Spinelli.
Spinelli picked herself off the ground. She'd never been one to sit around and do nothing. She had to move about, get her muscles in motion. She threw her fist at one of the walls, knocking several pictures to the ground, turned into a round house kick in the empty air and bit her lower lip in frustration and strained pain. Her body was still sore from everything that had happened, from nearly getting hit by that car. She slammed a cross punch into the other wall, bruising her hand and revealing the wall behind the pictures, the hard gnarled wood. Pushing pictures out of the way, Spinelli clawed at the wall behind, hitting it in rapid succession to no avail. She sunk to the ground again, lost, hopeless. How long could she be held here? How long did her captor plan to hold her?
There was still a picture clinging to the wall. Spinelli pulled herself up to examine it. It was a solo picture of TJ, the only one she'd seen. He wasn't dressed, and was lying down, sleeping in a place that Spinelli didn't recognize. The camera was close to him. Whoever took the picture was standing above him. Spinelli pulled the picture down, feeling...something...like scribbles or pen markings on the back of the picture; she flipped it over. The word, that single word, "mine" was written several times, covering the back of the picture in red ink to the point where the repeated words mingled together and Spinelli could hardly tell where one began and another ended.
"You can't have him..." Spinelli whispered. She dropped the picture, looking up and around the room, screaming, "YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! Leave him alone...you can't have him..."
END A/N: Too short...too short...I know...I disappoint myself with it's choppy shortness...sigh...is it getting interesting yet? There's too much story to tell...
I apologize for that little "rant" up above, just settling a score. I'm kind of running an experiment and Crescant Moon78 is my little (disappointing) guinea pig, so to speak, I'm trying to see how stupid she (or is it a he?) really is. So please, don't poke the idiot.
PLEeeeeaaassseeee REVIEW! That's all.
Thanks for reading and excuse any grammatical and typing errors (any grammatical errors probably are typing errors anyways...blech...oh well...GRIN!)
Until next time.