A/N: I have to get to class...I have to get to class...er...I didn't have time to proofread the last bit, but here it is.
THanks to everyone who reviewed, TNPD, RavenForever, and xXxSarahxXx. You all rock.
Dolls, Fires, and Floods, OH MY! ENJOY.
Chapter 18: Revelations
Randall stared blankly at Theresa for a long time. No one said anything. Theresa was clutching her stomach, breathing heavily, and attempting to remember her Lamaze courses.
"Okay, what does that mean?" Randall questioned, obviously confused, but a little frightful as to what it implied.
"She's in labor!" Gretchen cried from where she half-sat, half-lay on the ground.
"What do we do? What do we do?" Mikey chanted, falling to his knees, "I can't handle this!"
"Will you calm down? I'm the one that's going to have a baby," Theresa snapped at him.
"Lay her down on the ground," Gretchen commanded; rubbing the bridge of her nose, "I don't know how to perform childbirth...Let me see if I can remember..." she mumbled, her vision blackening.
"Gretchen?" Mikey called to her, "Gretch...don't leave us...you're the only one who can do this." She slumped to the ground, Randall frowning horrified and Mikey by her side at once. Theresa attempted to squat on the ground but couldn't find a way and cried out with pain. Randall came to her aid, helping lay her down as best he could, shooting Gretchen a concerned glance.
"She breathed in a lot of smoke," Randall told Mikey, "We have to get these two to the hospital." Mikey looked between them then out into the storm.
"One of us has to go get help," Mikey determined. He glanced down at Gretchen and then to Theresa. He cared a great deal for both women; he couldn't leave their sides. Randall glanced out into the storm as well, gulping. Theresa grasped his hand, squeezing tightly and screaming in anguish.
"OW!" Randall cried out in pain, "Let go of my hand, let go of my hand!"
"I'm in labor NOW!" Theresa screamed, but released Randall who fell back clutching his wounded limb to his chest.
"I have a bit of training for a situation like this," Randall told Mikey, gasping, "I have a doctorate in medicine, though my specialty isn't birth...but..." Randall gulped, glancing down at Theresa who was "hee - hee - hee - hoo-ing".
"You have a doctorate in medicine?" Mikey repeated, stunned.
"Yeah, why?" Randall asked, sounding slightly hurt that it seemed so shocking to the larger man.
"No reason," Mikey shook his head, "I'll go get help."
"Out in that storm," Theresa whimpered, grabbing his arm, "Mikey don't go. It's too dangerous."
"It's starting to calm down," Mikey reassured her, "I can handle myself. I'm more worried about you, and this baby," Mikey gently touched her stomach, "Gus will want to see his daughter." He leaned forward, kissing Theresa's sweat drenched cheek. "I'll go as fast as I can." He looked to Gretchen, then to Randall. "Take care of them."
"I will," Randall assured him, "Be careful."
"Mikey," Theresa cried, remembering how Bruce was stuck down so brutally, "Please..." He pushed the hair back from her forehead, smiling reassuringly.
"I'll be alright. Someone has to make sure that you, that baby, and Gretchen are okay," Mikey told her before standing and facing the storm, "I'm going." He ran into the wind, covering his face, the storm drenching him immediately. Randall watched silently, respectfully. Theresa's pained cry from the ground brought him back to reality. He knelt beside, her, taking his pack off and placing it behind her head. He wiped the sweat from his own forehead, looking down at her bewildered and sighing. It was going to be a long night.
-0-0-0-0-
Spinelli awoke to the emptiness of the hospital room. The lights had been shut off and she could hear the soft breathing of someone else in the room. Spinelli pulled herself into a sitting position, looking around. Ashley T. lay in the bed across from her, snoring nasally. To the right of her lay Vince, soundless, his chest rising and falling steadily. Sitting in a chair beside Spinelli was Francis, a newspaper resting atop his chest. He too was asleep. The only person awake in the room was staring at Spinelli with cautious eyes.
"Ashley Q.," Spinelli whispered.
"You should, like, be resting," was the silent reply.
"Where are the other Ashleys?"
"Your friend Gus woke up, they went to see him," Ashley Q. answered, shifting in her chair, "Hospital furniture is, like, so uncomfortable and, like, horribly unfashionable." Spinelli threw back the thin white sheet covering her bare legs. She was wearing one of the hospital gowns; her now only slightly damp clothes were folded on a chair nearby. She blushed, realizing her undergarments were among them.
"Who undressed me?" she demanded.
"Ashley A.," Ashley Q. answered, confused, then understanding Spinelli's embarrassment quickly added, "Don't worry, she like totally kicked the boys out. Though, not that they'd want to watch you get undressed." Spinelli sighed. If only that were true, then maybe she wouldn't be in this mess.
Spinelli slipped out of the bed, rummaging through the folded clothes and feeling Ashley Q. sidle up beside her.
"Like, what are you doing?"
"Getting out of here," Spinelli explained sardonically, though, not that it wasn't obvious. Her lingerie was dry already, but the jeans were still severely soaked and her shirt was still on the damp side. She slipped the panties on first and then looked around the room her eyes falling on Ashley Q. "Gimme your clothes," she told her.
"What? Like, no way," Ashley Q. declined haughtily. Spinelli looked her up and down. She was wearing a powder blue mini-skirt and a short lace white blouse. Not really something Spinelli would wear. She glanced to Francis sleeping silently on the chair. He wasn't wearing the same clothes as before, they were dry for one thing. Loose fitting jeans, a brown vintage style t-shirt. They'd be large on her, and she only ever wore her brothers' or TJ's old clothes. It would feel as though she were breaking some kind of rule. But on the other hand...
"I wonder if he'd notice..." Spinelli mused. If she remembered correctly, Francis was a heavy sleeper.
"Ugh, jeez, Spinelli," Ashley Q. moaned with disgust, "If you're looking for clothes to wear, Francis brought in one of his suitcases. It's sitting over there."
"Huh?" Spinelli glanced at her.
"I mean, like, where did you think he got the change of clothes?" Ashley Q. scoffed, "He wanted to be dry. Vince wouldn't fit in them, he was too tall, but I don't know...you've always had a sort of boyish figure."
Spinelli rolled her eyes. She found the suitcase and tossed it on her abandoned hospital bed, throwing it open. There was another pair of jeans inside as well as a few rolled up t-shirts. She lifted a black one to her nose, sniffed it warily and determined it to be clean. She unrolled the jeans as well, slipping them on. They were baggy, just as she'd figured, and she discarded the hospital gown, buckling her bra back on and slipping on the t-shirt. It too was large on her. She glanced down at it, frowning. The words "Guns and Roses" were printed boldly across the front, with a simple decal design looping and intertwining with the lettering.
"Hell, Frankie," Spinelli muttered, "At least it isn't KISS."
"What? Kiss?" Ashley Q. glanced at her quizzically. Spinelli sighed, holding the pants up with one hand and shuffling to the door. She glanced around the floor.
"Where are my shoes?" Spinelli demanded.
"Where are you going?" Ashley Q. retorted.
"To find TJ," Spinelli replied snidely, "And that asshole that attacked Vince and me."
"Francis said you might try this," Ashley Q. sighed, "Ashley A. promised that we wouldn't let you leave."
"Are you going to stop me?" Spinelli questioned threateningly.
"No," Ashley Q. replied unhesitant and received an odd look from Spinelli, "I didn't promise him," she explained, "But I think I should go with you."
"You'll only slow me down, now where are my shoes?" Spinelli said, as a wave of drowsiness flowed over her. She gripped the door for support.
"I'll slow you down?" Ashley Q. snorted.
"Fine," Spinelli hissed, "You can come if you want. Now, where are my shoes?"
"They're over there, on the other side of the bed. I'll get them," Ashley Q. sighed, crossing the room and picking up the black tennis shoes. She handed them over and waited for Spinelli to slip them on. Then they made they're way out of the room, walking down the hall.
"When did Gus wake up?" Spinelli asked.
"Oh, a little while ago," Ashley Q. answered, "You were really dating TJ Dettwieler?"
"Why?" Spinelli spat, glowering at her.
"It's just...well...he's not horrible looking, that's why," Ashley Q. shrugged.
"Ashley Q.?"
"What?"
"Do you have a...well...a crush on TJ?"
"Shut up."
"You started the conversation." They were silent.
"Is he a good kisser?"
Spinelli stopped, clutching the wall, nausea swimming across her eyes. Something was wrong. She laid her head against the cool plaster of the hospital wall, closing her eyes, trying to focus. She'd never felt so sick before. The last time she'd felt so seriously ill, TJ was beside her the entire time, waiting on her hand and foot despite her protests. He refused to let her walk anywhere, carrying her through their apartment, though he could barely lift her. She was all muscle and he...well; he wasn't the strongest man in the world. Spinelli smiled. She loved how sweet he could be. We're not right for each other. Her eyes snapped open. She hated what a jerk he could be.
"Ma'am, are you alright?" a masculine voice questioned her. She saw Ashley Q. smile at the speaker and swoon slightly. Why did that voice sound familiar? She turned, leaning against the wall, her eyes rolling onto the intruder.
"Jocko?" she questioned, eyes narrowing in confusion. Why was he here? She should know this one...
"Ashley," he greeted, grinning, and slipping his well-muscled arms about her waist, "You look...well...not your usual beautiful self, but you sure are a good sight to see."
"Ashley?" Ashley Q. hissed in question.
"Shut up," Spinelli hissed back, and then smiling to Jocko, "What are you doing here?"
"Refuge and this," he pointed to a small cut on his forehead that was carefully cleaned. He smiled down at her, "And you?"
"I'm being held against my will by pain in the ass friends," she replied, "And this bitch," Spinelli motioned to Ashley Q. who shot her an indignant glare. Jocko glanced at her then turned his attention back to Spinelli.
"And your lum...er...boyfriend?" Spinelli lowered her eyes. "What's wrong?" Jocko asked, though not sounding too genuinely concerned.
"They broke up," Ashley Q. spoke up, determined to be a part of the conversation.
"Oh," Jocko sighed, feigning heartbreak while trying to mask his obvious joy at the news, "Did you finally realize that he wasn't good enough for you? Really, Ashley, you shouldn't be so sad about losing such a lump of a man. You can have any guy you want, and yet you stay beside him. I didn't quite understand it, but..." Spinelli's eyes flared.
"What did you say?" she demanded.
"Uh...which part? Him being a lump of a man or the part that you could have any man you wanted?" She shook her head.
"The part where you said he wasn't good enough for me," Spinelli scowled.
"Oh, well, I don't claim to understand your relationship, but I doubted you could love someone as pathetic as..."
"Jocko," Spinelli sneered, "You don't know shit about me or about TJ. I loved him. I still love him."
"Why?" Jocko demanded, "Explain it to me. You could have any man. Hun...you could even possibly have me. He's small, tiny, unkempt..."
"Yes, he is, and I love him," Spinelli told him, her voice quavering on the edge of a shout, "I love him for all of those things and for everything that he is! He is everything to me, and you can never understand it! I love him because he's not some muscle head jerk from the gym, not cause he can kick any guy's ass, because he can't and he wouldn't, because that's not how TJ is. I love him because he's soft and warm and because he knows what to say to make me laugh, because he gets me. He knows everything about me and he loves everything about me."
"A messy haired, freckle-faced..." Jocko tried to reason. He had the look of someone who'd never been rejected before or even thought it was possible.
"I love his messy hair and every single one of his freckles, all 46! Yes, I counted! I've counted several times. And I love that he's not perfect and that he's not strong. I love that he gets this crazy look in his eyes sometimes and I almost imagine that he's going to be the same TJ Dettwieler that I met in kindergarten and led me on so many crazy adventures! And I love that when he smiles, it's kind of a crooked grin and you can almost see that he's planning something. And I love that he's stubborn and sometimes acts like a wimp, because he knows when to fight for what he believes in and when to stand up for himself. And I will always love him..." Spinelli screamed, seeming only slightly crazy, "Because I love him! And you know what," she sighed, her voice faltering, lowering in tone, calm and steady, "He's not a lump. He's the man I love. You're the lump." She turned from Jocko, shakily making her way down the hall again, Ashley Q. following, glancing back every so often a little confused at what had just transpired. Jocko seemed stunned a moment then finally found his voice.
"It's a pity that they canceled the tournament," he finally called after her, "It would have been interesting to see which of us would have won." Spinelli paused, sighing. They'd canceled the tournament, the reason she'd had to come back to that godforsaken town. The very reason she'd had to go back and face her past wasn't going to happen anymore. She continued. Whelp, time to make someone pay dearly, she told herself, pushing forward.
"Excuse me, ma'am," the nurse whose nametag read Megan called to Spinelli from behind the counter, "You can't leave. The whole place, outside, it's like, flooded. Only emergency vehicle personal can leave the building."
"I have things to do," Spinelli said, glowering in the nurse's direction. Megan raised an eyebrow at her, studying the determined young woman wearing oversized men's clothes.
"I think I had dance lessons with you," she said bemused, staring at Spinelli with a casual observer's eye, "Yeah, I think we did."
"Great," Spinelli told her, "Now if you don't mind, I'm leaving." Spinelli made her way to the front door when it burst open, a large recognizable young man bursting in, followed by men dressed in uniforms for the National Guard.
"I need help," he cried, "At the library, there are people...my friends..."
"Mikey?" Spinelli called. He looked to her.
"Oh, the wondrous powers of the world must be on our side today," Mikey cried, "Dear sweet child, Spinelli, is that you?"
"Oh brother," Ashley Q. muttered, "Is that Blumberg."
"Ashley Q.," Mikey greeted, thrusting his arms around both young women, who struggled against his soaked form.
"You said you needed help?" A paramedic stepped forward.
"Yes," Mikey shouted, remembering his purpose and looking about wildly, "At the library...I had to leave them behind. To get help. My friend, Gretchen, the library was on fire, and she breathed in the poisonous black vapors...and Randall - well, he's actually fine. But Theresa! Oh, dear Theresa is on the brink of childbirth..."
"Randall?" Spinelli questioned, then shaking her head, "Who's Theresa?"
"Theresa Griswold," Mikey explained, "Gus's wife whom we formerly knew as Cornchip Girl."
"Theresa LaMaize-Griswold?" One of the national guards questioned, perking up at the name.
"Yes," Mikey confirmed, sighing dramatically, "Oh, I weep for their safety!"
"You heard the man, boys," the guard said, his voice taking a commanding tone, "Officer Theresa LaMaize-Griswold is in danger and in the midst of labor. Ready the rafts, we're on a rescue mission for one of the best damn officers ever to serve our government."
"But I thought she was in the navy," Mikey mumbled in confusion.
"Says a lot about how good she was if other military branches are talking about her," Spinelli put in, clutching the front counter, she looked to Mikey, "Theresa LaMaize-Griswold?"
"Yes, Gus's wife," Mikey repeated exasperated, "I'm riding with you," he called after the uniformed men who rushed from the hospital. He turned to Spinelli, giving her a once over, "What happened?"
"TJ's gone," she explained.
"Gone?"
"Taken."
"Oh, that's not good," Mikey scrunched his nose.
"What?" both the women asked in unison.
"We found a tie to the old boathouse...but the lake probably flooded...what if...what if that's where TJ is?"
"I'm getting out of here," Spinelli said determinedly, making her way out the door.
"Ride with us," Mikey told her, "We'll stop at the boathouse." Spinelli nodded.
"The storm is dying down," Megan called after them, "That's what it says on the radio."
"I'll go tell them where you're going," Ashley Q. volunteered, already heading back to the room. Spinelli smirked at her retreating form. She had probably been hoping Spinelli would back out of the idea of rushing out into the storm all along.
"Let's go," Mikey said. He and Spinelli pushed to the outside following the officers to where they were inflating the life raft.
-0-0-0-0-
Gus lay in the bed staring at the ceiling; he'd been sitting with Ashley A. for nearly ten minutes and he couldn't think of what to say. His mind kept wandering to his love, his life, his Theresa.
"Gus, what happened?" Ashley A. attempted to get his attention again. He looked like hell, frankly put. There was a burn mark across his cheek, and, as well, he was covered in scars and bruises. His eyes, the doctor had said, seemed dilated. That was why he couldn't see anything. With or without glasses, he was blind. The Doctor, however, couldn't determine why he was blind or how long it would last, or even if it was temporary at all.
"I can't..." he mumbled.
"Gus, it's just you and me. Ashley B. is waiting outside. I know everything that's been going on," Ashley A. pressed, "Please, tell me what happened. There's a reason I'm here, right, to listen to what you have to say and pass it on to everyone else?"
"No..."
"Gus, please tell me." He squirmed in the bed, assuming an almost child-like position, pouting.
"Can't..."
"Gus, listen to me. Theresa, your wife, she's fine and worried about you. TJ is gone, taken. And everyone else..."
"TJ..." Gus interrupted, "She took TJ."
"Who? Who took TJ?" Ashley A. demanded, sitting up in her chair.
"She did..."
"Mary Anna?"
"No...not Mary Anna. The doll, the broken doll," Gus's voice broke into a sob, "But the doll...it's broken. It's dead. Not a doll anymore. She's not the doll anymore."
"What?" Ashley A.'s brow furrowed in confusion, "You're not making any sense. Gus, calm down, try and explain it to me again."
"She wants him. She wants...she'll do anything to get what she wants," Gus whimpered.
"What does she want? Who's him? Who does she want?"
"She wants suffering. She wants to break...the doll?" Gus closed his eyes, his face creasing with concentration as he tried to sort through everything, "She wants to be...she wants him!"
"Who is him?" Ashley A. cried out in frustration.
"TJ."
"She wants TJ? Why?"
"Because...he didn't break the doll," Gus reasoned, saying the words as though they made perfect sense. Ashley A. massaged her temples, sighing. Why wasn't he making any sense?
"Gus, what about the letters? What about the notes?" Ashley A. demanded.
"It's all a game," he whispered, "They are nothing. Words within words."
"Will you stop speaking in riddles and make some damn sense!" Ashley A. cried in disgust. If someone else were here, they probably could make him sense of everything he was saying. Gretchen could, right? But no one else was there. It was her and him and she had to figure out the puzzle.
"Do you know how to swim?" he asked suddenly. She raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, why?"
"It won't save you. It won't save me. There are some fires that water can't put out," Gus turned his head from her so that she couldn't read his emotions.
"Save us from what?" she dared to ask.
"The fire," he stated as though it should have been clear from his ramblings.
"The doctor said that you'd told him you knew what she was planning, that you knew what she wanted," Ashley A. pushed on, trying to regain control of the conversation, "What is she planning?"
"She plans nothing," he replied simply, "She just re-ignites the fires. They've been burning all along."
"What?"
"She wants to save him, save him from himself, save him from us," Gus went on, dampening his lips with an errant lick, "But who'll save him from the fire? Who'll save us from the fire? Oh god," Gus's voice broke into horrible screams and cries, "Theresa! I need to...for Theresa!"
"Gus, stop it!" Ashley A. commanded him futilely, "Please, stop it!" Tears formed in her own eyes, trailing down her cheeks, "Please..."
"The fires won't stop burning," Gus moaned, "She wants me to see but I can't see!"
"Tell me who she is, tell me what she wants!" Ashley A. begged.
"TJ knows. He knows who she is, he knows what she wants," Gus blubbered, "He's known all along." And then, the lights went out.
-0-0-0-0-
TJ slumped to the bed, staring blankly at the wall. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He closed his eyes but the image stayed as though inscribed on the back of his lids. He opened his eyes again, narrowing his eyes at one picture in particular. He lifted himself up. It was one of Spinelli. The only one that seemed to just be of her. He took the picture with trembling fingers. Spinelli was standing in the bathroom of their New York apartment. She wasn't wearing a shirt, was reaching for something, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, toothpaste trailing down her chin. But that wasn't what caught his attention. It was the mirror, in front of her, that reflected what was behind her. A face, someone holding a camera. TJ felt his breathing come in sharply. The memories seemed to flood back to him.
The school. TJ had stood face to face with her at the school, but something had happened. Someone had hit him from behind. He rubbed the back of his head, recalling the pain, feeling the bump that it had left. Even going back to that morning, the night before. Looking up, he'd seen her. She'd stood over him, smiling down, clutching a purse, her hair falling into her face. She took his arm, helped him up, led him to the boathouse. She'd kissed his lips as he had struggled to figure out who she was. She'd said those things to him. I can be her if you want, I can be better than her. Going so far back as to those brown eyes that he'd seen before, that simple figure. Hands brushing in a simple exchange, eyes meeting, smile flashing. Skin touching skin and the smell of ashen burning. A doll. A perfect, beautiful, haunting doll.
Giggling. TJ had heard giggling. A childish smile. Why hadn't he seen it before? He closed his eyes. A doll. It had been there, right in front of him, the whole time. He'd known all along. He stepped forward, heard a small splash, and looked down to his feet. The floor was wet. Why was the floor wet? TJ strained his ears. There was the sound of thrashing outside. He knew that sound. Storming, it was storming. He was at the boathouse. His eyes widened in realization. Flooding. The lake was flooding and he was right next to it. TJ made his way to the door, pounding on it, jiggling the handle. It wouldn't budge. He leaned against the door, clutching the picture of Spinelli in his hand. "I'm sorry," he said to the picture, "I screwed everything up. I'm so...so very sorry."
The lake had flooded before, TJ recalled. They'd had to empty out the boathouse. It too had flooded.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, closing his eyes, burying his face. The boathouse was flooding fast now, and TJ had to stand up. The water was already up to his waist. He lifted the picture up, studied it, and studied the woman he already knew so well. He hadn't been able to tell her what he'd done. Her brother would do it; he would gladly step forward to do it. TJ couldn't have her mourning a lie. He heard the sound of something pounding against the roof of the boathouse. TJ looked up to the ceiling trying to hold his footing in the rising water. There was a vent up near the ceiling. How'd he miss that? TJ pushed his way through the water to the other side of the room, running into something floating. A dead bird?
TJ felt along the crevice between the wall and the vent cover. He'd had a great deal of experience with vents when he was a child, so he could feel with his fingers where to pull and prod until the vent popped off. He stepped back as a small stream of water trickled down, probably having gathered from the rain. He examined the hole. Too small.
TJ fell back into the water, crestfallen. It was his last hope and he was too large. If he'd still been a ten-year-old boy...well, he probably wouldn't have gotten himself in that mess in the first place. He'd been so much more resilient as a child. The water was up to his chest now and all of hope seemed to be washing away with the rising flood. He heard the roof creak again, closed his eyes and saw the splintering. He had fast reactions, shielding his face with his arms, ducking slightly into the water. The entire roof collapsed in on him, a wood beam slamming into his head, sharp wood chips berated down atop him, imbedding in his arms and any other exposed flesh. He sunk into the water, dizziness overcoming him, and what was once clear liquid suddenly filled with red puffs of blood. He forced his head above the water again, Polaroid pictures floating about him, and clutched the side of the boathouse to hold himself still. Blood poured into his eyes, and he ran the back of his arm across them, and grimaced. He could feel a gash across his forehead were the crimson red oozed out. He felt sick. The roof was gone now and water began pouring in from where the ceiling had once been, bucketing in like a waterfall, or raining down on top of him from the sky.
TJ concentrated on staying at the surface of the water, trying to float to the top and out the new opening in the ceiling. He felt the strength of the current pulling at him, something sharp slam into him from beneath the water, pulling him under. The only thought in his mind as he sank beneath the current and was ripped from the boathouse was Spinelli.
END A/N: Okay. I have to go. So I hoped you liked this chapter. Um...yup...hehe...lot's of cryptic-ness. Did anyone get what Gus was trying to say, cause I didn't.
THANKS for reading. Please REVIEW and please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.
See ya.