A/N: You're testing me. You're all testing me, calling my bluff, eh? FOUR reviews! Only four?! Ah...damn...
Thanks to those who did review:
RavenForever: Hope you feel better. Happiness is like a stream somewhere in the mountains. You know someone's probably pissed in it at some point in time, but that'll all wash away.
TNPD: You live in a city where no one drives? Where do you live, New York? I live in a city, everyone drives. People drive down the driveway to get the mail here. Ah...well, hope this one's as wonderful as the last.
xXxSarahxXx: I love TJ too...and he's mine, so...(GRIN). Hm...yes, Gus can see now, how convinient was that? The optometrist was in the same hospital, I gotta go to Wal-Mart to get glasses myself. I don't know if Spinelli will get happy again...she might, she might not. I honestly can't say...and even so, would you take TJ back?
Adee: YAY! A new reviewer! Glad you're liking the story. I am amazing, huh? Able to corrupt the most innocent of things. It must help that I'm completely and utterly INSANE!
Alrighty....um....music recommendations are Sanitarium by Limp Bizkit, Fuck the World by the Vines (AGAIN?!?) or.....hm....Everything About You by Three Days Grace.
NO MORE! I've decided to discontinue this story due to lack of reviews last time. This will be the last chapter.
Welcome to the ride, there are no exits, please keep all hands and feet inside at all times and...ENJOY!
Chapter 26: The Conspirators Reunited
For a long time, they all sat silently in the living room of the Dettwieler house almost summing one another up. The Ashleys had taken the couch, squeezing one another in so as not to be forced next to some...unwanted companion. Francis stood in the kitchen, Spinelli beside him. She seemed dazed. Gretchen was beside Mikey, huddling next to him as though he was something of a sanctuary, and leaving his side were not only undesirable, but also life threatening. Vince had staked out an area equally beside everyone, not an easy task with how many people stood in the room, but he was used to being the center of attention, considering he was the tallest. Randall had once again buried himself in a secluded corner, never feeling quite comfortable with crowds, especially not the one he was now with. Menlo had taken a chair from the dining room table and set it against the wall, which was where he now sat staring out like a courtroom dictator, typing the proceedings before him. Sam and Dave, oddly enough, had taken stances across the room from one another, and Butch had somehow, inexplicably, hidden in the shadow that seemed to follow him around no matter where he went. Gus had appointed himself host, as someone had to be, and was busy serving drinks. Everyone was eyeing TJ who stood at the entrance from the hall to the living room. He leaned heavily against the doorway holding his side, his eyes downcast.
It had been fifteen years since they had all sat in a room together. It went without saying that this was a truly momentous event. The conspirators were reunited at last.
"Where are your parents?" Menlo asked, settling himself in the role of inquisitor. He had the disgruntled look of one roused from bed in the middle of the night.
"They're part of the volunteer group cleaning up after the flood," TJ answered, running his hand awkwardly through his hair and tightening his grasp on his red hat. He needed to be the old TJ. He just...he'd forgotten how over the past several years. He smirked ironically. How do you forget how to be yourself?
"Why, pray tell, are we all here?" Menlo finally demanded the question on everyone lips. The group, for the most part having looked worn, weary, and miserable; perked up slightly.
"Mary Anna," TJ said the name tentatively, bracing for the impact it would undoubtedly have on the company. His assumption was correct, as some members of the company so much as jumped from their seats, others shifting uncomfortably, and a few gasps arose.
"We're not supposed to even..." Butch began.
"Talk about it?" TJ interrupted, "As though that'll make it go away? Jesus Christ, people, for fifteen years we've swept this...accident, under the proverbial rug!" TJ had risen his gaze, looking at each and every one of the people in that room with a fiery passion. "I'm sorry, but I've lost too much to this damn thing that, as far as you're all concerned, never happened so long as you don't talk about it. I've lost friends, people I care about," his eyes paused on Spinelli, "Someone I love," he looked away again, "And if we don't talk about it, we're all going to lose the last thing we all have left. Our lives."
"Dettwieler, honestly," Menlo started, rising from the chair, "This is ridiculous..."
"Is it?" TJ interrupted, "Where'd you get that limp you've been walking with ever since you entered this house? And Butch, that bump on your head. And Sam, you get those scars on an excavation dig, 'cause they sure look fresh to me."
"Whatever you're getting at, Dettwieler, you better get at it fast," Menlo snapped.
"A couple days ago you were all called, well, whoever we could get a hold of, about a brown envelope containing a mysterious message," TJ sighed, "And we've all been visited by some...psycho..."
"My 'message' disappeared, so it's really no concern to me anymore," Menlo spat, making headway for the door.
"So did mine," Ashley T. spoke up.
"And mine," Butch shrugged, "So does that mean we can leave?"
"No," Gretchen began, "Because even if your messages did disappear, it doesn't mean that you're not all still targeted." Everyone froze, a chill running up their spines. Silence fell over them.
"Do you...do you have to word it like that?" Dave asked.
"What other way is there to word it?" Gretchen questioned, then, shaking her head, "I have to see everyone's message...at least, those who still have theirs. Now, who has them on their person?" There was shuffling as hands went into pockets. Those who claimed theirs disappeared were the only one's empty-handed. Gretchen accepted the brown envelopes, opening them one at a time and examining the handwriting.
"Well...?" Ashley B. said impatiently.
"Curious..." Gretchen stated, "All done in different hands...crude, childish writing. Randall, I'd recognize your childhood handwriting anywhere, Spinelli confiscated enough of your...notebooks." Randall shifted uncomfortably. "Ashleys, as always, recognizable. Hm...Sam, Dave, dirt smudged, chicken scratch, makes sense. From what I can tell, these are all written in all of your handwritings. You all wrote these in your youth, and...apparently, logically, sent them to yourself."
"What do they say?" Menlo asked, curiosity evident on his shining pale face.
"I've concluded that the messages themselves mean, quite frankly, nothing," Gretchen told him with a dour expression.
"Then who sent them to us and why?" Ashley A. demanded.
"From what I can tell...we sent them to us," Gretchen shrugged.
"That makes absolutely no sense," Ashley A. hissed disgustedly, "So we're all here to talk about a subject we've already talked to death, no pun intended. And we sent ourselves these messages that we don't even recall writing!"
"You've already talked about this?" Butch perked up, resituating his position, "But that's an infraction of the pact."
"Do you even remember what was agreed in that pact?" TJ regained the head of the conversation, "We agreed that no person would talk, mention, or speak of the incident without the knowledge or participation of every person signed on said pact. We are all here. So if you're afraid of breaking the rules of the pact, the most sacred rule to all kids, Butch, then you're not. It's stupid superstition anyways."
"Excuse you," Butch scoffed, "Stupid superstition? Breaking a pact is..."
"Honestly, I don't give a rat's ass right now," TJ interjected, "Did you not hear my little speech? I have lost everything I care about and to tell the truth; I don't want to lose anything else I have to lose. Mary Anna died fifteen years ago."
"At least, that's what we all believed," Gus put in.
"And we were responsible for what happened," TJ said, his eyes lowering, "I was responsible." He shook his head slightly and lifted it, "Now it's come back to haunt us, because we made a mistake."
"Wait, wait, wait," Ashley Q. spoke up, "How do we know that Mary Anna, or this Clara, is whose really responsible for all this bad stuff happening. Like, how do we know that it's not one of us? It could be any of you behind this."
"Yeah, you guys broke the pact, how am I to know you didn't break the pact before?" Butch added.
"Yeah, like Randall," Ashley B. spoke up, rising to her feet and turning on said person, "You're like...you can't keep your mouth shut. Once a snitch, always a snitch." Randall shifted slightly, shuddering under the new limelight as everyone turned on him, and shrinking back into the corner all color from his face fading as a look of horror crossed it.
"I...I don't...I didn't," he stammered.
"Yeah, and we all, like, saw that gun," Ashley T. joined in, "What do you plan on using that gun for? Where'd you get it? I mean, like, who'd give you a gun?"
"I have a license for it...it's registered," Randall choked, "I just...I didn't want to take chances..."
"Yeah, take the chance you'd miss an opportunity like this, all of us in one room together," Ashley B. snapped, "He's the one. He locked Mary Anna in the gym. He probably went back later, lit the place on fire! We all know that Mary Anna was taking his place, eagerly handing information over to Miss Finster. That she was quickly becoming Finster's new pet. You couldn't stand that...huh, Randall? Couldn't stand to lose the chance to get rid of Mary Anna once and for all in that gym..."
"Will you stop that?" Francis stepped in, positioning himself in front of the cowering Randall, "He's not behind any of this because, in case you forgot, he received one of those creepy notes too."
"I really don't think we should go on who received a note," Mikey spoke up, "Because TJ never received one and..."
"Mikey," Gretchen hissed, trying to hush him, but it was too late. All eyes were once again on TJ.
"Funny," Ashley A. prodded, a raised eyebrow, "That you would never bring that up."
"I...uh..." TJ looked out at them, "I don't know..." he ran his hand through his hair once more, rubbing the back of his neck and searching the old gang for assistance, "I don't know why I didn't get one of those notes. I'm not behind any of this."
"You were sympathetic towards Mary Anna. You never wanted us to sign that pact in the first place," Menlo brought up, stepping forward to lead the mob, "You were the last one to sign it, after all. And I remember you saying that it was wrong...remember? You told me that you didn't feel we should be doing it, that we should tell someone."
"I...it was wrong," TJ tried to stand his ground. Menlo jabbed a finger in his chest and he winced slightly.
"If I recall correctly, you were the one who came up with the plan in the first place. You were the one who had us lead Mary Anna to that gym and had us leave her behind in that manner. Everyone recalls how you commented unhappily about the broken doll," Menlo continued, encouraged by shouts of agreement from the crowd, shoving TJ, who stumbled backwards in pain. He hadn't the chance to see the black haired young woman step forward, pushing Menlo back into the crowd and raising her fists, her teeth gritted.
"Pointing fingers ain't getting us anywhere," Spinelli spat, "But if any of you want to continue with this witch hunt, then please, step forward. I'm in the mood to crack some skulls."
"You honestly can't rule TJ out as a suspect," Ashley Q. murmured, though was unmoving.
"Spinelli's right, pointing fingers is getting us nowhere," Francis said, moving to Spinelli's side.
"How do we know that one of you isn't behind all of this?" Ashley A. spat, looking between Francis and Spinelli, "Spinelli's note was ripped up and we all know that she hated Mary Anna the most, and, like, it's so obvious the way she's always felt about Dettwieler. And it's obvious that something went down between Dettwieler and Clara, our one suspect, that the little...is it, Spinelli, are you the ex-girlfriend now? Well, whatever you are to TJ, you're not happy about whatever happened." Spinelli flinched; her fists loosening, weakening, she looked away anger simmering behind dark eyes. TJ glowered at the floor, the pain biting in.
"That's none of your business; you cheap, blonde, bitch" Spinelli snarled.
"Hey," Francis donned the dangerous position of mediator, "Back off, Ashley A. and Spinelli...your name calling and threats aren't helping."
"How 'bout you, Francis," Ashley B. bubbled, "Why are you even here? Your parents don't live here anymore. You have no real ties left to this town...aside from Mary Anna that is. Everybody's been doing the emotional tango, and you've been playing Mr. Suave, carefree, with no problems, stepping in to rescue everyone from themselves. Maybe you've been the puppet master all along."
"I was here on business," Francis told her defensively.
"Really? How convenient," Ashley B. jabbed.
"Stop it," Ashley Q. pushed her way forward, "Stop this, Ashley B."
"What is with you, Ashley Q.?" Ashley B. growled, inches from Ashley Q.'s face, "So willing to cling to any guy that gives you attention and doesn't have a ring on his finger, or any girl claiming him as her own. You adopting the little hustler boy as your new charity project? Don't think I haven't noticed the way you've been following him around."
"I, like, so do not cling," Ashley Q. hissed, "And I am not following him around. I am married, thank you very much, I don't need to cling to guys."
"That's yet to be proven."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that you keep talking about this husband, that I have, like, never seen. None of us have," Ashley B. clarified maliciously and Ashley Q.'s face fell, "Now you're grabbing your claws into the nearest body shooting testosterone through its veins. I hate to break this to you, but the vintage look is so passé."
"If you're going to accuse someone, maybe it was Butch. We all know that he's a freak for this pact stuff, and he was always telling those creepy stories, and skulking around school. He has axe-murderer written all over him!" Ashley Q. thrust her finger towards the dark haired young man, "Or what about Menlo? Maybe he was a little upset because a part of his precious school burned down. Or what about...you, Ashley B. I know for a fact that Mary Anna kept getting you in trouble for dress code and then your parents were trying to get you to buddy up with her, and start dressing like her. Like, how do we know that you're not behind all of this?"
"You bitch," Ashley B. snapped, and no one was quite sure what happened when they heard the loud crack as Ashley B.'s hand slapped across Ashley Q.'s now reddening cheek.
"Me? The bitch?" Ashley Q. stuttered her hand coming up to the sore spot on her delicate skin, "You are..."
"Ashleys," TJ broke in, "Look at yourselves! Look at all of you, at each other's throats. None of this is getting us anywhere!" he shook his head, gripping the hat tighter in his hands as everyone's attention returned to him once more, "We made a mistake fifteen years ago. Not," he hissed before any more commotion could arise, "What happened with Mary Anna. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about what we did after what happened to Mary Anna.
"We were kids...kids faced with a really horrible situation. It was hard enough to face the facts...let alone deal with it. But we're not kids anymore. We're adults. A mistake, that's what we made. It was a mistake, we're only human, and we were only kids, we're allowed to make a few mistakes in our lives. We didn't understand back then, it wasn't entirely real to us...well...it was real, just not in the way it should have been. We understood that Mary Anna was dead and that we had something to do with it. We just didn't understand what responsibility that entailed. Our only thoughts were of making it go away, erasing it...we wanted a do-over. We just didn't realize that...well we didn't know...you're not allowed do-over's in life. If you make a mistake, if you do something wrong, you can't turn back, you can only try and fix it as best you can.
"Fifteen years ago, a little girl died...I don't know what died means, if her body died or if..." TJ closed his eyes, took a deep breath, "All I know is that we decided to forget it. Push it aside; pretend it never happened. But that doesn't erase it. It happened. Mary Anna died that day. Fifteen years ago, we buried a secret, hid it away, forced it from our minds, and went about our lives. We can't do that anymore."
"What are you saying?" Mikey asked, fidgeting where he stood.
"We have to go back," TJ said, his voice shaking, "That's why you're all here. So as not to break the pact, and because you all have a right to know what I plan on doing. We have to go back to that gym, we have to dig up what we buried. It's the only way."
"Are you crazy?" Randall snapped.
"Yeah, are you crazy?" Sam and Dave said in unison, and then shot one another indignant looks.
"Maybe," TJ shrugged, "But aren't we all? Isn't it driving us all crazy?"
"And what'll we find there?" Ashley A. muttered.
"A broken doll," Menlo answered, "A tattered piece of paper otherwise known as the infamous pact, a few other paraphernalia associated with our little...prank. Nothing of use to us. Why we would uncover it is beyond me. We were foolish children really, assuming that our little 'evidence' would tie us to the death of that Mary Anna."
"What's going on, whoever is hunting us down, has something to do with what's in that dirt. Sam, Dave, you guys love dirt," TJ looked to them, "You up for a little late night digging?"
"Um...I don't know, TJ," Sam muttered, running a hand absently over the back of his neck.
"Yeah...I don't know," Dave echoed.
"You know something, don't you," Gus spoke up, eyeing TJ suspiciously, "That's why you're leading us to the gym, that's why you want us to dig up that stuff. You have a hunch, don't you?"
"Just a hunch, Gus. Remember, a graveyard where the children play," TJ smirked slightly, almost sardonically as he slipped the red cap over his head in the fashion the group before him was used to seeing, "A stone hearth where the fires burned and now the bones are at rest. It was a clue, she was giving us a clue, Gus."
"Graveyard...stone hearth," Gretchen muttered, her eyes livening slightly, "Interesting. I'm in. Let's go dig."
"If Gretchen sees a reason," Mikey started, "Then that's reason enough for me. Count me in."
"Me too," Gus spoke up.
"I want answers," Vince shrugged, "I'll go." TJ frowned, studying Spinelli from the corner of his eye. She was chewing her lower lip, glaring at her hands, which she rubbed together furiously.
"Fine," she whispered, looking up to meet TJ's eyes and he could see the strength it took her to do that alone, "I'm in, too."
With the alliance of TJ's old gang once more in place, the rest of their companions crumbled. A sigh of resignation followed by a 'fine' escaped from Butch. The diggers agreed that they hadn't gotten "down and dirty" in some time and they were due for a good few hours of digging. Francis added his approval of the idea, and said he found it somewhat profitable to their salvation and the Ashleys all gave their disgusted agreement in the plan and shared their detest for dirt. Randall shrugged and indicated that he had nothing better to do and Menlo, the last one to agree, sputtered something about how he was the only one with proper, legal access to the school as it were and their plan was shot without him. He liked to feel important.
"Then it's settled," TJ mumbled, and his former friends couldn't help but painfully note how pale he'd become, sinking against the wall, "We'll do it tonight. Right now. We can't waste time. We'll walk there."
-0-0-0-0-
In silence they all trekked to the building that haunted and plagued their memories. The chain-linked fence was all but a reminder of years spent playing on that playground, of years spent learning in the building beyond, of years spent running from the confines of that chain-linked fence at the end of the day in jubilation.
Now, willingly, they made their way to the entrance, watching as Menlo stepped forward and retrieved his keys from his back pocket. He opened the gate and let them in. It was a time before anyone spoke.
"Do you remember where it is?" TJ asked of the diggers, trying to hide how haggard his breathing had become in the short journey from his house to the school.
"I spent 6 years digging holes on this playground," Dave assured him, puffing his chest out, "And I remember every hole I've dug. It's by the far side of the gym, fifteen feet from the wall."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Sam rolled his eyes, "It's ten feet from the double doors of the gym."
"What? Are you crazy?" Dave argued, "I know exactly where every hole we ever dug is! My memory is by far sharper than yours."
"And yet you can't even remember where a simple, extremely important, financial report is?" Sam shot back. TJ shook his head. He recalled the conversation the diggers had before they'd even left his house. Sam had volunteered his shovels, which, according to him, he always came prepared with, as well as hardhats.
"Ah, an eleven inch steel head," Dave had said, stepping forward and taking the instrument from the trunk of Sam's car. "Only a twenty-six inch handle? Ah, well, steel is the only tool worthy of this task."
"Really?" Sam had muttered, "Not when you look at the sedimentary sand of the playground. Are you daft, or have you just simply forgotten everything you learned digging on that playground in childhood? This is a job for a brass head...most preferably a fourteen inch brass head, like this beauty here." Upon saying this, Sam had produced another shovel from his trunk, holding it up as though he expected everyone to marvel at it.
"Brass?" Dave had snorted, "You have lost it. Brass is for mud if you ask me."
"Well no one did," Sam had replied dejectedly, "You were never much of a digger anyways. Digging was never really your forte. Which is probably why it's best that you quit."
That ended the conversation rather quickly. And now the two walked with prideful strides, each wielding their shovel of choice and determined to prove the other wrong. TJ grimaced, the pain of his injuries had been nothing more than a distraction back at the house, but now in the open air, navigating their way through debris left over from the flood, it was becoming a dire problem. He stumbled, shocked by the pain that jolted through his body, and even more shocked when a hand caught him mid-fall.
"This is ridiculous," Vince's voice filled TJ's ear as the taller young man held him steady.
"What is?" TJ asked through gritted teeth, straightening, "It's the only way. We have to dig that stuff up..."
"That's not what I'm talking about," Vince hissed, "We really shouldn't be making this walk. Spinelli looks like hell. I feel like hell. Gretchen's wheezing, Francis is clutching his side as though his life depended on it, Menlo looks like he's ready to pass out, and you...you're not instilling any morale in us with the way you're pale as a ghost and tripping over the smallest of pebbles!"
"Is that everything?" TJ muttered sarcastically, "Because you forgot to mention that I might be leading everyone into the hands of a psychopath who wants us dead, I have no idea what the hell I'm doing, more than half these people, present company included, hate me, and...oh yeah, it looks like it's gonna rain again."
"I don't hate you, Teej," Vince gently protested.
"Well, the past several years really don't reflect that."
"I've said I'm sorry. TJ," Vince lightened his tone slightly, "I'm tired of hating myself, and that's all I've ever really done. I wanted to blame you for everything and...I did."
"Thanks for the explanation, pal, but..."
"TJ," Vince snapped, "I'm making it easy for you. I'm apologizing. I'm sucking up my pride and dignity and giving you a chance. Remember when we were in first grade. The lucky marble?"
TJ remembered. They'd found a quarter in the street and used it in one of those quarter machines outside of Kelso's. Their prize had been a perfect blue marble. Upon receiving that marble, their luck seemed to change for the better, and being children, they decided it had to be the marble's doing. They took turns with the marble, each using it for a day, and generously reaping the benefits. That is, until it disappeared mysteriously.
"I didn't take it," TJ muttered.
"I know," Vince told him, "I found it a few years back rolled up in an old sock that got lost behind the washing machine. My mother probably accidentally dropped it back there doing laundry. I found it when I was helping my dad remove the machine, when my parents got a new one. The point is, Teej, that we both blamed one another at first, remember? But we got over it. We realized that it was stupid to let something neither of us was responsible for get in the way of our friendship. How come we had so much more common sense when we were kids?"
"This isn't a marble, Vince. This is...this is death, a death we caused...well, we were part of it. And this is...it's Spinelli," TJ lowered his eyes.
"You're so stubborn. Fine," Vince whispered, "I knew how you felt about her, TJ. Way back when, I knew."
"What?"
"Our friendship is already so screwed up, I figure I should tell you. I knew that you liked her, I mean, who didn't know? And I knew that she liked you. Probably before either of you ever figured out your own feelings," Vince slowed his pace, "My crush was small, it was a childish crush that I didn't want to lose to you. I'm sorry." TJ gaped at him, his mouth hung open.
"What?" he repeated, "Sorry! You're sorry? You kissed Spinelli, you kissed my girlfriend and professed love to her at a very unstable moment in our relationship! And now you're telling me you did it on purpose, you wanted to screw over our relationship the whole time? That you never really did it because you were in actual undying love with Spinelli?"
"If you say it like that it sounds...I mean...well, yeah, that's how it played out..." Vince mumbled, downcast. He didn't expect the laughter that burst from TJ. He expected maybe a fist in the face, or a biting comment, or yelling and name-calling, maybe a few threats. But not the maniacal laughter erupting from the small battered body of his former best friend. It was surprising, to say the least, disturbing the silence and the rest of the group paused, glancing at him as though he'd lost it. And maybe he had.
"I don't believe you," TJ finally gasped, shaking his head, "I don't believe it." The laughter dying, he continued walking as though nothing had happened and his companions watched him cross the playground in the direction of the gym.
"Only the insane would follow the insane," Menlo commented and to that Randall, looking at his hands blankly, shrugged, and continued walking. With heavy sighs, the rest of the group continued on their "merry" path.
The playground remained preserved in their memories. The companions felt the same haunting sense that TJ and Vince had felt nearly a day before when they had first stepped foot for the first time in nearly twelve years on the school grounds. The swings seemed to move with the eerie push of ghost swingers, the slide gleamed in the moonlight and the tetherballs chinked in the dead night. A reverent silence fell over the group as they stared out in quiet rumination of a past they pretended to have forgotten, but never really had. TJ stopped and the rest of the group followed suit, watching wide-eyed as he touched the newly painted red door of the gym, a building that stood as a constant reminder of that painful moment blazing in their past. They stared at that building, reminiscing of days in gym class under the tutelage of Coach Kluge; running laps, doing sit-ups, push-ups, routine warm-ups, and once in a while, playing an indoor game of dodge ball. In a moment, the gym lit up before their eyes, images of that fire burningly ingrained in their minds.
"This," TJ announced quietly, his voice steady, assured, "This is the spot." Without question, protest, or argument, the diggers stepped forward, shovels in hand, and began digging.
Not wanting to get in the way of the "professionals" the others sat back, watching as dirt was flung into a growing pile, out of the earth, into the air, and back down again. The two young men worked quickly, hastily, only pausing once in awhile to glower at one another or comment on the other's "shoddy digging". Sam had always been the real muscle of the duo, the faster digger, but Dave was better at directing, pointing out when Sam focused too often in one spot, or not often enough in another. Finally, after a long time of watching, Mikey shifted in his position.
"Vince," he groaned, "Want to play tetherball?"
"Sure," Vince agreed and the two were off.
"I play winner," Gretchen called after them.
"Wait for me," Gus said, pulling himself up.
"I'm, like, going to grab a swing," Ashley Q. excused herself and the other Ashleys, of course, followed, though they were silent and a dark cloud seemed to hang over their heads. With them gone, the group was once again silent, only for the sound of shovels shuffling dirt, and the echo of a tetherball bouncing in the background. Butch tapped his foot, and soon began wandering off.
"I'm going to take a look around the place," he explained, before fading into the darkness of the night.
"Of course, you won't mind if I join you?" Menlo raced after the dark man.
"This is...fascinating and all," Randall started, "But uh..." He had been squeamish since the digging began, "When do we put it all back?" His eyes were on the disturbed dirt.
"Come on, Randall," Francis said, patting the younger man's shoulder, "Let's take a walk."
TJ watched as the two left, Randall fidgeting with his coat, and Francis rubbing his hands together. He was alone with Spinelli, the two diggers too focused on their work to even bother paying attention to them. She had bundled herself up and taken a seat against the wall, watching with half-closed eyes as the diggers worked. TJ couldn't force his eyes away from the growing hole in the ground, no more than he could force himself not to listen intently as Spinelli breathed softly, not to see from the corner of his eye her every movement whether it be a twitch or a slight shift in position, not to feel her presence with every fiber of his being.
"You know what's in there, don't you?" she finally said, motioning to the hole, and her voice was so soft and careful that it hurt TJ's heart just to hear it.
"Everyone does..." he mumbled, coughing slightly to clear his throat, "Menlo ran an inventory list back at the house, you heard him." He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as she turned to look at him.
"You know something," she wasn't asking, just simply stating.
"I don't know..."
"Don't feed me that same bullshit you're feeding the others. I know you, Teej," she narrowed her eyes on him, "I know that look in your eyes. I see those little gears in your head turning." TJ shook his head, leaning back to stare up at the night sky.
"I'm worried," he told her, "Worried about what we'll find in there. Worried about whether what I'm thinking will work. I'm worried about...about you."
"Don't," she whispered, turning away, "You don't have the right to worry about me. You lost that right."
"Am I not allowed to think about you, either?" She was silent. "Well? Because I can't help that. Just like I can't help worrying about you. Maybe I don't have the right to think of you, or worry about you, or even love you. But I always will."
"Then maybe you shouldn't have slept with Clara," she hissed, wrapping her arms tightly about her body. TJ said nothing.
"I didn't enjoy it," he finally said and received an odd glare from Spinelli. "You asked me before, if I enjoyed it...sleeping with Clara. I didn't. Maybe that's one of the reasons I did it...because I wanted to hurt myself. I'm sorry."
"TJ," they heard Dave call and both rose, walking to the edge of the hole. It had gotten so deep in the few moments they'd taken their eyes off it.
"We found something," Sam told them, pulling a dirty metal object out and handing it over. The rest of the group gathered round, having heard the call and headed back.
"It's a tin can," TJ explained. He opened it, shaking out a dirty folded piece of lined paper. With careful fingers he unraveled it, looked it over, and handed it to Menlo. "Read it," he commanded.
"Ah...yes," Menlo adjusted his glasses, looking the paper over, "Ah... 'We the undersigned do hereby swear that the events on the 23rd day of November 1998 will never be spoken of henceforth'...Dettwieler, why am I reading over this? I wrote it, I know what it says."
"Just keep reading," TJ snapped.
"Alright...um...yadda, yadda, henceforth...um... 'From this day forth, we agree to never speak of, unless in the presence of every living undersigned member of the pact, anything and everything having to do with one, Mary Anna James...We agree to share no responsibility pertaining to the aforementioned, nor to ever speak of the event that took place on this day, the 23rd of November, with any who are not of the undersigned, nor if any of the undersigned are not present, or of knowledge of the conversation. From this day forth, we the undersigned agree that the events of the 23rd of November never happened.' Then it's just our names," Menlo looked up meeting TJ's eyes.
"Look at the names," he instructed.
"It's just all of our..." Menlo stopped, squinting his eyes and patting the paper to knock some more of the dirt off, "There's one too many names on here...the last name is...it's...Clara..." he looked up again and jumped back, tripping to the ground, his heart jumping in his throat. He'd thought he'd saw something...a little girl perhaps standing amongst them. He had to have been wrong. His heart was pounding.
END A/N: HOW DOES SHE DO IT? My mind is on the verge of explosion.
Oh, and I'm not discontinuing the story. I just would have soooooo loved to see your guys' faces when you read that! BWAHAHAHAHA! What? I told you I had a dry sense of humor and I'm a bitch, what did you expect? Aww...where are you going? Come back...I didn't mean to hurt your feelings...if it makes you feel better, I'll tell you who's behind it all.
Are you back?
Alright...it's....A SECRET! Did you really think I was going to tell? I'm not telling 'till the end. I'm being bad. I'll go to my corner. This is what happens when the only thing I eat all day is candy corn. It's six o'clock at night and all I've eaten is candycorn. I'M SO HUNGRY! And CANDYCORN IS EVIL!
Once again, I'm sorry for my behaviour. PLEASE REVIEW. You can bitch at me, I don't mind. Reprimand me, scold me, flame me, just please, please, please REVIEW. I hate to beg...
Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.
THANKS FOR READING. YOU'RE ALL SUCH LOVELY PEOPLE and I LOVE YOU ALL.
PEACE.