A/N: I've got ten minutes before I got to go to work.

Thanks to my reviewers:

RT: I thought Mundy was dead too...it's good that you feel sorry for Clara, I want people to feel sorry for Clara, even though they don't know why they're supposed to. Rocky Horror Picture Show...shudder...though I guess you have happy memories of it so...And I doubt you're old, I mean, obviously I still remember Rainbow Brite, and I don't consider myself to be that old...hehe..

TNPD: Yes. WOW!

RavenForever: Subs suck. I'm in college though, so if the teacher doesn't come, we have no class! YAY! And no subs. Sorry you can't sleep at night because of my story. I swear, the dolls won't try to kill you...they aren't plotting your death as we speak, they don't already have plans to off you...or do they?

Sarah: jigga-what??!?! um...no comment. Yeah, go back to chapter 12, that's where the conversation is.

DarkAngelGuadianLight: More mysteries to come.

mischeif-maker: okie dokie. You think you're head's spinning now. In the next few chapters, you'll be questioning everything you thought was the truth in the past chapters.

Okay, THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT GUYS!

Music recs: Tu by Shakira or Sleep by The Dandy Warhols.

I've nothing else to say so...ENJOY!

Chapter 28: To Pieces Once More

Vince tapped his foot slightly on the blacktop looking about. He could see Gretchen by the swing set, Ashley A. beside her. They didn't appear to be talking or even acknowledging the other's company. Mikey was atop the jungle gym, which proved a hard feat for the robust young man, but there he sat, binoculars firmly placed across the bridge of his nose, looking towards Third Street Lake. Before TJ was even halfway to the school, Vince and the rest of the conspirators would know it and already be set in place. Randall would have been a better lookout, Vince had to admit to that, but Mikey wouldn't take a more active role in the plan, and frankly, TJ didn't want him to have to take a more active role. Though, this was after all, only an elaborate mousetrap.

What would they do after they had Mary Anna, or Clara, or whomever the hell their psycho bitch was, trapped? Would they call the police? And even if they did, how could they prove any of their claims against her? Would they force her to explain why she'd done everything she'd done to them? Interrogate and torture her? As though what they'd done fifteen years ago wasn't enough? And TJ was right. Was this person they were dealing with Mary Anna, and if so, how did Mary Anna escape the gym and the fire? Or was it Brenda, as TJ had so aptly questioned? Or maybe her name really was Clara and she was someone else all together? Vince sighed, looking to the far trees where Butch was squatted in the shadows, completely invisible. Randall was nearby, and Francis was staring across the playground to Vince, looking uncertain, Ashley Q. beside him. Sam and Dave were behind the gym, their role was imperative in the plan, and that had Vince worried, and from the look on TJ's face when he left, it had their fearless leader worried as well. Sam and Dave couldn't stop bickering, and while that wasn't completely unusual, it was how they went about bickering that was. They looked ready to kill the other at any moment for no apparent reason, and it was obvious the very idea of slinking off and working with the other was regarded, amongst the two, as something truly undesirable.

Vince nearly jumped when he realized that Gretchen had joined him. And startled from his reflections, he shot her a not-so-reassuring smirk.

"This is not going to work, is it?" Gretchen asked. Vince shrugged.

"TJ says that..."

"TJ says we're screwed. Did you miss that part in the speech, or are you choosing to ignore it much like the rest of our comrades?"

"If we let it get to us, then we really are screwed," Vince sighed, shaking his head wearily, "But his speeches...is it just me or has he forgotten the pep in pep talk?"

"Now's not the time to joke," Gretchen muttered and Vince shook his head again.

"Sorry. I just...got nothing else."

"You talked to TJ I noticed."

"Obviously it didn't go well. Something tells me our friendship can't be salvaged."

"What did you expect? You came crawling back on your hands and knees begging forgiveness, and you really couldn't do that very well either. Maybe you should stick to the basketball court, because obviously you're not very good at winning in the game of life," Gretchen said, only a slight hint of snappish bitterness evident in her voice. She truly felt sorry for Vince. He was finally starting to understand what he'd done and how horrible he'd really been but he couldn't take back the things he'd said. And now TJ was appearing to have jumped on the 'I hate my life and everyone involved with it' bandwagon. There really was no hope for the old gang. They really were all torn forever, weren't they?

"Gee, thanks Gretch, any more words of encouragement, because you really are a great deal of help," Vince snapped dripping sarcasm. She rolled her eyes, turning her gaze away from him.

"You don't have to be a dick about it," she muttered.

"Sorry," he leaned back slightly, looking to the stars. People believe the strangest things about the stars. Celestial beings, angels in heaven, the dead looking down to earth, pictures painted by the gods in memorial to heroes, wish granters, fortune tellers, beacons of hope. Sailors use them as navigational tools, and just for that moment, Vince wished he were a sailor and that the stars would lead him where he needed to go, because to be honest, he had no idea where the hell he was going.

"Vince," Gretchen murmured, and he looked down, meeting her eyes, "Did you really think it was TJ's fault? What happened with Mary Anna?"

"I think I did," Vince replied, looking back to the stars, "But it's not that simple."

"I'm scared."

"Gretch...we'll be fine. Clara...whoever she is, we can't be afraid of her or she wins."

"That's not what I'm scared of."

"Then what?"

"I'm scared I'll never feel the way I felt when I was ten. I'm scared I'll never have the friendships I had when I was ten. I'm scared that I'll...that I won't be able to keep up this mirage of who I am. I'm scared that I'm not smart enough. I'm scared...I'm scared I'll never finally lose this damn battle I'm fighting against myself. I'm scared that..."

"I get it," Vince interrupted and they both fell silent, something in his voice letting Gretchen know that he was scared of all those things too. He looked down to her, studying her in the night air. She looked cold, in more ways than one, and alone. A single tree on an island in the ocean, isolated from the rest of the world. Long red hair, falling back and tussled in the wind, bangs brushing gently against her pale forehead; freckles dabbled across her cheeks and her thin-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. He slipped an arm over her small shoulders and she relaxed against him, needing the support that he offered.

"We're not perfect," Gretchen stated, as though it were something she'd suddenly realized, as though it were a new concept that she couldn't quite grasp, as though it were a mathematical equation that just didn't seem to add up.

"Nobody said we needed to be, but if it makes you feel better, you're perfect to me."

-0-0-0-0-

TJ stared expectantly at Clara for the longest time, but she seemed preoccupied with the shattered pieces of doll on the wooden floor, staring expressionless at them and pushing them around with her foot. But then, TJ wasn't in a hurry to hear what Clara had to say, nor to put operation Dirty Secret into motion, so he remained silent. For a few listless moments, the silence beat at every corner of the room and TJ hadn't the strength to will it away. Maybe he liked the silence.

"Are you...are you wondering?" Clara finally broke the still of the room with her soft voice.

"Um...about what?" TJ didn't know what else to say. There were so many things that his body and heart and mind told him to do, but then there was the little voice that seemed to make so little sense and yet sounded so damn persuasive all at once, telling him to stay and listen and hear out the obviously unstable woman.

For a moment, Clara looked about the room, her eyes rolled up, staring at the ceiling, twisting her body like a child asked where the Halloween candy went while the child's lips and hands were covered in chocolate. She puckered her lips and turned to TJ then.

"Mmm...why, wondering why?" she explained.

"Why what?" TJ prodded, exasperated and desperate for the charade of riddles to end, to finally get a straight answer.

"Never mind. If you have to ask, you don't know," She turned again, eyeing the broken doll, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" TJ said, taking a deep breath and attempting to compose himself.

"If you'll stop interrupting me," she snapped, spinning on her heel to face him again, "Daddy...daddy said not to touch the dolls, they were his. And I was a good girl, more than happy to do as he said. But Brenda! That bitch, Brenda! She didn't know how to follow the rules. It's her fault." TJ blinked, confusion evident on his face, and it only took a moment before Clara burst into a fit of giggles. She slipped her hand into his and as repulsed as he was by her touch TJ couldn't muster the strength to pull away from the chilly clutch.

"You said you had something to tell me," TJ whispered and Clara looked to the ground once more.

"Dolls, they're so...so...flawless. Little ladies with little smiles, like a secret is pursed between their lips," she said daintily, "I have a secret. And so do you." She moved away from TJ, her hand leaving his and he relaxed slightly, breathing once more. "Brenda couldn't swim. She sank, like a rock. Mama always said...sink or float." Clara turned suddenly, her fingers tracing the wood grains in the wall. She grinned broadly, cherubically, "Nobody liked her anyways, she did everything wrong. She wasn't very pretty, and she was quite stupid. That's why, that's why daddy killed Brenda, because she wasn't...she wasn't...wasn't flawless."

"What about..." TJ started, but Clara frowned deeply, and gave a sharp gasp.

"No questions," she stated peevishly, and was silent until she seemed certain that TJ would say nothing more, "So we thought...daddy, and them, they thought that Mary Anna was flawless. They were wrong. She was...a little lady, with a little smile. She would purse her lips as though she held a secret between them. But I knew better," Clara smiled slyly, her body quivering. She turned again, her face contorting, and her voice came out an odd screech, "The dead tell no secrets." She threw her hands in the air, spinning, the cotton dress she wore twirling outward, "I used to tell everyone's secrets, but daddy said not to. There are some secrets that others don't want to know!" She stopped, turning once more to TJ, her voice as innocent as a child's again, her eyes seeming to plead with him, "Are you here to take me away?"

"I..." TJ felt betrayed by his throat, catching his words. He stared blankly, startled at the young woman before him. She wasn't making any sense. Was she trying to tell him something? Did she already tell him what she'd wanted to? His pause seemed to give Clara the idea that she was supposed to continue, and she did.

"It's alright though," she told him, as though trying to reassure him of something he didn't know about, "I am flawless," she smiled, "You think I'm perfect, right? I mean, you love me, don't you?" TJ opened his mouth to say something, closed it again. He wasn't expecting that. Her eyes narrowed on him, "Right? You think I'm perfect, right?"

"I...uh..." Lie, TJ willed himself, lie to her. Lie to me. He opened his mouth again, but he couldn't say the words. He couldn't lie, just as he couldn't lie to Spinelli. It wasn't right. "I love Spinelli, Clara." She seemed to crumble before him, her bottom lip trembling terribly, tears brimming the edge of her eyes. She folded into herself, clutching her stomach and sinking to the floor and gave out a wail. TJ stood completely still, afraid to move, afraid to say anything.

"Why her? Why her?" Clara straightened, turned her fiery gaze on TJ and seemed to compose herself, her voice steady and even, reminding TJ of the receptionist she'd been in New York, "She's a stupid bitch, everybody says so. She's not flawless. She's not...not...perfect. I am. So, you're wrong. You love me, and that's it."

"You said you had something to tell me," TJ prodded, attempting to change the subject. He didn't like talking about Spinelli with Clara, especially not in the manner the conversation was taking. She froze, turning away from him, her shoulders rising and falling slowly with her breathing, her cotton dress bunched up in her hand.

"I...I heard him talking," she whispered, "He said...he says...um..." her brow scrunched together and she squeezed her eyes shut, hair falling about her face, "He says he'll take care of things," she spun suddenly, her eyes wide, her voice shrill, "I tried, I tried..." she smiled slyly, calming again, "Well, as much as I could try with you around to distract me," her hands wrapped around TJ's neck, drawing him close to her and her ash smell and dirty face. TJ pulled away, touching her arm softly to release their hold on him. An unpleasant feeling rising in his stomach.

"Who is he?" TJ asked, almost certain he wasn't going to like the answer, but it wasn't going to make sense anyways. Her face fell, and she spun away from TJ again, crossing to the far side of the room and stepping up on the bed before turning around and coming back, her eyes moving from side to side, her lip quavering.

"He...um...he..." she stopped, her face lighting up, "He's completely consumed by the flame. Daddy said not to play with matches," she said matter-of-factly, rubbing her hands together, and flinching slightly, she giggled, twirling once more and grasping TJ's hand again, "He's burning up and doesn't even know it!" she stopped, smiling ironically, "Everybody thinks he's dead." TJ shook his head, not certain what to say. He blinked his eyes trying to refocus on why he'd come there.

"I have...um...something to show you," TJ said, glancing to the door, "Come with me," he tried to lead her away, but felt a small tug, as she stood still as a board, unmoving. And TJ's heart sank. Did she figure out what he was up to already? The look in her eyes was almost one of death.

"I'm waiting," she stated clearly, a frown creasing her lips. TJ was silent.

"For what?" he finally asked, expecting the same answer she kept giving. I can't tell you.

"For him," she said, surprising TJ.

"Him?" TJ stuttered, "Who everyone thinks is dead?" Clara nodded. TJ made his way to the door, not liking the possible meaning behind those words. He felt her body come behind him, a hand holding the door firmly shut. In his condition, he wasn't incredibly certain he could overpower the young woman, but he had to have the confidence he could and at least try.

"He's taking care of things," she whispered, "But I'm not supposed to know. Nobody's going to get what they want, you know. Nobody. Except, maybe, me," Clara smiled, brushing her lips against TJ's, "When it's over, they'll all be dead. Even he'll be dead. But you are already dead." TJ was frozen, unable to escape her touch, her kiss, "You can't kill what's already dead." She ran her fingers along the side of his face, tracing every contour, every curve, every dip, "You're broken," she sighed, "But I'll fix you."

-0-0-0-0-

Sam sank against the brick wall of the gym; tapping his foot impatiently and glancing at his business partner Dave. They hadn't been in such close quarters in years. What with the advances in technology, they really didn't need to be.

"How's the wife and kids?" Sam spoke up, finally breaking the deafening quiet that had settled around them. Dave glanced at him wryly, and then went back to looking out towards Vince, waiting patiently for the signal. Dave had married at a young age, to the first young blonde bimbo that "fell" for him. The truth be told, the woman was probably more interested in the money Dave made then anything else. Though, she had provided him with a daughter, and then a son. The daughter was turning three in a few months, but that really didn't matter to Sam, seeing as how he'd never so much as met Dave's kids.

"What do you care?" Dave muttered and Sam had to agree with the bitterness in Dave's voice, he didn't care.

"Just making conversation," he shrugged, "It's cold."

"That's not how you make conversation," Dave shook his head, turning to his brother, "And if you wanted to make conversation, there were plenty of more opportune moments in time to make it. Particularly with those who don't detest you." Sam looked away.

"Well, at least something hasn't changed," Sam said, tapping his foot again.

"And you thought for a moment that things had changed because we're back here, back with...'friends'," Dave laughed cynically, "I'm trying to dispel as much loath I can so that I'm able to work with you, but if you keep 'making conversation', I don't think I can do it."

"I've been thinking," Sam continued, after a moment's pause to consider what Dave had said, "Remember what I said, before we came here."

"Honestly, Sam, I can't remember every dumb remark you make," Dave spat, but the tone in his words suggested that he did, indeed, remember.

"I don't want to take over the branch that opens out here, if it opens out here," Sam went on, "I've put more thought into what I said, and it's starting to make more and more sense. The company's not the same as when we started it," Sam scratched his head, preoccupying himself with the folds in his overalls, "It's just...not what I want anymore. I'm quitting; I'm leaving the company. I'll sell you my half of it, or I'll find someone who wants to buy it." Dave sunk to the ground with those words, his mouth dropping open slightly, though Sam didn't notice.

"Why...why would you do that?" Dave asked, the words struggling to push their way out.

"I told you why," Sam shrugged, ignoring the pain and panic in his partner's voice, "It's not what I want to be a part of anymore."

"But it's our company," Dave argued, "We built it from scratch, the both of us. Our costumers want Sam and Dave, not Bill and Dave or Stan and Dave, or Bob and Dave, or whoever buy's your half of the company and Dave, or even just Dave. They expect the both of us. We're the company, Sam."

"And since when has there ever been a we in this company? If I recall correctly, you're the company, I'm just a digger," Sam spat, "I'm leaving, it's already been decided."

"Fine, whatever," Dave shook his head, "Go ahead, leave the company, I don't care...I don't."

-0-0-0-0-

Francis pat his jeans, watching the dust and dirt fall. He sighed, checking his watch, then pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket. He glanced at Ashley Q. standing against a tree, staring at the ground blankly.

"If you wanted to go with Ashley T., you should have went," he told her quietly.

"That would leave you with Ashley B.," came the soft reply, "I couldn't do that to you...to anyone."

"That's a first," Francis mumbled, "An Ashley thinking of someone beside herself."

"I think of the other Ashleys too," Ashley Q. snapped, "I'm not that shallow...at least, not anymore."

"Sorry," Francis muttered, "I shouldn't have said that." They were silent, fascinated by the opposite ends of the playground. "What's with your husband?" Francis finally spoke up.

"Nothing," Ashley Q. hissed, an obvious touchy subject for her. She shuddered, wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, "What about you, Mr. Suave? Calm and composed?"

"Ashley B.'s a bitch," Francis shook his head, "We all have problems, some of us are just better at keeping 'em to ourselves."

"It's not healthy," Ashley Q. said gently, "To hold everything inside." She met his eyes, surprised to find him watching her, "You can tell me, you know. I know I probably, like, wouldn't be your first choice...but I'm, like, actually a really good listener."

"It's not important," Francis shrugged, and they brushed shoulders as he came to lean next to her.

"Is it about Spinelli?"

"Part of it, yeah."

"I want to know."

"If I tell you...I mean, if I tell you some of my problems, you won't tell anyone. Because you can't, you can't tell anyone anything I say." Ashley Q. held up her three fingers, smiling.

"Scouts honor," she assured him. Francis smiled back, nodding, then turning his attention to the grass they were trampling with their errant steps.

"I've never been able to connect with anyone," Francis shrugged, "I mean, besides Spinelli and sometimes I feel distant from even her."

"That's not so bad," Ashley Q. started, but fell short when she noticed the haggard look across Francis's face.

"Not so bad?" he repeated sarcastically, "I wake up every morning to an empty bed, usually an empty motel room, because I'm never in one place," he closed his eyes, fighting back whatever emotions were surfacing, "Do you know what it's like? Waking up knowing there's no one in the world thinking about you? I'm a twenty-five year old man who's never experienced love, let alone sex."

"You're a virgin?" Ashley Q. questioned, the news an obvious shock. Francis clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Are you crazy?" he cried, "Don't let that get out."

"Why are you still...? I mean...I would have though that you would have..."

"I almost did, a couple times actually," Francis shrugged again, leaning back against the tree, "But they were never the right ones. It never felt right. My mind was always on something else or someone else."

"Spinelli?"

"A lot less than you'd think," Francis chuckled slightly, sadly, "Once I was with this pretty young woman, and we had candles and wine. It was fancy. We were just getting to the removal of clothes when I started thinking about my mom and wondering when the last time I called her was. Needless to say, it killed the moment for me."

"That's kind of...um..."

"It's not the way you'd think," Francis interrupted, "It's just...I haven't met a girl that can keep my undivided attention."

"You set high-standards," Ashley Q. told him, "I haven't met a guy that can give a girl his undivided attention. Was that all?"

"No, not really," Francis murmured, slumping to the ground and shocked to find Ashley Q. join him, despite the risk of getting her designer skirt dirty, "I mean, I sat there and listened to Spinelli tell me about her fears in her relationship with TJ and then Randall telling me about his own personal demons, and the whole time I'm thinking what do I know about life and love and pain and sorrow? How can I possibly help them when I don't know anything about the problems they're facing? I've fucked up my life more than anyone could ever fuck up their life.

"But what am I going on about? Maybe I'm a little full of myself. Hell, I don't know," Francis leaned his head back against the tree; "I haven't had a decent conversation with my father in years. My mother, all she ever talks about is how she wants me to meet a nice girl and settle down. They say I'm obsessed with selling things that I'm too wrapped up in my business. I'm starting to think that money is taking over my life. That's all I think about now. How much money I can make, how much money this little detour in life is costing me, how much money I'm losing just sitting here talking to you. I saw a homeless man on the side of the street asking for a spare dime and the first thought that crossed my mind was 'why don't you get a job, you worthless bum'. The guy had no freaking legs, but he bothered me for some reason. I don't know why, I just...he aggravated me, sitting there asking for a handout when some people are out there busting their asses for everything they've got."

"Francis," Ashley Q. spoke up, her voice soft and careful, "My parents gave me everything I have. I guess I can't relate to what you're saying, as I've never worked a day in my life. Does that...does that make you mad, that I've got so much and I haven't deserved any of it?"

"No, not really. It would have, maybe just a few days before," Francis looked at her evenly, "But being back here, it has an odd way of reminding you that you were a kid once and other things used to matter. But I know, that the moment I leave, it'll all be the same. An empty life.

"I don't have any friends, no one I can talk to. Like I said, I haven't really ever connected with anyone," he held her eyes for a long time before letting out his breath and saying, "I tried to kill myself once." He looked away again, his eyes shining with the evident forming of tears, "I don't know why. I mean; I don't hate my life. I have a great life, don't I? I have a lot of money; I could retire now and never have to worry another minute about money. But, I still stared at that bottle of pills as though I were locked in a prison and it were the key out. I was a coward about it too. I just wanted it to be easy and painless. You just fall asleep with pills, you know, and never wake up. I guess I felt like I was the living dead, anyways, why not finish it off."

"I didn't know," Ashley Q. whispered, her eyes studying him, "That's...kind of pathetic."

"Pathetic?" Francis chuckled morosely, "Pathetic is the fact that the one who found me was the hotel maid, a little old Latino woman who couldn't speak a word of English. She's shouting in Spanish down the hall that she isn't cleaning up a dead body. That's all I was to that woman. A mess that she had to clean up. Not a life, no, just a smudge of dirt that was going to take an extra bit of elbow grease to clean out."

"That's horrible."

"Of course, hotel management had a paramedic rush in and even they wanted it made absolutely clear that they weren't paying my medical bill," Francis laughed at the memory, "Then the doctor, when I get there, asks me why I took so many, couldn't I read the recommended dosage on the bottle. When I told her that I guess I wanted to kill myself...she just nodded like it were normal, or like she expected that from a guy who looked like me."

"I'm sorry," Ashley Q. told him, "I mean, I know what it's like, to want an easy way out of life. Ashley A. goes and talks to this therapist every week, and she once asked me if I'd like the number. Is it that obvious? I try and do things normally but...I feel like, like, I lived my whole life a right-handed person and then suddenly I have to learn to go throughout life left-handed."

"Why is that? Why do you feel like that?" Francis asked and Ashley Q.'s eyes went wide, her hand covering her mouth as though she'd said something she wasn't supposed to.

"I don't know," she whispered, "I don't know. It's nothing. I don't know why."

"I shouldn't have told you everything I did," Francis muttered, pulling himself to his feet, "I shouldn't have said anything."

"I'm sorry," Ashley Q. shrugged, wrapping her arms about her knees, "I suppose I'm not as good a listener as I thought."

"No, you did good," Francis sighed, "Just a bit too good. Can we just...I don't know...forget this conversation happened?"

"I suppose," Ashley Q. nodded, "Yeah, alright." They were silent. "Francis?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you didn't succeed...in killing yourself that is. I know a lot of people would be sad if you had."

END A/N: Hm....lot's of touching moments as well as disturbing discussions. What can the next chapter possibly bring to this spiralling mystery!

THanks for reading and please REVIEW.

M-I-C, see ya' real soon, K-E-Y, why? Because I love you! BYE-BYE!

...who's the leader of the club that's made for you and me...