A/N: Right. It didn't take me that long, did it? Hm...there's some things I have to take care of. Okay...uh...oh yes, the Guns and Roses & KISS T-shirts...those jokes are for me, and you can laugh at them too if you want. I didn't mean anything by the "at least it isn't a kiss shirt", I love KISS, as much as a non-rabid fan can. Yes..."I want to rock and roll all night, and party every day!" heh...I probably just lost all the people reading this story that were classic rock fans sitting with their KISS make-up and Gene Simmons shirts on...I don't think anyone like that is reading my story...hehe...alright, and things are getting weirder. I'm starting to lose faith that I have any idea as to what I'm writing. I just...it feels as though I'm taken over, my body is possessed, and I sit for hours at a time writting in a heated passion and when I'm finished I sit back, read over it and say, 'I wrote this crap?'...no, I'm joking. I think I'm getting on peoples' nerves constantly insisting that my writing is crap. I'm just not easy to please. Um...okay...

Thanks to those who reviewed.

TNPD: I noticed you updated your own story, kudos! Late for class again?

xXxSarahxXx: Okay, breathe. Yes, TJ got out of the boathouse, but is that really safer? And...I noticed someone hasn't read the sequel to One Night Stand yet...unless you didn't sign your review...

RavenForever: You get to find out if you were right. Isn't it exciting. Well, not really. Things are gonna get a lot weirder and a great deal more confusing.

DarkAngelGaudianLight (yay, first time reviewer!): Very interesting theory...very interesting. I can't tell you if it's correct, though I did write a story like that once during my Edgar Allen Poe stage...

goofymonkeychild(yay, she's back! for how long though...): Sorry about all that cryptic-ness...hehe...I didn't really expect anyone to understand it yet...I mean, hell, I don't even understand it yet...er...I mean....yes, I do...shifty eyes...I should have known you'd catch all that symbolism.

So many reviewers last chapter...makes me soooo happy!

Oh, yeah. I'm not sure if they'd call in the National Guard for, even such a large scale disaster, but it made sense in my head when I wrote the last chapter. Yup.

More cryptic-ness! YAY. ENJOY!

Chapter 19: And the Clouds Disperse

Ashley Q. sat up in the chair she'd staked her claim on before the lights went out; her heart was fluttering in her chest. She tried to stumble across the room to reach the light switch, thinking that maybe, somehow, if she flicked the switch the lights would return. She stumbled over a discarded suitcase, tripped off course, and fell on top of a very soft and unhappy form.

"Oof," Francis cried out, "Jeez...get off me!"

"Sorry," Ashley Q. mumbled, stepping back, only to trip over something else. She stood wind milling before Francis grabbed her, holding her steady.

"What happened to the lights?" he demanded.

"They just...like, went out," Ashley Q. explained, gripping tightly to him.

"Okay. Is everyone okay?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yeah. Vince and Ashley T. are still sleeping, and Spinelli left with..."

"What? She left? I thought you were gonna keep her here," Francis cried.

"Well...I mean. She went with Mikey, I thought it would be okay." Francis's eyes trailed to the chair.

"Her clothes are still here. Please tell me she's not running around naked," his tone suggested to Ashley Q. that he wouldn't put it past Spinelli to pull such a stunt.

"No, she stole some of your clothes. Some black shirt that said something about roses and a gun..."

"She took my Guns and Roses shirt? Out in that storm? Damn..."

"At least it's not a kiss shirt..." Ashley Q. attempted, smiling wryly and not quite sure what the hell she was talking about. Francis just gave her an odd look and shrugged it off, making his way to the door slowly and carefully so as not to trip. He jiggled the knob.

"Why's it locked?" he asked, turning to look at Ashley Q., though neither could see the other.

"It's locked?"
"That would be why I can't open it."

"Why are you getting angry at me?"

"I don't know! You were supposed to be watching things!"

"Do these...do these doors even lock?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"I don't know! It's a hospital, why would the patient doors lock! You're the one..."

"Shhh..." Francis interrupted, clamping a hand over her mouth, "Did you hear that?" They strained their ears, listening. Something...something metallic? It sounded as though it were dragging against the wall. Whatever it was, it was in the room with them. Ashley Q. pulled from Francis's grasp.

"Who's there?" she whispered into the darkness. No answer.

"Ashley Q..." a whisper came beside her ear. She jumped, giving a little squeal, Francis chuckling beside her. She slapped his arm.

"Don't do that," she hissed at him.

"Jeez, it's just us in here," he told her, still laughing, "I'm gonna go wake Vince up."

Ashley Q. shook her head, watching as Francis's chuckling figure stumbled its way over to Vince. She didn't have time to call out to him when she saw the other figure move through the darkness, but she screamed quite loudly when she watched some foreign object plunge into Francis's side. She saw Vince sit up halfway, shaken to wakefulness and give a muffled cry as the dark figure lunged an attack at him. He was fast enough to block, his reactions coming back to him after the short rest. He knocked the attacker's weapon from his or her hand and threw the attacker back a few steps. The door behind Ashley Q. slammed open and she gave a startled cry turning from the scene before her to the nurse who had just walked in holding a flashlight and two unlit candles. Ashley Q. spun around again hoping to catch a glance at the attacker, but no one was there. Vince was clutching his head and Francis knelt to the floor, clutching his side as a growing dark spot seeped through his shirt.

"Is everything...alright in here?" the nurse asked, looking from Ashley Q. gaping at her, to Vince lying on the bed disoriented, to Francis bleeding on the floor. Ashley T. was gone.

"Someone was in here," Ashley Q. cried, "And this door was locked."

"You must be mistaken," the nurse told her, trying to calm her down, "These doors don't lock, and this is the only exit. I didn't see anyone leave this room." The nurse narrowed her eyes at Francis. There was a discarded knife beside him covered in blood, "He needs medical attention. Not one of you leaves this room." The nurse set up the candles, lighting them, then left in search of the doctor while Ashley Q. and Vince helped set Francis in a chair.

"Does it hurt?" Ashley Q. asked, not sure if her concern was correctly placed.

"What do you think?" Francis snapped, he looked to Vince, "She let Spinelli leave."

"Spinelli's gone?" Vince asked.

"So's Ashley T., I don't see either of you worried about her," Ashley Q. hissed, "At least we know where Spinelli went. She left with Mikey."

"What? Mikey? Where is he?" Vince questioned, "He was here? What did he say?" Ashley Q. rolled her eyes. Now they wanted to know the information she had? Men.

"He said something about...mm...the library being on fire and Gretchen being in it..." Vince's eyes went wide.

"What? Gretchen's in a fire!"

"No...wait, that's wrong. The library was on fire; it's not anymore. Um...Gretchen breathed in...something poisonous?"

"What? What did she breathe in?" Vince demanded, exasperated. People he once cared about deeply were in trouble and he had to rely on an Ashley to decipher the message!

"Black vapor...?"

"Must mean smoke," Francis put in, grimacing from the chair. He didn't appear to be too badly cut, just a slice in his side, no actual puncturing, but it was deep and the bleeding didn't look as though it would stop anytime soon.

"Yeah, that must be it," Ashley Q. nodded, hoping she was getting back on his good side, "And...something about Gus's wife."

"Theresa," Vince nodded knowingly, "Is she alright?"

"He said...I think he meant that she was giving birth."

"Theresa's in labor!" Vince cried in shock, "Oh man..."

"And Randall!" Ashley Q. cried.

"Randall?" Both men said in unison.

"Mikey said he was fine. You don't think he meant Randall...um...that little snitch, right?"

"So is that it?" Vince asked her.

"Yeah...I think so..."

"Good, I don't think I can handle anymore..."

"No wait, there was something about TJ," Ashley Q. broke in. Vince looked away. TJ. He'd abandoned him to that psycho. Albeit, TJ had told him to, but still...it wasn't the first time he'd left TJ that way. Why did he feel so guilty? They weren't friends. He hates TJ! Right? Right.

"What? What was there about TJ?" Francis pressed, the anticipation driving him crazy.

"Um...Mikey mentioned the boathouse, and said there was a chance TJ was there," she explained.

"The boathouse?" Vince choked out, "In this rain...the boathouse would be..."

"Long since gone?" Francis filled in the blank for him, staring blankly. Vince fell slightly to his knees overcome with grief.

"You don't think..." he mumbled.

"Dettwieler can handle himself," Francis whispered reassuringly, "He'll be fine."

"But if he dies..." Vince choked out, "He'll die with us hating each other..."

"What does that matter?" Ashley Q. prodded.

"I don't know...somehow...it just seems important now and every little petty thing that drove us apart seems so...so...miniscule," Vince whispered, "I never thought that there'd be a possibility...him gone..."

"He's not gone," Francis snapped, "Stop saying that!" He turned to Ashley Q., there was a more pressing matter to deal with, "When the lights turned off, Ashley T. was here?"

"Yeah, of course," Ashley Q. nodded.

"Then we can only assume that she's now in the clutches of our stalker," Francis surmised, looking to the bed Ashley T. had rested upon. He narrowed his eyes at it causing Ashley Q. and Vince to turn as well. Red. Red stains. Ashley Q. lifted herself up, walking to the bed. She pulled back the sheet and promptly screamed. Birds. Dead birds. Mutilated, battered, feathers broken, pooling blood soaking through the prim white sheets, dribbling on the floor.

"Oh my god," Ashley Q. breathed. Trembling fingers lowered to the bed, lifting a small Polaroid snapshot. "Ashley T.," she whispered. Vince was at her side, taking the picture from her fingers carefully, he stared at it briefly, handed it over to Francis with a shudder of disgust. Francis looked it over. It was a picture of a porcelain doll, stained with mud and dirt, face bashed in. She had messy brown curls; some singed, and was wearing a green outfit not unlike the one Ashley T. had worn often as a child at Third Street Elementary. Ashley Q. swooned and Vince and Francis dove for her. Francis found himself kneeling painfully on the ground again and Vince was clutching the limp young woman's form. Both men sighed with relief.

"What do you think this means?" Francis asked.

"I don't know," Vince shrugged, "It could mean anything."

"Or nothing at all," came a whisper at the door. Both men looked up. Ashley A. stood there with the doctor; his hand lay gently on her shoulder. She was frowning at Vince. "Like, what are you doing with Ashley Q.?" she asked. Vince blushed, laying the unconscious brunette to the ground gently and backing away. The doctor crossed over to Francis to tend to his wounds and Ashley A. slipped over next to Vince and Ashley Q.

"How's Gus?" Vince whispered to her.

"Not good," she replied, "Physically and mentally. Ashley B.'s with him along with a nurse. I had to come here to tell you guys what he said."

"We've got more important things to deal with," Vince told her, eyeing the bed and reaching a hand over to pull the sheets back over the dead birds. They didn't need questions from the doctor at that moment.

"Oh no," Ashley A. assured him, "You need to hear this."

"It's nothing serious, you'll be fine. Now how did you do this?" they heard the doctor saying to Francis.

"I tripped when the lights went out," was the explanation.

"Alright. I'm going to have a look at your friend over there, the pretty young woman," the doctor told him, patting Francis's shoulder and sidling up to Ashley Q.'s side. After a moment, he stood again, "I'll go fetch some smelling salts."

"That's alright," Ashley A. told him, "She, like, totally hates those things. She wouldn't want you to. She'll wake up soon, so long as she didn't, like, bump her head or anything, she's fine. She does this all the time."

"All the time?" the doctor raised an eyebrow, "She may have a serious medical condition."

"I'll take care of her," Ashley A. pressed on, "You have other patients to tend to." The doctor was skeptical but finally gave in, leaving the room with an odd glance to the empty bed Ashley T. had once occupied. As though on cue, Ashley Q. shifted to wakefulness.

"What happened?" she asked groggily, "Ashley A., what are you doing here?"

"I have news. It's about what Gus had to say, you all have to know this..." Ashley A. looked between the three staring at her expectantly. She did like being the center of attention, but this was a serious matter and they would have questions that she couldn't answer. Oh well, she sighed, time to relay exactly what Gus had told her.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ gasped for air, fighting to pull his head above the floodwater. It was thick with dirt, and the current was strong, pulling him away from the boathouse. He couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet, but that was to be expected. He was near the lake, the lowest point in town. No matter his strength, or even any swimming ability he might have had, he was nothing more than a rag doll helpless against the tug of the water. It pulled him in whatever direction it went and it was futile to fight it. He felt himself slam against the leafiness of a tree, cradled against the trunk, pulled under the water again. In the murky dark of the under water, he couldn't even hope to see. He felt something slam against him, knocking the air from his lungs as well as a great deal of deep red blood puffing from his mouth into the water, a great red puff of smoke. He was pinned, struggling with the sharp metal that held him hostage beneath the surface of the raging flood.

The battle was useless. TJ weakly tugged at the large object, he assumed was a lawnmower or some other small vehicle. It wouldn't budge. He closed his eyes. Teej. Spinelli. He had to get out of this for her. TJ shook his head. No. It was probably better this way. If he died now then he wouldn't cause her any more pain. His lungs were burning for air, his mouth opened, gulping in the dirty water. It wasn't what his throat thirsted for. He could still feel that woman's lips against his own. That moment of drunken passion still burned against his skin. It still disgusted him, the idea of being with anyone other than Spinelli.

Spinelli. TJ had never even imagined what love could have been without Spinelli there. He recalled their first kiss behind the dumpsters at Third Street Elementary. He'd been just a young boy, but there was something special about it even then, that his first kiss was with his best friend, soon to be realized as the love of his life, the woman he had seen an entire future, a family, a lifetime with. But that was gone now, those dreams, those fanciful fantasies; they were fading. They weren't as clear, as truthful, as possible as they had once been. Things weren't supposed to go this way. He remembered his first time with her. Touching gently, exploring, tenderly searching the depths of one another. They were just children. But something had overcome them that night, this knowledge, that they were soul mates, made for one another. They completed one another in a way that no one else ever could. That it was just...right.

If I die, TJ prayed silently, not certain any greater being would listen to him, I want her to be okay. I want her to...I want her to find someone better for her...I want her to know the truth about me. I want her to know what I've done; maybe...maybe...it'll make things easier on her. And I want her to know...that I love her...that I'll always love her...

TJ felt as though he were ready to burst. It was unbearable. Darkness was filling his eyes. He gasped for breath, for the sweet taste of air, but only found the musty taste of sullied lake water. He forced his fading mind to think of Spinelli, of everything about her, of every moment he'd had with her. It was over...he could feel that it was over...

-0-0-0-0-

Mikey braced himself against the wind and torrents of rain. He glanced at Spinelli, huddled in the corner of the raft, a windbreaker wrapped tightly about her small frame. There were three other men in the boat. Two officers of the National Guard, and a paramedic. They were well equipped as well, with a radio and medical supplies. The paramedic's nametag read Phil. He kept glancing at Mikey curiously.

"This is where the boathouse should be," one of the officers called over to Mikey, "It's probably underneath all the water. I wouldn't worry about it though, this isn't the first flood it's been in."

"It's not the boathouse I'm worried about," Mikey muttered, looking to Spinelli. She'd stood up on her knees, was scanning the water top for...for something...anything.

"There's no one around here, the Rescue Squad reported that they'd already been by," the other officer called, sitting near the radio, "We have to get moving to the library."

"No," Spinelli commanded, shielding her face from the wind and dipping her hand in the water, retrieving something floating on the surface. A small soaked piece of paper; from the size, most likely a snapshot. She stared at it for a moment.

"What is that?" Mikey asked, not certain she'd heard him through the roaring wind. She held it up for him to see. It was a blurred picture, ruined by the saturation, but most definitely of TJ.

"We have to get moving," the officer said. Spinelli stared out, narrowing her eyes, transfixed on something in the distance. They were moving again.

"He's out there," Spinelli cried, "I know he is." The officer stopped, looked at her with biting concern, then to Mikey.

"There's no one in sight," the officer tried to tell her.

"No," she told him, focusing on one spot beneath the water, "Turn this damn boat around."

"We can't, there's a woman in labor right now," the officer attempted, "We can't turn back because of one woman's 'intuition'."

"This isn't intuition," she snapped at the officer, turning her glare on him, "It's my heart. He's fading...and if you won't turn this damn raft around then I'm getting off..." She stood up and, shaking the entire raft and tossing her shoes and jacket aside, dove into the water before anyone could even form a protest. Mikey was over to the side fastest, staring over the edge into the murky water. He saw Spinelli's head poke up to the surface a few feet away, and she began swimming purposefully in one direction. Luckily for her the current was on her side.

"Turn the boat around," the officer yelled at his friend, "She'll drown out there."

"Wait," Mikey commanded them. He saw Spinelli, as though she had reached her destination, go under the water, return to the surface, go under again, return to the surface, and one final time dive under. When she returned to the surface, she held a form in her arms, and was struggling to stay above the water.

"She's got someone!" one of the officers cried, turning the boat in Spinelli's direction.

"Oh dear sweet..." Mikey mumbled.

"She always like this?" one of the officer's chuckled to Mikey, "'Cause I think I'm in love."

"That's the last thing she needs right now," Mikey told the officer in all seriousness, "Someone else in love with her." They towed the limp form into the boat first and then Spinelli.

"You could have drowned out there," the officer told her, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"He's not breathing," Phil told them, already beside the cold form. TJ was soaked, bleeding, and unmoving. He was pale, and sickly gray. Phil bent beside him, beginning to administer CPR, leaning TJ's head back. Spinelli stood by a moment, watching as Phil pumped TJ's chest, counting beneath his breath.

"No..." she whispered. Phil continued, but TJ wasn't reacting. "No," she whispered again, "Please..." she moved forward and Mikey grabbed her, the officers blocking her path, "TJ!" she cried, "I need to..." she begged, struggling against the three men, watching as Phil shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "TJ! He has to be okay...he has to be," she cried, burying herself in Mikey's arms and chest.

"He's gone," the officer told Phil, who continued with the CPR.

"No," Phil cried ecstatically, pulling away from the officer's touch, "Don't you know who this is?" Phil demanded, bewildered, wild-eyed, tears streaming down his cheeks, "This is TJ, TJ Dettwieler. He's not dead. He can't die..." He continued on, trying to control himself from pounding on the young man's chest, muttering "one...two..."

Mikey closed his eyes, feeling his heart sink. The rain was stopping, nothing more than a light sprinkle now, and the wind was dying down. The only sound he could hear was that of Phil's counting and Spinelli's soft sobbing. All hope was gone. The faithful leader was gone.

"Look, kid. He's dea..." Mikey's eyes snapped open.

"Shut up!" Mikey cried, "Shut up! Don't mar his name; don't sully his memory by saying those words. You never knew him, you don't know him. You can't speak of him..."

"Umph..." Coughing, someone was coughing, and sputtering and gurgling.

"Mikey..." Spinelli whispered, "Shut up, you big lummox."

"...ung...gug...Spin..."

"Teej," Spinelli murmured, pulling away from Mikey and falling to the sputtering young man lying at the bottom of the raft. Phil fell back, smiling with relief.

"He has returned to us!" Mikey exclaimed, "The sun shines down on us today! No other but our TJ could escape the chilling touch of death! Take that, Grim Reaper!"

"...Spinelli..." TJ mumbled.

"I'm right here, Teej," she whispered, bent by his side.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, and passed out.

"TJ?" she cried, clutching his shoulders, "TJ?"

"It's okay," Phil came beside her, "Don't move him. We have to keep him still, we've no way of knowing what's going on inside of his body. He could have broken bones, internal bleeding, things that could be worsened if we don't keep him as still as possible." Spinelli nodded, leaning back and carefully brushing back the hair plastered to TJ's forehead.

Phil began bandaging the gash and tending to the other tiny injuries that he could see while the officers urged the boat onward.

"The library's just over that way," Mikey directed. And just as he had said, the hill came into sight. They had to drag TJ along in the raft, as the other's walked on the dry land up the rest of the way to the library.

"This is the worst storm we've seen in...heck...three years," one of the officers chuckled, "I wonder what the death toll is at," he beamed down at the young man in the raft, "At least this boy isn't another number."

"Phil," Mikey finally able to place the young paramedic with the curly red hair, "We went to Third Street together. You were in the Woodchuck Scouts." Phil nodded.

"Yeah, I practically lived in my uniform. My son'll have nothing to do with them though...disappointing, huh?"

They found Bruce's dead body halfway to the library, impaled with a sharp sheet of steel as far as the officers could tell. They dragged the body somewhere dry and safe and radioed it in, then continued on their way. Mikey led them to the back of the library, which was half burned from the fire.

"The librarian is dead as well," Mikey informed the officers, but he divulged no more information on the death, shooting a worrisome glance Spinelli's way as an explanation to his silence. She walked solemnly beside the unconscious TJ, watching him intently. When they turned towards the covered parking garage, Mikey broke into a run followed by Phil and one of the officers, the other one busy dragging TJ carefully.

"Theresa!" Mikey called, racing into the parking area. He searched around, the other's catching up. He saw Gretchen, laid out more elegantly on the ground, her head resting on what appeared to be a sweater or some sort of scarf. Randall sat on the curb wearily, staring sedately at the ground. He was wearing undershirt now, his nice black shirt missing, and was covered in glistening sweat. There were some discarded baby wipes in a pile beside him. He looked up, tiredly at the incoming people.

"Where is she, son?" the officer spoke up. Randall shook his head.

"Theresa...is she okay?" Mikey demanded, "Are they okay?" His voice strained with anxiousness and fear. "Randall!" He heard the squeal of a child and Randall glanced over dully to the other side of the garage, a car was parked there, the window broken.

"I think it belonged to the librarian. She's sleeping," Randall explained, "Theresa that is...the kid won't shut up. If you need the time of birth now, I have it written down. I think Gretchen's going to be all right too, I checked her vitals a moment ago. What took you so long?" Mikey sighed with relief, a grin spreading across his face as he ran to the car and flung the door open. Theresa was laid in the backseat, Randall's coat laid over her, and the baby in her arms wrapped in Randall's shirt.

"Randall..." Mikey struggled to find the words, "This is a miracle! Two miracles in one day! Randall, you are a hero."

"I am not," Randall muttered.

"But you are," Mikey pushed, "Look at everything! Safe. Theresa and her baby are safe...and Gretchen. Because of you, you're a hero."

"Shut up!" Randall snapped, "I'm not a hero." Everyone looked at him in stun, silence. He buried his head in his hands, muttering under his breath, "I'm not a hero...not a hero..." Phil rushed forward, first to Theresa and the baby, giving them a once over.

"Everything looks fine here," Phil told the officers, before moving towards Gretchen.

"I think we'd better call in a chopper," one of the officers said.

"Yeah," Phil nodded, examining Gretchen, "I want to rush this woman in. We have to flush out her lungs. You said she breathed in the smoke, right?" He looked to Mikey who nodded, "Alright. Do you know if she has asthma, or any other breathing maladies?"

"Not that I know of...at least...I don't think so," Mikey mumbled, "Is she going to be alright."

"I wouldn't worry," Phil told him, with a quick and weary smile, "Yet."

"What about TJ?" Spinelli spoke up. She'd been silent since the young man had been revived, and the men had almost forgotten she was there.

"Ah..." Phil shrugged, eyeing the officer that was radioing for helicopter support.

"TJ? As in...Dettwieler?" Randall questioned.

"Do you all know one another?" the other officer asked. Randall narrowed his eyes at the sullen young woman. Dark hair, darker eyes, pale skin, and notable fists that he'd experienced the pain of many times.

"Spinelli?" She glowered at him.

"Worm..." she muttered, kneeling beside the raft, afraid to touch TJ, her fingers hovering, trembling, just above his skin. The officer picked himself off the ground, finishing with the radio; he looked over to all of them.

"It shouldn't be more than ten minutes," he announced.

"That long?" Phil spoke up.

"Yeah, apparently they're having some sort of electrical problems at the hospital," he explained, shrugging, "Like, a blackout or something. They're getting it figured out though."

"Mmph..." TJ groaned, "Spinelli..."

"I'm here, Teej," she whispered, tracing a finger along his jaw line. She imagined they both looked like hell.

"...Clara..." he whispered, and Spinelli had to strain to hear him, bending down mere centimeters from his lips, "...Clara...I'm sorry..." he was silent.

END A/N: Okay. Clara? Who is this Clara? What does she have to do with things and why is TJ saying her name in his delirium? Questions, so many questions. I know what you're thinking RavenForever, either "yes! I got it", or "damn, I didn't..." the last one goes the same for you DarkAngelGaudianLight..., but keep in mind, the story is far from over and it's a little soon to be revealing everything, don't you think? I have a hunch that even if you get it, you'll never fully get it....er...what I mean is, that you'll never completely guess who the psycho is.

Now I bet you're all wondering where Ashley T. is, so am I. I have no idea how she slipped out of there from under my radar. Damn guinnea pigs. I don't think she was supposed to go anywhere...oi...this story is getting out of control...is it just me or are the characters getting a little used to their friends dissapearing.

Oh! And PHIL! Yes, another cameo appearance from another character in the Recess series. The way I figure it, I'm setting it up as a small town deal. Not everyone left the town behind so they're bound to run into people from Third Street Elementary, or just from their past, that aren't directly involved with the pact and everything going on. Mm-hmm...um...

And RANDALL! I'm falling in love with Randall. Ew...actually, I'm quite fond of his character. He's sooo....um...he's such a little worm, and his character is Oh, and just for you TNPD, I'm thinking of giving HK a love interest, I'm falling for his character as well. I know, I have a lot to say.

PLeaSE REVIEW! REVIEWs make the world go round. Well...actually, that has more to do with gravity and physics and stuff I don't understand 'cause I barely passed physics (would have failed completely if it wasn't for my crush forcing me to copy his homework. (do you think that's a sign that he liked me...I mean...he charged everyone else to copy...) err...um...

THanks for reading, go and REVIEW! I know you wanna....and, uh...please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. You guys rock.

Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.