A/N: Oi...I know I had something to say...I know I did.

Thanks to the reviewers:

DarkAngelGuadianLight: I remember having to run laps in P.E. and I never came in third...though...sometimes I'd be lucky to come in third to last. Oh...but I never ran, so...I had a medical excuse that should have been more along the lines of "I'm really fat and lazy and don't want to run," though it wasn't. They couldn't make me run anyways.

TNPD: My characters are constantly surprising me. Francis didn't even tell me that he tried to kill himself until mere moments before I revealed it in the story...damn him. Randall's been a surprise too, and Ashley B., that was a huge surprise...damn characters...DON'T feel connected to Francis at that moment! He felt empty and worthless, like he had no purpose, don't tell me you feel that way, because it'll make me feel badly. And someone must have written a Francis/Ashley Q. story at some point in time, there's a lot of weird couplings out there. I can't tell you if that's what my story will be though...

RavenForever: I want some cookie dough...pout...sniffle...oh well. Mundy, Mundy, who's got the Mundy?

mischeif-maker: p1. can't say. p2. she's obsessed with her own perfection, not perfection in general. p3. you'll find out later. you think all she needs is a psychiatrist, I think she needs a nice padded cell. And volume, lots of volume. p4. that's coming later. p5. I know the difference between multiple personality disorder and schiztophrenia (did you know that most doctors don't even believe MPD exists?) You'll find out later. p6. I never said she kill Brenda, she said that 'daddy' killed Brenda. Go back and read it again. p7. It doesn't have to make sense.

xXxSarahxXx: I hope you find her creepier later on in the chapter and don't think of her as just plain insane. Last chapter had a great deal of touching moments, I hope this chapter not only confuses you, but has you laughing your ass off at parts. But then, they're just high hopes...awww...I have a biggest fan....yay...

Music Recssssssssssssss: hm...I got nothing. I been d/l some good eighties music lately though. A-ha's Take on Me for instance. I had a dream end with that song playing in the background, movie style...it was weird. I also got Berlin's Take My Breath Away, a little Blondie, a few Bangles, and a few songs from the seventies; Cheap Tricks I Want You to Want Me and a couple Janis Joplin songs. I wanted to get Joan Jett's I Love Rock'n Roll, (I heard Brittany Spears remade that song, what the hell is up with that?) but I couldn't get it. I also got some Aretha Franklin. Sometimes you got to take it back to the oldies, good stuff. I wanted to d/l Pat Benatar's song Invicible otherwise known as the theme song to the movie The Legend of Billie Jean (great movie).

EXTRA BROWNIE POINTS FOR WHOEVER FINDS THE LINE INCORPORATED IN THIS CHAPTER THAT COMES FROM THE MOVIE The Legend of Billie Jean. Okay, that's enough of my nonsensical babble. Let's get to what you all came for.

I want you to want me...I need you to need me...I love you to love, I'm begging you to...ENJOY!

Chapter 29: Recalling Flames of Old

Spinelli held her body still as she watched Mundy pace back and forth. He had changed a great deal since last she'd seen him, five years ago, the day that she left with TJ. His hair was matted, no longer carefully slicked back, he'd grown a beard as well, something she'd never pictured on him. He had a tattoo carved in his neck, a symbol she didn't recognize. Not to mention he was completely dressed in black, which wasn't actually too unusual, except that he was sneaking around the elementary school gym in the middle of the night. Of course, so was she. His body was well built, and long ago he'd surpassed Spinelli's height by about a foot. He was still thin, much like Spinelli, but lined with bulky muscles. He paced, like a wild animal almost, his eyes bloodshot, beads of sweat forming on his brow, cheeks, and upper lip, dribbling down his chin. There was a large cut along his forehead, emblazoned in the twilight, and his arms, bare, were lined with severe scars. His hands, when they had clutched Spinelli she had noticed them to be calloused, rougher than she recalled. There were so many evident changes in him that she couldn't help but worry, chewing her bottom lip in the nervous fashion she was accustomed to.

Spinelli could remember that last day, those final words they'd imparted upon one another, before she'd left with TJ to Stanford, as though it had happened yesterday, or even mere hours before. She had been surprised to find him outside her window. She'd been packing while her parents were out, fewer questions that way.

"So you are going," he had spat, and the disgust was more than obvious in his voice. He had been a good kid once, but his family's history in the town, and his friends, and the expectations imposed on him by others - well, they gave him no choice but to be bad. Spinelli had known what it was like, to be looked down on as nothing more than scum and white trash. Fortunately she'd had TJ to keep her out of serious trouble. Her parents had been thrilled on her sixteenth birthday. Our Pookie hasn't been to jail! Not like her delinquent brothers, one out of three isn't bad! Of course, later that night she got thrown in a town holding cell for a DUI, which she still claims to be a bogus charge. Now...if only she could remember what happened that night so she could defend herself properly.

"Huh?" she'd been surprised by the question. She wasn't aware that TJ's leaving was such big news around town, but then, she should have been. TJ was one of the most well known faces in their small town. He was popular, well liked, and the legendary troublemaker of Third Street Elementary. She'd opened the window; let Mundy in. She knew it was going behind TJ's back, keeping something of a friendship alive with Mundy, but she felt guilty, almost responsible for the troubled young man. She'd been in his place and escaped, and thought maybe, just maybe, she could help him escape too.

"With your college boyfriend?" he had pressed, entering the room. Spinelli had always had to brace herself when he entered the same room as her. He was a constant reminder of what she could have been, and more importantly, whom she could have been with. She had known, without a doubt, that if she hadn't been with TJ, hadn't loved him more than life itself, hadn't known that he loved her more than life itself, then she would have ended up with Mundy. And this knowledge haunted her.

"Oh," she had replied, though it wasn't the greatest of answers.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you going with him?" For a moment, Spinelli had seen an emotion other than anger stir in the redheaded young man. Had it been desperation maybe? Hopelessness? Pleading, was he pleading with her?

"Because I have nothing better to do," she'd replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes and returning to packing. But part of her had known it wasn't a sufficient answer so she paused, considering, "Because he asked me to."

"That's all?" Mundy had snorted, "Then just don't go."

"Because I want to," she had stated evenly, turned to him, her eyes meeting his. He had never been able to look someone straight in the eyes, but he held her gaze, a deer caught in a car's oncoming headlights.

"I don't want you to go," he had finally managed, looking away, stepping forward. He had come closer than was comfortable with Spinelli, but she'd stood unwavering.

"Hate to break this to you, Mundy, but you don't have a choice in the matter."

"I thought that for once I was getting rid of that goody-two-shoes boyfriend of yours, and maybe, I'd be getting you all to myself," Mundy had hissed, his nose inches from her own, "Maybe I'd have my chance."

"Mundy, you never had a chance, either way," had been the careful reply. The anger had resurfaced in his eyes and he had grabbed her rather roughly before she had an opportunity to retaliate or defend herself. He had pressed a kiss to her mouth forcefully, bruising her lips, teeth scraping her gum. His hands had been all over her body it seemed and she struggled against his grasp until she had been able to finally break free, pushing him away with all her strength.

"He can't give you what I can," Mundy had howled.

"What? A broken down shack on the railroad tracks and seven kids?" Spinelli had screamed in haughty reply, "You don't get it, Mundy. I'm not with him because of what he can give me, I'm with him because I love him."

"You could have loved me," and his eyes and voice had been so childish, so alone, so desperate, that for a moment, Spinelli had thought that maybe she could have. He stepped forward, leaning in to kiss her once more, but she pulled back, looking up into his eyes.

"No," she had said, "I couldn't have." And she had hoped to God that it were the truth, because she hated to lie. She had never imagined in her life that she could ever break anyone's heart, but when she'd looked at Mundy and said those words to him, she knew that she had done just that. He fell apart, turning away. Angry, frustrated, and hurt. He'd left her room without another word. And now, he stood before her in that empty dark gym, disgruntled and in as great an upheaval as ever.

"Mundy," she whispered, trying to regain his attention, "Why are you here?" He turned his eyes on her, and held an almost hungry look that startled her. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. The feelings that he always managed to make her feel resurfaced immediately.

"I could ask you the same question," he replied, his voice hoarse and dry. He still smokes and drinks heavily, Spinelli noted. He eyed her strangely and she suddenly was aware of how she must look standing there in her thin tank top. He could probably see her tangerine colored bra through it. She scanned the top of the boxes in search of her sweater, wrapping her arms about her self and rubbing her skin furiously. She crossed the gym back to her discarded clothes; slipped the large sweater over her head while scared to death at the prospect of taking her eyes off of Mundy for even a moment she clothed herself.

"I'm here..." she started, but whatever excuse she could think of fell short, "That's none of your business. You're not supposed to be here."

"You're one to talk," he spat back, and they were quiet for a moment before he spoke up again, "Have you heard about everything that's been going on?"

"The flood and fires?" Spinelli asked, straightening the sweater, and aware the entire time Mundy's eyes following her, watching her every move.

"Yeah," he muttered, moving slowly towards her. She could sense that something was wrong, "You haven't heard about...I don't know...murders?"

"No. Why?"

"Never mind," Mundy plumped down luxuriously on one of the boxes, leaning back, "How have you been?" Spinelli came to sit near him, not certain what else to do, and seeing nothing wrong with exchanging friendly conversation. They'd gotten along before, too troubled teens, despite Mundy's grievances towards TJ. Mundy was addictive for Spinelli. He was danger, and danger had always struck a cord of familiarity for her.

"I've been fine. What have you been doing, Mundy?" she asked.

"I got a job at the school, as a janitor," he told her, "Nothing fancy, like the job I bet your little boyfriend got." Spinelli lowered her eyes, reminded of TJ and what he'd done, "What about you?"

"I'm an artist," she shrugged, "And a part-time waitress."

"An artist, huh? I always knew those pictures you drew would get you somewhere," Mundy smirked, no doubt reminded of the doodles that constantly covered Spinelli's notes and binders throughout junior and high school, "What brings you back here? I thought you'd gone off to live happily ever after with your boyfriend."

"I came for a visit," she said, fidgeting slightly.

"That sucks," Mundy muttered, "I mean, I bet the old town isn't the way you remember it."

"Yeah," Spinelli relaxed, "What with everything going on...I knew things were going to be bad, but I wasn't expecting things to end up like this."

"Like what?"

"Teej and me have been fighting since we got here and...I never told my parents about us...so that didn't help," she ran the back of her hand along her brow, "And then it won't stop raining, and then suddenly everyone else is back in town, all my least favorite people in the world and...they want to be friends again, or stir up old memories. I don't know. Then the flood..."

"Yeah, that was a bad one," Mundy nodded, resting the back of his head against the pile of boxes behind him and closing his eyes, "Can't say we've had too many like that lately."

"I want to get out of here, run away again, but I don't have the guts to go back to New York, not after everything me and Teej have been fighting about," Spinelli sighed, settling into the conversation. She was starting to slip into that comfort Mundy was offering. He had never been the type she talked about her feelings with, that had always been Francis or TJ, but she had neither at the moment and she needed to talk to someone.

"And with that event cancelled you practically came back here for nothing,," Mundy muttered and Spinelli nodded.

"Yeah, all because of a little floodwater too," she twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

"Are you going to school?"

"Yup, on an Art scholarship. Can you believe it? Me, going to a high profile institution?"

"Naw, I really can't see you hitting the books," Mundy laughed, "I couldn't do that, myself. I bet you threaten to beat the teacher up if he doesn't give you an 'A'."

"Who? Me?" Spinelli blinked innocently, "Never."

"Though, this still doesn't tell me why you're here, here," Mundy finally sighed, his eyes flashing open as he straightened. Spinelli's eyes widened, she'd forgotten for a moment why she was there. Mundy had always had a way of making her forget about all her responsibilities.

"Shit, I have to finish moving these boxes," she muttered, pulling herself up, turning about and looking around wearily.

"Moving these boxes?" Mundy mused, "You look like crap, kid, and you're moving these heavy things?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess it is good that that tournament was cancelled..." she trailed off, her back to Mundy, her words catching in her throat, "I didn't tell you about the tournament."

"I never said anything about a tournament," his voice seemed closer. Spinelli closed her eyes, trying to steady her once again pounding heart and uneven breathing.

"Yes, but you mentioned that the reason I was here was cancelled, and I never told you why I was here..." she turned, surprised that he was already on his feet, "You were the one that attacked Vince and me in the rain." A smile slid across Mundy's face.

"You have to admit, I had you fooled for a minute, chatting it up like old times," he chuckled. Spinelli spun around, breaking into a sprint for the front door of the gym. She only made it halfway before Mundy caught her, his arms wrapped tightly about her, one hand covering her mouth before she could call out for help. She struggled against him, but it was useless, he always had been able to overpower her. She could feel his warm, musky breath against her neck, his free hand slipping beneath her sweater resting heavily on her belly.

"Scream and I kill you," he whispered into her ear, "And I don't want to kill you yet, that would screw up all of my plans." Spinelli squirmed beneath his touch, disgusted. "You won't scream, right?" She struggled, and he tightened his hold on her, jerking her slightly, "Right?" She nodded, giving in, and slowly his hand came from her mouth.

"You plan to kill me?" Spinelli asked. He brushed his cheek against her own, never letting go of his hold on her. She didn't like the position they were in, his body pressed firmly against hers.

"Don't get me wrong, Spin, if there were any other way," Mundy's lips touched her jaw line, "But...well...there isn't. I mean, look at it this way, if you want to go about it romantically, well, if I can't have you, no one can." He laughed harshly, as though it were all just a joke.

"Then just kill me now," she hissed, trying unsuccessfully to keep the fright out of her voice. She didn't even want to think of the possible reasons Mundy would have for keeping her alive with every intention of offing her.

"Well, Spinelli," Mundy said, his lips brushing her ear and she squirmed, trying to turn from him, to pull away from his unwelcome touch, "I, kind of, consider you a friend. And to be frank, I feel that you deserve some sort of explanation. I'm sorry I fooled you back there, but I couldn't help it. You don't know the joke, but...uh...you see," he dropped his voice as though what he were saying were a great secret and the walls had ears, "I'm supposed to be dead."

"What?" Spinelli demanded, scrunching her nose, "What do you mean?"

"Can you believe it? They shut this whole school down because I was dead," Mundy chuckled maniacally, his lips against Spinelli's shoulder, "Well, they thought I was dead. You can see, I'm not."

"Let go of me, Mundy, this...this isn't funny," Spinelli scowled, as Mundy forcefully lifted the sweater over her head, winding her hands in it, pulling them back over her head, and holding his arm around her waist.

"Isn't it though? Spinelli, the toughest kid in Third Street Elementary history, tougher than any boy. The stuck up bitch girlfriend of everybody's favorite, the ever popular, TJ Dettweiler, and I have her all tied up," Mundy laughed heartily, finding this extremely hilarious, "I can do anything I want with you, you know? Have you any idea how many guys at school would have loved to have you in this exact position? I bet you didn't. Even guys you thought were your closest friends were having the dirtiest thoughts about you..." He sank his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder and she cried out, until he released, the tissue unbroken, kissing the bruised skin, "Right now, though, I just want you to listen. I think it's only right that someone know why I'm doing this. And I...uh...picked you...because sweetheart, you know I'm a real sucker for that pretty face of yours."

"Vince is going to burst in here any minute, you know, and then TJ and he's not going to take well to you harassing me like this," Spinelli tried warning, hoping that she sounded confident enough.

"That's a good one," Mundy said against her skin, "Don't you think I took care of that, made sure we won't be interrupted?"

"What did you do?" Spinelli whimpered, panic rising in her throat.

"Nothing. Nothing to him, if that's what you're thinking. It's not part of the plan. Isn't it nice, me making plans, like that boyfriend of yours? Except my plan's better, because it'll work," Mundy dragged Spinelli back into the gym, pressing her against a pile of larger boxes, burying his nose in her neck, "I bet you're wondering why I want everyone dead. What possible reason could good ol' Mundy have for knocking off a group of kids, in almost all ways unrelated to each other and Mundy himself, save for the fact they're all from Third Street? Now, if you'll stop struggling, I'll tell you, I'll tell you everything. And please, don't make me have to kill you, honestly, I don't like straying from my plans."

-0-0-0-0-

Randall cleared his throat, glancing at Butch, the disheveled heap hiding in the shadow of the great oak tree they'd staked as their lookout. It bothered Randall, how unmoving the young man was, as well as how wrinkled his shirt was and how mussed his hair.

"What?" Butch hiccupped, not even bothering to look up, or even move in the slightest. There was really no way of even knowing if the man was alive, and if Randall hadn't seen him moving only moments before, he would have been completely convinced that he was staring at a lifeless corpse.

"What do you mean what?" Randall demanded, paranoia rising. Butch stirred, and Randall had the odd sensation to shout out 'It's alive, it's alive', but somehow he controlled that urge. The young man looked up at Randall with half-closed eyes, and clear disinterest.

"You made that 'ahem' noise. Did you have something to say, or are you just trying to annoy me?" Butch muttered.

"I think I'm trying to annoy you," Randall conceded, "But then, you're annoying me, so, it's only fair."

"How do you figure that? I'm not doing anything to you."

"Well, you could straighten you're collar, that would give me a little peace of mind. And you're hair, do you brush it ever?"

"You're insane," Butch said flatly, shaking his head, then lowering it again. Randall rolled his eyes, and then cleared his throat again. "Are you gonna keep doing that?"

"I can't, it's not easy to do if you don't have to," Randall shrugged, stamping his foot and frowning at the dirt cloud that puffed up.

"If you think you're going to buy pity points from me because you've completely flipped your lid, you're wrong," Butch murmured, glancing at the rising dirt from over his arm, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. I have it on good authority that this playground was built over an Indian burial ground, disturbing the final resting place of several Cherokee warriors wouldn't be a wise idea."

"Humph," Randall snorted, "That's a load of bull if I ever heard it. The Cherokee never lived in this state." Though, he did make a noticeable effort not to move around as much.

"How long do you suppose this'll take," Butch spoke up, coughing, "I have a lecture in Washington on Tuesday."

"Tell me about it. I have a contract to fulfill by Monday," Randall put in, and Butch raised an eyebrow.

"Contract?"

"Yeah, I'm a...an agent, and I need a signature from a client," Randall said between clenched teeth. It wasn't really a lie.

"Whatever," Butch mumbled, "I guess you beat me in necessity to get the hell out of here."

"Lectures take longer than a contract," Randall said, shifting his weight, "I need, what, a minute, thirty seconds?"

"Doesn't your client have to read over the contract?"

"Yeah, but...uh...that doesn't take long," Randall rubbed the bridge of his nose. He never had been any good at coming up with cover stories. It was a good thing his missions always began and ended with a gun, "So what's you're deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everyone seems to be dealing with their demons," Randall shrugged, "The Ashleys have marital issues, the diggers are dishing out a lot more than sibling squabble, Vince needs anger management, Menlo still lives with his mom; which is whole other can of worms there, and..."

"How do you know all of this?" Butch raised an eyebrow at the younger man. Randall shrugged, knocking some dust from his jacket.

"I guess I never really did grow out of my snitching ways...I pick things up, all the little dirty secrets on people," Randall's eyes went downcast, his arms falling limp and voice dropping, "Even if sometimes there are things I don't want to know."

"Well, there's nothing to know about me and if anyone tells you different, they're liars," Butch snapped, before huddling into himself again.

"Okay," Randall closed his eyes, sighing deeply, "I didn't want to talk anyways."

"Then why are you still doing it?"

"I don't like the silence. It reminds me of death."

"Fine, I'll talk," Butch straightened, "I ever tell you about when Jimmy Crabmer..."

"No scary stories, please!" Randall moaned.

"Why not? Scary stories, are, well, they ease the atmosphere," Butch chuckled.

"In what way?"

"They remind you that there isn't something lurking in the shadows waiting to maul you. They remind you of the games your mind can play on you, and that they're just that, games. They remind you...they remind that you're still alive."

"We're living in a scary story, Butch," Randall shook his head, shifting through his coat, and finding a pack of cigarettes, "I really don't need any more of a reminder of how alive I am considering there's some psycho out there wanting to show me how dead I can be." He held the pack out towards Butch in offering.

"No thanks," Butch shook his head, lifting his sleeve up to reveal a patch, "I'm trying to quit. You know it's illegal to smoke on school grounds, right?" Randall smirked slightly as he lit the cigarette up.

"It's not that I think I'm above the law," he said, taking the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb, and blowing out the smoke in a steady stream, "Maybe it's that I think I'm so much lower than it."

"Depends on what kind of agent you are. Because my insurance agent is a real crook," Butch muttered and Randall knocked a few ashes from the tip of his cancer stick.

"I'm a lot worse than that, trust me," he frowned, running a stray finger along the riveted handle of his gun. Butch's eyes followed the movement, his face one of disturbance.

"But you're not gonna talk. Fair is fair," Butch shrugged, "I don't talk, and you don't talk."

"There's nothing to know about me," Randall mumbled, scratching the side of his head, and smirking slightly, "And any one who would tell you different is either dead or sworn to secrecy as a matter of national security."

"That's a good one," Butch laughed stiffly, "I should use it sometime," he glanced out warily towards Vince, who stood in the middle of the playground surveying things with hawk eyes, "Man, what is taking Dettwieler so damn long?"

They sat in silence. Randall taking long drawn out hits on the shortening cigarette, and Butch settling back into a balled up position, nothing more than a lump beside a tree. Neither of them seemed to notice when another figure joined them.

"What are you two doing? Shirking your duties, no doubt?" Both young men jumped, startled into alertness and shooting sour looks towards the goofily dressed man with the thick, black-rimmed glasses.

"Jesus Christ, Menlo, what the hell is wrong with you?" Randall spat, frowning unhappily at his dropped cigarette that had burnt out on the ground when he started.

"Honestly, Randall, you have the mouth of a bad tempered sailor," Menlo shook his head, "And that," he pointed to the sizzling white butt on the ground, "Is not only littering, it's a...that's a cigarette. Are you smoking on school grounds? I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to confiscate the rest of your pack, that is an infraction of..."

"Can it, Menlo," Randall muttered, shaking his head, and bending down to pick up the discarded cig, he looked to Butch and sighed wearily, "Tell me I wasn't that bad."

"Oh, you were worse," Butch reassured him, slumping back into his slacker position, "What are you up to, Menlo?" The lanky young man fell into to the ground cross-legged beside Butch, the large puffy coat he wore engulfing him, so that only his head was visible, making it appear fairly tiny.

"I was going to sit with Gus on guard detail outside the boathouse, but that Griswold...I turn my back for one second and he's disappeared. Then I thought to sit with Mikey on lookout duty, but...well that structure does not look sturdy enough to hold Blumberg's weight alone, and to add my own miniscule amount...let's just say I was not willing to risk it. I tried to reason with LaSalle, that with my smaller body mass I proved to be the more suitable choice as watcher...but he has no common sense whatsoever," Menlo sighed, "Now, you see, if any of you get caught out here, what happens to you? Huh? Nothing, a slap on the wrist for trespassing, maybe breaking and entering when it comes to the gym, there might even be a slight scandal, a little news coverage. But me? What happens to me? I could lose my job over this, you know, or far worse. I have to live in this town, mind you. Dettwieler needs to hurry back here so we can get this darned, excuse my language, plan in motion. If mother discovers I'm not home..."

"I forgot you were out past your bedtime," Randall snickered.

"Silence, Weems," Menlo growled, "Just because some of us have a good relationship with the woman who bore us..."

"What do you know?" Randall snarled, stepping forward menacingly.

"Miss Finster really was a poor replacement for a mother. I highly doubt that ogre-ish woman even knew what a hug was. And I doubt that bumbling father of yours even knew what to do should you wake up in the middle of the night with a bad dream, or such," Menlo bemused, studying his fingernails with indifference.

"You leave Miss Finster out of this...and you don't know shit about my father," Randall stammered in frustration, "And...and...and I never had bad dreams!"

"Hey, ladies, could you keep the volume to a minimum," Butch spoke up, glowering at the two bickering men, "Because honestly, I don't give a damn about either of your family lives." They looked away, embarrassed, slightly ashamed. Randall pulled another cigarette from his coat, which received him a disapproving frown from Menlo.

"It is somewhat pleasant to see what's become of our old schoolmates, of course. Somewhat humbling to say the least," Menlo went on, "Ah...and that delicate flower, Ashley A., she's only grown with more beauty." Butch and Randall raised eyebrows at him, and then turned to one another.

"You got a girl, Randall? Someone stup...er...finally see the Weems charm?" Butch asked.

"No," Randall snarled, then muttering, "Thank God."

"Oh, and why not?" Menlo questioned, attempting to flatten his coat, then raising an eyebrow at the younger man, "You're not one of those kinds of men are you?" Randall and Butch stared at him blank faced and then broke into laughter.

"One of those kinds of men? What's that supposed to mean," Butch gasped through his laughter.

"Well, you know what I'm talking about."

"No, why don't you clarify for us," Randall struggled to say through his sniggering.

"Well..." Menlo dropped his voice to just above a whisper, "A eunuch." Both men stopped laughing, their faces falling into shock.

"A what?" they stated in unison.

"Oh, honestly, do I have to explain everything to you?"

"Please don't," Butch whimpered.

"I am not a eunuch." Randall hissed, taking a deep drawl from his cigarette and wiping anxiously the sweat from his brow. Holding the lit cigarette between his teeth, he went about scouring his coat again, producing a thin silver canteen.

"What's that?" Butch perked up.

"Water," Randall answered slyly with a mischievous grin, "But I don't doubt you gave up drinking, too."

"Yeah, I gave up drinking," Butch smirked, "Like the Irish give up drinking. Pass it over."

"What are you two up to?" Menlo shook his head, "Randall Weems I would have expected better from you. Smoking on school grounds and drinking while you're supposed to be alert and ready! I am not going to sit for this! I will have to confiscate that canteen, even if it just water, as it is a violation of the trust of..."

"Just shut up and take a drink," Butch spat, shoving the silver object beneath Menlo's nose, "It'll warm ya' up..."

"It does smell rather..." Menlo followed the canteen with greedy eyes, "Different...mother would not approve of me sharing a bottle with others..."

"Mother's not here right now," Randall grinned as the jaded man snatched the canteen and eyed the opening with curious uncertainty. He was thirsty after all, and if it was just water, there could be no harm, and it wasn't like he couldn't keep watch while taking a drink. He raised it to his mouth and took a deep gulp. His eyes crossed and he spat the liquid out in a coughing fury.

"What is this?" he demanded, choking and gasping for air, staring with heated distaste at the silver bottle, "A joke? That is not water."

"Fire water, maybe," Butch snorted.

"Whiskey," Randall shrugged as though it were no big deal, "Straight whiskey." Butch broke into an uproar of laughter, taking the bottle for himself and sipping it steadily. He coughed slightly, handing the canteen back to Randall, and shaking his head.

"Whoa," Butch gasped, "That's strong stuff." With a nod, Randall took a sip himself. Menlo shook his head at the two men. He tried chuckling it off as though he'd known it were alcohol the entire time and was simply playing along with their joke.

"I can't believe you're all back here," Menlo wondered aloud, "It sort of makes me...I don't know..."

"Nostalgic?" Butch suggested, grabbing the canteen from Randall once more.

"Yeah, that," Menlo chuckled, accepting the bottle again though sipping more slowly and cagily. He still made a puckered face, but fought the urge to repel the bitter tasting liquid from his mouth. He didn't want the other men to think of him as a little boy. He thought to tell them he had drunk before, but he didn't think sneaking a wine cooler from his mother's stash at the age of twenty-three would impress them too greatly. He hadn't even been able to finish that. "Though it's odd," he continued, "You can't tell me you ever imagined you'd be acting all buddy, buddy with Randall, here, Butch."

"Can't say I have," Butch agreed, "That, and sipping drinks with you. Are you sure you can handle this stuff, it is a man's drink?"

"I am a man, you half-witted clod," Menlo snapped, but found himself breaking into a fit of giggles, his cheeks flushing. Randall and Butch exchanged glances.

"After one sip, we have to cut him off?" Butch chuckled, "The guy can't hold his alcohol, that's for certain."

"If anything's making me nostalgic, it's this plan of Dettwieler's," Randall sighed, letting a stream of smoke escape from beneath his breath.

"Nostalgic? It's similar to the first plan, but everything's so warped," Menlo shook his head, "We're sitting ducks out here, you know. How do we know that this...crazy woman, won't try to attack us here." His face was pale, depicting a look of all seriousness, tears shining on the edge of his eyelids, "You want to know a secret?"

"Sure, why not," Butch straightened.

"I don't know," Randall mumbled, "What kind of secret?"

"Well, I know that you know that I know the truth," Menlo tittered, his face breaking and his cheeks a bright pink.

"He's drunk," Butch told Randall with amusement and a slight bit of concern.

"Of course," Menlo went on, unzipping his large coat, "I knew that Mary Anna isn't."

"Isn't what?" Randall pressed, perking up at the mention of the little girl that haunted their pasts and had brought them all together that day.

"Mary Anna," Menlo replied simply, and then burst into laughter again, "You forget," he went on between giggles, "That I was in charge of all the permanent records. I knew practically everything about everyone in that school, and I still remember all of it. I remember every file that's ever passed my nose..." that caused him to start laughing again, clutching the silver canteen and taking another sip, "Oh my," he gasped, "I suppose I should have started a filing system according to smell!" Randall grabbed Menlo up to his feet, the canteen falling to the ground, which Butch quickly gathered up, standing himself. Randall threw the drunken young man to the tree, pressing him there, clutching the man's collar, and scowling.

"What do you know of Mary Anna?" he demanded, "And this better not be something that would have been useful to us before we even started out here!"

"Oh..." Menlo moaned, stricken sober with fear "It wasn't, I assure you! It wasn't a great deal, I tell you! I knew very little! I just...I knew that Mary Anna wasn't her name! At least, it wasn't Mary Anna James."

"Let him go," Butch commanded, "He's talking, there's no reason to treat him so roughly." Randall nodded, loosening his grip. Menlo slid to the ground, coughing, his face splotched red and white.

"Her file was new," he sniveled, "I just...I'm not nosy, I just, was curious is all. I didn't even realize...oh god!" Butch knelt down in front of the young man, taking a quick swig of the canteen, wiping his mouth and patting Menlo's shoulder, looking the drunk man over, sighing heavily, shaking his head, then taking another gulp of the whiskey.

"Alright, Menlo, tell us everything you do know," Butch finally gathered the will to say, his voice hoarse, "And I mean everything." And Menlo nodded, sobbing silently.

END A/N: Poor naive Menlo...I wonder what Menlo and Butch's demons (besides the fact Menlo still lives with his mother) are. They assure me they'll tell me next chapter. I wonder what Menlo could possibly know about Mary Anna too. Now, for those of you confused, Spinelli wasn't there when they found out about Mundy's supposed death. Don't believe me? Go back and read it again, it's chapter 12, the middle.

ALSO for those of you reading Killing the Daisies, I'm probably going to be uploading it's chapters faster (because it's going to be longer than I planned, though nowhere near as long as this one) but that doesn't mean I'm going to be leaving WSL untended. I just don't want people thinking I'm losing interest in this one, because I'm not. I still love it as much as always. And those of you wondering about In A Box, I'll start writing it as soon as I post the last chapter of WSL.

ACK! It's almost All Hallow's Eve, damn! I have to write a scary story! WHY? Because it's tradition. That may put off my updates for a little time...but NO WORRIES! Wouldn't it be nice if I finished this in time for Halloween? Ah...to dream...

Please REVIEW, and excuse any grammatical and typing errors. REVIEW, REVIEW (three times the charm...heh...)

THANKS FOR READING. And, because I recieved my Inu Yasha, volume 13 recently, and was finally able to read 14 and 15, I feel I should part with a quote from there. (For those of you who don't know what Inu Yasha is, I pity you.)

From volume 14:

Kaede: Inu Yasha and Kagome had a fight? Surely that's not news.

Shippo: But...this one feels different...this one feels ominous to me...

Miroku: Really? It feels stupid to me.

Inu Yasha: (kicking the well) Feh. Good Riddance.

I know. I know. I'm a loser.

monkman says Bleh. END IT ALREADY!

OKAY, okay....grumble...grumble...