A/N: FIVE DAYS! It took me five days to get this up! Bet you all were starting to wonder if maybe that joke last chapter wasn't really a joke....hehehe. Actually, I developed serious writer's block. I know how the story is going to end, I know everything that's going to happen, but...I don't have every chapter planned out. I didn't know how much I wanted to reveal in this chapter, or more precisely, how much I didn't want to reveal.
Thanks to the reviewers (mostly for not killing me for that joke...it wasn't funny, right? eh...heh...)
RT: I understand, spend time with your family, and review when you can. I will...however...miss your reviews when you can't post one...sniff....
RavenForever: Yes, I am evil and you'd better get used to it. If you want to spoil the ending for everyone, you better do it soon, because the ending is quickly coming. Yeah, the reason the playground equipment is still up is, well first of all, the school didn't burn down it simply closed down after the murder...and if you read back over the story, there are plans to reopen it upon the next semester. Yup. I did especially like the fighting part when the Ashley's are exchanging words...and bitch slaps. Made me laugh while I wrote it.
DarkAngelGuadianLight: Yes. A joke. Somewhat. HA!
xXxSarahxXx: Yeah, you'd think the red hat would do something for Spinelli. I mean, jeez, it's the red hat. SO, he slept with another chic, big deal, he has his RED HAT ON! hehe. I'm not mocking you. Yeah, Clara is creepy, and she's only going to get creepier.
TNPD: Yes, you have been punked. Now where did Ashton go? I had him in a bottle somewhere...must have escaped again...oh well. You live in New York? I guessed correctly? WOW, I am soooo smart. Oi.
Caryl-lee: My, my, my. The only one who can actually hunt me down and tie me to a chair and force me to finish this fic...hm...I shouldn't give you idea, huh? NO ONE'S ALLOWED TO PAY HER TO DO THAT! Call me after you read this chapter.
Music recommendations: Chop Suey by System of a Down, Schism by Tool, or Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana (Nirvana most particularly). Listen to all three in cycle...Nirvana First, Tool Second, then System of a Down. Yes...hm...I try to make these recs really well rounded, to suit everyone's tastes, but to be honest, some chapters...not a lot fits with them from different genres of music. These are mostly things I listen to while I write the chapter.
Okaly-Dokaly...ENJOY!
Chapter 27: Falling Into Place
A heavy hand came down on Menlo's shoulder and he straightened, though his lips were pursed tightly together.
"Are you alright, Menlo?" Mikey asked, the owner of the hand. Menlo pulled from his reach.
"Fine," he snarled, snapping the paper back to TJ, "I simply...the night air is playing tricks on my mind."
"Did you say the last name on that list was Clara?" Spinelli spoke up, the name catching in her throat. All eyes turned to Menlo who nodded, then returned to TJ.
"Who is this Clara?" Butch asked, "You all keep mentioning her." TJ sighed, shaking his head and glancing to Gretchen.
"Do you mind?" he asked.
"Not at all," she sighed somewhat sardonically. She did mind, but went on with the story telling despite it. She told Butch, Sam and Dave, and Menlo the entire story of everything that had happened since she knew of. All the little gory details, every piece of information her brain could muster, which in truth was rather an impressive amount. Every now and then, another would speak up and fill in the blanks of their own experience, but for the most part, everyone remained silent, listening intently. When she explained who Clara was, TJ took a great deal of interest in kicking at the dirt. Finally, she finished.
"Well," Menlo muttered, dazedly, "Well..."
"So Clara is...she's behind all of this?" Butch asked, "Who is she? I mean, what does she have to do with Mary Anna? And who's Brenda?"
"I think I can help clarify that to some degree," Gretchen interjected, "I ran a search on the name Mary Anna James, but was only able to pull up her father's name, Freud James. You aren't going to believe this...but...he was a doll maker."
"Was?" TJ prodded.
"Yeah, was. He retired when his daughter disappeared mysteriously," Gretchen explained
"Mary Anna James," Menlo nodded in understanding, but Gretchen shook her head.
"No," Gretchen retorted, "Brenda James." An odd smile slipped across her lips as all eyes turned on her, she nodded her head slowly, "Freaky, huh?"
"His daughter's name was Brenda?" TJ choked out, "Wait, what?"
"Yup," Mikey confirmed, "I saw it. The name of the daughter was Brenda, and the name of the mother and wife was Maryland. Freud's first doll was named and designed after his wife. He also created a doll named Mary Anna."
"Designed after a little girl that lived next door to them. Mary Anna was originally born and raised in Louisiana, but Brenda and her family moved there when Brenda was, to my estimation, two," Gretchen picked up where Mikey left off, "It gets weirder. All of the dolls in the James collection were one of a kind. These first two, Maryland and Mary Anna were not available for purchase, and no one knows where they are. It's said that Freud created dozens of dolls that are lost. No one knows who purchased them, or what happened to them. The first doll that was reported 'sold' was a doll named Clara, designed for and purchased by one Mary Anna, the model for his second doll."
"Where did you get all this information?" Randall asked, who'd been paying attention with wry awe. Being in the CIA, Randall would have understood if he, himself, had been able to acquire the mass amount of information, but Gretchen and Mikey weren't in the CIA.
"The internet," Gretchen shrugged.
"What about a doll named Brenda?" Gus asked, but Gretchen shook her head.
"The site listed as many dolls as the Webmaster knew of, but Brenda wasn't amongst them," Gretchen explained, "Which leads me to believe that maybe Brenda wasn't a doll that Freud created, or perhaps, it was a private creation for his daughter."
"What's the matter, TJ?" Mikey turned his attention to the former leader. TJ had buried himself deep in thought, losing interest in the conversation, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Upon hearing his name, he shook out of the seeming trance, and focused on the group who now stared anxiously at him awaiting his input.
"There was Brenda, and there was Mary Anna. Who were we dealing with? Mary Anna, or Brenda? Who was in that building when it burned down, Mary Anna or Brenda?" he shrugged, "I don't know, it's just that picture is bugging me."
"Ah, the mysterious picture," Gretchen nodded; pulling it from her pocket for the other's to see.
"Did you decipher the message?"
"You'll love this," Gretchen smiled, passing it over, "It's only partial, but there's one thing I can make out most certainly. Third Street Lake."
A crackle in the distance shook the companions from whatever musings they'd busied themselves with.
"We better get out of here," Vince suggested, shifting slightly, "It's gonna rain again."
"If there's nothing else in the hole..." TJ shrugged and they made to leave. Dave struck the dirt with his shovel, to free his hands so he might climb out, and a sound of steel striking a hard object erupted in the still of the night air, the sound perhaps of glass breaking. They all stopped.
"What was that?" Vince was the first to speak up. The diggers were back in the hole once more without a moment's hesitation, patting the dirt now with their hands, shoving and brushing it out of the way. They sat back when they uncovered the first head, pale as the moonlight, large round eyes staring up to the heavens, stringy hair, burnt, the face shattered in.
"A doll," Dave murmured, looking up in almost questioning to TJ, and sat as though waiting for further instructions. The others stood around the hole staring down inside, gaping in awe of this new discovery.
"It's not the doll we buried," Spinelli verified, "Keep digging." TJ nodded, and on his command, the diggers retrieved their shovels, now gently removing the dirt from the hole in small piles. Again the other's sat back watching with a renewed fascination, but their eyes could not be peeled from what was slowly being revealed in that small hole.
"Dolls," Sam was saying, "So many dolls." He raised one from the hole, fairly intact and handed it up to the first outstretched hand, Menlo.
"It's..." Menlo started, knocking the dirt off of the porcelain revealing a hidden beauty, "Broken, they're all broken."
"Hey," Ashley A. gasped, "That kind of looks like...me." It was true, with the blonde hair and delicate blue eyes. A pink dress was barely recognizable through the dirt, with a pretty black jacket draped over it.
"She's right," Menlo agreed, handing it over to the Ashleys who looked down upon it disdainfully.
"There's more," Dave called up from the hole, lifting out others that were not as intact as the Ashley A. look-a-like.
"They're all broken...so dirty, and they look like they were burned," Francis noted, taking one, "You know, I've heard of Freud James, now that I think about it. The dolls he made are all highly sought after by collectors. Each one is described as perfect examples of porcelain work."
"Then why would someone trash one of those dolls?" Spinelli asked, "They wouldn't, right? So, these must be cheap dolls, probably aren't even made of porcelain."
"Right," Francis confirmed, "Because if these were from the James Collection, we'd be standing on thousands of dollars worth of trash. Person would have to be crazy to do this to dolls from..." Everyone fell silent at that. "Oh, yeah...that's right," Francis shrugged, busying himself with straightening his shirt. As far as they knew, the person after them was crazy.
"What do we do now?" Butch spoke up, and everyone turned to TJ once more, the unanimous leader.
"Yeah, what now?" Menlo demanded. And voices rose in conjunction asking for answers.
"Calm down," TJ cried, "Quiet..." he sighed, as a hush fell about the group, "I don't know if it'll work but...I have a plan."
"Thank god," Ashley A. muttered, "Finally."
"Yeah," Butch put in, "Took you long enough."
"What's the plan, Dettwieler," Randall spoke up.
"It's not a new plan," TJ told them, "It's an old one, fifteen years old to be exact. There'll be changes, of course, because we can't follow it exactly..."
"You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?" Vince questioned.
"Yeah," TJ nodded, "I am."
"You think it'll work?" Gretchen asked, catching on.
"I don't know," TJ shrugged, "It's got to be perfect."
"What if we can't pull it off again?" Gus muttered.
"Pull what off again?" Francis demanded.
"Yeah, are you guys going to, like, fill us in, or what?" Ashley A. joined in.
"You already all know the plan," TJ explained, "But just in case you've forgotten, we'll go over it again. I'm going to lead Clara to the gym..."
"But she'll know," Mikey interrupted, "She'll know what we're planning."
"No," TJ snapped, "She trusts me, at least I think she does. Hope she does. I don't know why, or how, but I think Clara is different then Mary Anna. I don't think she'll know. It's the only chance we have..."
"No," Spinelli said flatly, "We're not doing it. I'm not doing it."
"Spi...we have to," TJ argued.
"No, it's too big a risk," Spinelli shook her head, "You're going on some goddamned hunch that Clara doesn't want to kill you? No, no, no, no, and did I mention, NO!"
"It's the only way..." TJ protested.
"No. Make another plan," Spinelli hissed.
"I'm doing it whether you're involved or not. I'm going back to that boathouse, I'm looking for Clara, and I'm following through with this plan, and maybe getting answers along the way," TJ replied softly, "There's not a whole lot of ways we can go about this. We don't have the upper hand here. I'll be frank with you; we're screwed. The chances of this working are slim to none, and the only guarantee I can give any of you is that...if it all falls through...I'll be the one in danger. I can't let someone else get hurt because of another of my stupid plans. Unless any of you have anything better...?"
"We storm the goddamned boathouse," Spinelli spat, "We break it open, find the bitch and drag her to the loony bin."
"It lacks grace, however..." Gretchen started, but her voice faltered as TJ shook his head.
"We're not even certain that that's where she'll be. And even then...she'll show herself to me, I'm almost positive," TJ chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, looking amongst the people standing around him. He'd known them all since kindergarten. It was a long time to know someone. They'd all changed so much, not one was the same as before. They're faces all seemed so familiar, yet changed, it was their eyes that threw him off. Even his closest friends. Gretchen looked out at the world bitterly, Vince stared out in anger and frustration, Gus seemed to hold inner turmoil within him, Mikey had the glower of cynicism plastered behind his eyes, and even Spinelli...who had been the one true constant in TJ's life, her eyes were now dead almost, and she looked dismally to the ground. He'd done that to them, to all of them, to Spinelli.
TJ closed his eyes, shaking his head. He felt as though he hadn't slept in days, years even. But he had to keep pushing himself, keep going. The others looked to be in similar conditions. How had they screwed everything up so much in the past few days, the past years? Taking a deep breath, TJ clapped his hands together.
"Alright, gather round, this is the plan," he announced, and was shocked to find that they all did just that.
-0-0-0-0-
TJ stared across the street to the boathouse. It was late in the night; his parents had probably already arrived home. He'd left a note for them, but doubted it would ease their worries. The boathouse looked trashed, most likely because of the storm and the flood. The roof over the small room was missing, of course, but the rest of the boathouse seemed fairly ship shape. His breath kept catching in his throat. He hated to be alone, but he knew that he wasn't really alone. He placed his hand lightly atop the pocket in his jacket, feeling the hard plastic of the two-way radio within it. They hadn't been used in years, but they still worked.
The wind picked up and TJ wrapped his arms about himself, sighing. He pulled the radio from the pocket lifted it to his mouth.
"Are we ready?" he breathed into the speaker.
"Yeah, operation Dirty Secret is a go," Vince's voice replied, though the static sounded terrible. TJ nodded, knowing that Gus, Menlo, and at least two of the Ashleys were in visual distance. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward off of the sidewalk and walked towards the boathouse, re-pocketing the talkie.
It was cold, and warm at the same time and TJ's breath came out as small puffs of vapor. The chill wind ruffled what little hair peeked out beneath his cap. He didn't like returning there, to that small warped wooden structure. That was where Gus was taken and tortured, where himself and Clara had...
TJ shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. At that moment, he had to worry about where he was going and making sure the plan went smoothly.
Other than the four conspirators watching TJ's back, the gang was back at the gym setting up. Menlo hadn't the access to the gym they'd hoped for, which led to another plan to get the key from inside the school building. TJ hadn't been able to stick around and make sure that went effortlessly, but with Vince's okay to start, he had full confidence that it was all ready.
Spinelli had been silent the entire time they set up for the plan, avoiding any eye contact with TJ, if not avoiding him all together. She was mad that she hadn't gotten her way, but knew she was the only one who could play her role, the only one who would play her role, in the plan. Mostly she was mad at TJ, but he didn't say anything about it, just allowed her to avoid him, in fact staying out of her way as well as he could. He wanted to make it easier for her.
TJ stared blankly at the wooden door of the boathouse. He ran his fingers along the jutted surface. It was still damp.
"You going in or what, Teej?" Gus's static-filled voice erupted from TJ's pocket, muffled and barely audible. TJ sighed, slipped his hand atop the radio once more, and clicked it off. He didn't need it yet.
With careful movements, TJ opened the door to the boathouse, watched it swing in and stepped back as some water spilled out. With a heavy gulp, he moved slowly into the boathouse, looking about the room wearily. It was a wreck, like everything else in that town. He moved in, shutting the door gently behind him and walked through the room. Debris was scattered about upon the hard wooden floors, and with each step he took a splash of water followed. There was a table, turned on its side, the leg broken, and a wet rope strewn in the water of the lake, black caked blood on the knotted strands.
Every hair on TJ's body seemed to stand on end as he moved through the boathouse. The air smelled damp, and there was a hint of smolder. His breath came in sharply as he just nearly avoided stepping on a dead bird sprawled on the floor and continued on his trek through the room to the back door. He could hear someone, something. Freezing in place, his eyes searched the room once more.
"Clara?" TJ called tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper. Movement. TJ's heart pounded in his chest. He heard the door shut in the back room and made his way to it with stiff strides, clutching his side weakly. Again he faced a door, touching it lightly, his breath coming in with sharp gasps of pain. He opened the door.
-0-0-0-0-
Spinelli shook her head, wiping the sweat from her brow as she worked at moving various boxes. It had been startling to find the huge mess within the gym, but it aided their plan slightly, giving Spinelli more cover. However there needed to be some readjusting of the mess in order to work in the plan, which left her moving boxes. With the hard labor, she had discarded her heavy jacket and sweater and now stood panting in a thin undershirt staring at the empty room. She slumped atop one of the boxes, curiosity rearing within her and she found herself once more fighting the urge to open one of the many boxes and find out what was in it. They were pretty damn heavy.
With a deep sigh, Spinelli lifted herself up again, going about rearranging the boxes once more. She could hear the others outside, but it was no comfort knowing that TJ was heading right into the lair of that Clara bitch. With the way she'd been feeling, and the illness overtaking her, Spinelli needed rest, but moving around and working had always been the best way for her to heal. She couldn't lay about sipping fluids and popping pills. She'd always found it easier to work away whatever ailed her. Silence fell outside and that was almost reassuring to her. They had fallen into place, and the plan was going smoothly. Vince would come in soon to aid her, to give her the word. He was outside at the moment though, overseeing things, taking over in TJ's absence. He was, after all, the only other one that knew how everything was to play out and had enough respect from the others to direct them.
All they had left to do was wait. It hadn't taken so long, the plan that is, those fifteen years ago. But then, TJ wasn't trying to lead Mary Anna halfway through town back then, but only through the hall of one lone school. There was something eerie about the silence of that hallow gym. It was empty. The basketball hoops and climbing rope had been, undoubtedly, taken down long ago. All the equipment was gone, or, as Spinelli assumed, probably packed away in those many boxes. She rubbed her face and leaned her weight back, sighing. It had seemed an eternity since she had felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins like it was at that moment, the way it always did before she went in with "the gang" for one of TJ's many plans. It had been nearly an eternity since TJ had come up with a plan. If it weren't for the current circumstances, Spinelli would have been thrilled.
Spinelli had never loved the wait. It was the action she favored. But the wait was perhaps the most important part, as it showed TJ's careful attention to detail. But she hated this whole plan, the waiting, the action that would take place, the attention to detail, or precisely lack thereof. It wasn't exactly reassuring when TJ announced to all of them how screwed they really were. But for some reason, they all blindly trusted TJ. Maybe, just maybe, that was their biggest flaw in the plan. Their undying trust in TJ. Maybe it had been their folly all along.
"No," Spinelli whispered under her breath, "I have to stop thinking like that." The problem was, Spinelli didn't trust TJ anymore. She tensed suddenly, feeling a slight breeze from behind her and the sound of shuffling feet. Someone had just joined her in the gym. "Vince?" she called, but no answer came. She saw motion from the corner of her eye and bit her lower lip nervously. The only light in the gym was from the stars outside. Spinelli loved the stars, but in New York she couldn't even see them. She used to spend hours at night with TJ up in his tree house staring at those stars, listening to one another breath softly, and holding hands. Sometimes Spinelli would get the feeling that TJ was watching her more often then the stars on those nights.
But the stars were no comfort at that moment as Spinelli held her muscles taut, searching the shadows for any indication of the intruder's whereabouts. She slipped through the gym, alert, her heart racing as she leaned against a tall stack of boxes, and felt a warm musky hand clamp over her mouth.
-0-0-0-0-
TJ stared at the form in the room that in turn stared up at him. She sat on the bed, a placid young woman, her hair stringy waves that were once perfect curls. Her eyes shadowed with dark rings, her skin pale as milk and almost transparent in the silvery moonlight. Those large brown eyes bore into TJ's almost pleadingly. In her hand she held a doll, a shining crack traced along the face, up the cheek and across the nose.
"Clara?" TJ whispered.
"I...I..." the woman faltered, her eyes searching the floor, "I am waiting." She stroked the dolls stringy brown hair, tears welling out of her eyes, down her own dirt stained cheeks and splattering on the porcelain face.
"For what?"
"I can't tell you." She dropped the doll to the ground and stood, facing TJ with a vacant stare, blinking slightly as though breaking from a trance. "You came back." For a moment, TJ didn't understand, staring blankly at the young woman.
"Oh," he mumbled, realizing the meaning behind the words, "Yeah...I did. I...um...the flood."
"Flood..." Clara stepped forward, brushing her fingers along TJ's skin, "Can you swim?"
"Sort of," TJ shrugged, pulling away reflexively, "Uh...what are you waiting for?"
"I can't tell you," she repeated, taking his hand, "Come." She attempted to lead him back further in the room, but he wouldn't move. She turned, questioningly.
"There are things I need to know," TJ told her, "I'm going to ask you questions, and I need you to answer."
"No," Clara whispered, tracing his jaw with a trembling finger, "I'm going to talk and you are going to listen." Her hand slipped behind his neck, her skin was like ice, and TJ could feel his heart pounding desperately in his chest. There was danger in her voice, like the steely edge of a knife.
"We have to..." TJ attempted, but he was feeling weaker by the minute. And he wanted to know what she had to say.
-0-0-0-0-
For a time, Spinelli struggled against her captor, fighting the man that slipped behind her and held her still with strong arms. She pounded against the arm wrapped about her waist, clawed at the hand covering her mouth, and all the discipline and training she adhered from her years in kickboxing seemed to escape her. Warm breath berated her neck and she tried to pull away.
"Stop fighting," a voice whispered into her ear. In a fit of furry and fear, Spinelli jabbed her elbows back into soft flesh and felt her captor curl within himself in pain. She ripped from his clutches, racing for the exit of the gym, but a hand wrapped tightly about her wrist, twisting her back and throwing her against the boxes. She nearly lost her footing, but a hand snaked behind her neck, holding her steady, another covering her mouth. A face came mere inches from her own and her eyes widened in recognition. The hand came down from her mouth and she whispered only one name.
"Mundy?"
END A/N: I know it was short. NO COMPLAINTS! Man, I'm in a bossy mood...sheesh.
I watched the episode "Prickly is Leaving" and "Randall's Friends" the other day. HOW creepy was that? TJ, a rebel without a cause, GRETCH a GOTH! Mikey all pimply faced, and SPINELLI (I'll never get over that particular trauma). BUT that episode rocked because one really big reason, TIM CURRY, the coolest voice actor ever. THOUGH, I do have problems blocking out memories of him in the Rocky Horror Picture Show whenever I hear his voice. It wasn't a bad movie, just...scary is all. Too much singing...Now, "Randall's Friends", showed a mother for him, but I like my story of his life better, so...we're sticking with it. And I guess it still fits...for now. But how frightening was that when Mr. Weems revealed to Spinelli that Randall had told his father she was in love with him? I, personally, burst into laughter. Originally, I was going to have Randall in this story as one of Spinelli's admirers (yes, he too was going to reveal a love for her), but I changed my mind most specifically because I didn't feel it fit with the story, nor his character. Enough of my babble. It's getting longer than the chapter...HA.
MUNDY? Mundy, Mundy....what does he have to do with any of this? Did I just throw you all for another loop? Damn straight I did. But how is Mundy connected to any of this...did I mention him before? Did I give enough space between for you to forget TJ's conversation with his dad about the school? Only your reviews will tell.
And what does Clara have to say to TJ? Will TJ be safe, or is he completely screwed? All these questions and more will be answered, next chapter.........................................maybe.
REVIEW!
Thanks for reading, and please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.
Gondor Primulon, my fellow Recess nerds. (Yeah, I saw "Lord of the Nerds" too. I'd like to meet someone out there who doesn't absolutely love Knarf. He's one tough nerd.)