A/N: I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO FRELLING LONG! I just had my mind on other things, and I was having so much difficulty piecing this chapter together in my head!!!! I have the last chapters all outlined though (there's six more), just so you know.
We're on chapter 30, make a wish and hold your breath until you finish reading, and that wish'll come true! NO SKIMMING EITHER!
THanks to those who reviewed:
RavenForever: I didn't say I watched Inu Yasha, I was reading it (my graphic novels, alas where would I be without them?) I haven't watched Inu Yasha in a long time, though, I can watch it anytime I want really, because I have most all of the episodes in fansub. YAY ME. I hope this chapter meets all your demands, and yet, still leaves you craving more.
RT: Baseball? AStros? Sorry you're team lost. Um...yup, most dirty secrets, coming right up!
xXxSarahxXx: What would you define as everything? Because Menlo knows...well...he knows enough. Yeah, I love Butch too, but I love all these characters. I wouldn't be writing this fanfic if I didn't...you know...torturing them, hunting them down, people with the very intention to kill and hurt them...I love the characters...
TNPD: Yeah, a DUI at sixteen, what a way to get your license confiscated...probably the same day she got it too...Menlo's a little on the odd side and Mundy...oi...Mundy, Mundy...
mischeif-maker: If you like drama you should read my new story, Killing the Daisies...um...er...I'm not promoting my other stories...(-shifty eyes-)...oi...I'm sooooo verrrry sorrrry it took so long. I am. Please don't go insane...-er.
DarkAngelGuadianLight: Darn sisters. Useless unless you need a punching bag...review more next time and maybe, MAYBE, I shall forgive you.
iluvdanbyrd: (yay! a new reviewer!) Thanks for your compliments...mmm...is Dan Byrd isn't the dude from One Tree Hill is he? What's he look like...?
Music Recs: Pull out something haunting and eerie...instrumental, with no lyrics. Like maybe the Titanic Soundtrack, excluding the song by what's her name, Celine Dion (?)...or maybe Enya.
Fools rush in and...ENJOY!
Chapter 30: The Ramblings of Fools or Foolish Ramblings
TJ stilled himself against Clara's touch, uncertain of what else to do. She seemed fine standing there beside him, grinning up at him through her strings of matted hair.
"Do you know what Sleeping Beauty and Snow White had in common?" Clara questioned, her body blocking the door.
"I don't know," TJ whispered, "Disney made movies out of both of them?"
"They were both perfect, but they were asleep...like dolls. They didn't understand how perfect they were until their prince came to rescue them. You're my prince. Of course, you're my prince. I'm perfect, and I just needed you to kiss me to wake me up so I knew that I was perfect."
"Clara..." TJ started, "I'm not your prince."
"Oh, but you are," Clara reassured him, "My prince charming here to rescue me, to make me realize how perfect I am. To love me and marry me..."
"But Spinelli..." TJ started.
"Why do you keep talking about her?" Clara snapped, her voice an edgy scream, "She's going to be dead in a minute!" She gasped, her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her mouth, "Oops...wasn't supposed to say that..."
"What do you mean?" TJ demanded, "Tell me," he grabbed the small woman's shoulders, shaking her, "What do you mean by that?"
"Stop it..." she whimpered, "He...he said...he said the first to die...a woman whose heart hath scorned him!" TJ released her, stepping back.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't understand what he sees in her. He's always going on about how 'she should have loved me', 'she should have stayed', 'she never should have left', 'if she'd have stayed she'd have been mine, I could have had her'. I don't know why. She's not perfect," Clara moaned in explanation, "He said that it was alright now, though, that she chose wrong, because it suits his plans better. Because he has to kill her anyways."
"Do you mean kill her, like Brenda and Mary Anna were killed?"
"No. They were dolls; they simply shattered. But she's not a doll, not like Mary Anna and Brenda were," Clara said casually, shaking her head, "I think he wants to chop her head off...but I can't be certain. He may not, because he might want her body intact, I don't think he could stomach beheading his beloved. Maybe he'll stab her, make her bleed a lot. Or perhaps he'll strangle her...that seems the most likely. He likes to touch her, he wants to touch her, and so he'll probably strangle her with his bare hands. I wish I could watch. I mean, she tried to take what was mine, being the bitch that she is. I would truly enjoy watching the life leave her. She would turn pale, and gray. Her body would be like rubber at first, but then over time it would become as hard as a board, and you couldn't move it without fear of the brittle corpse crumbling in your hands. I know much about death." TJ took a few deep breaths, struggling for air.
"What?"
"Well, if you've seen as much death as I have," Clara clucked, then frowned, "But you haven't. You will, because they'll all die. It's all part of his plan. She just happens to be first. If it were me, she'd go last, I'd make her watch the others die. I'd make her watch to the very moment that the light left their eyes. So that she could suffer. Death is meaningless without suffering. Daddy always said that the life is in their eyes. Nothing else matters but those eyes. Perhaps, if it were me, I would carve her eyes out and place them in a doll. She has such pretty eyes..." TJ felt a heaviness in his stomach, rising bile, and disgust. All he could think of was Spinelli, all he could do was stand staring blankly at the unmoving woman in front of him with the morbid fixation on death.
"Clara, where is he?"
"With her. In the place where the first fires burned, where it all started, at the beginning," Clara smiled. Mustering what strength he could, and taking Clara by surprise, TJ pushed her aside, flinging the door open and racing into the damp night air, the thoughts racing through his mind were of getting to Spinelli. "You won't make it in time," Clara called after him, "She'll be dead before you get there. You'll be too late!" But he wasn't listening. She frowned, looking back into the boathouse, "Darn. Sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hands. Now, where did I put that axe...?"
TJ ripped the radio from his pocket, clicking it on, "Gus?" he called into it, "Vince? Ashleys? Anyone?" But he received nothing but static, "Someone answer!" He shoved the radio back into his pocket, certain that those watching him were already aware of his leaving the boathouse. But he had to get to the gym, he had to get to the others and warn them that Clara wasn't alone; he had to get to Spinelli.
-0-0-0-0-
Mundy took a moment to light up a cigarette, smiling cruelly at Spinelli who sat tangled with her sweater above her head and bound with tape, sprawled along the floor. He stepped over her, straddling her body, looking down into her face with a malicious smirk, and letting smoke escape from his lips and nostrils. He smoked the kind wrapped in brown paper that emitted a thick sweet smelling smoke, which Spinelli hated.
"Where to begin...where to begin..." Mundy mumbled, holding the cigarette between his lips, and puffing the smoke out from the side of his mouth.
"Why are you doing this?" Spinelli asked, stuggling beneath him to pull herself up into a less vulnerable position.
"Hey, that is a good place to begin," Mundy chuckled, taking the cigarette from his lips, holding it casually between his middle and index finger, and scratching his chin, "Let's see...I guess it's 'cause of what you guys know."
"What do you mean what we know?" Spinelli demanded, "We don't know anything that could hurt you!" Mundy chuckled malevolently, leaving her and taking a long drag from his cigarette.
"Well, it started in a gym, much like this gym," Mundy exclaimed, throwing his arms out to indicate the building they were in, "But it wasn't this gym...and that gym, burned down, with a little girl inside." Spinelli felt her stomach lurch with dread. How did he know that? "Now...can you imagine?" Mundy bent down next to Spinelli, his hand resting on her belly, lifting her tank up slightly to reveal the flesh, and he trailed his fingers along her stomach. "A little girl, screaming, begging, pleading for help. Crying in agony from the scorching pain of the flame...I don't have to imagine, myself, you see, I've heard it."
"You..." Spinelli mumbled, her eyes flashing with realization, "You're the arsonist, you're the one that started that fire all those years ago. Why, Mundy? Why?"
"You know how it is, babe," Mundy muttered, examining that exposed skin that he was gently caressing, "With the flick of a match, everything's up in smoke!" He grabbed her chin with his hand, grasping it tightly, lifting her slightly, and she gasped with the pain and shock, "I was sneaking a smoke out behind the school, you see, where that old hag Finster wouldn't find me. I threw a match into the trashcan, and it burst into flames, real small, like it'd blow out any minute. You'd never seen a prettier sight. So I got more matches, worked the fire, it was mine to control. Then the...the gym, something happened, I guess I got too close to the building...I didn't mean to at first, but then the fire...it was so amazing.
"You would have loved to see it, because you think like me. I watched as the gym was slowly engulfed in these flames...they were dancing almost. Eating everything..." Mundy went on, pushing Spinelli back to the floor, "That's when I heard it...inside the building, a screaming. I ran to the front door, looked into the glass and saw her. I tried to open the door, but it was locked, so all I could do was stand and watch. She stood amongst the flames like...like a ghost. Her dress caught on fire, and she ran, screaming and crying and she was out of my sight. I knew I should have gone to get help, but I couldn't...I had to watch...I wanted to watch the fire do it's work. Then I heard the sirens, and I took off."
"Mundy...we didn't know..." Spinelli started, but she stopped, shocked when he lifted her to a sitting position, kneeling over her, his eyes boring into her own.
"But you did," he snapped, "She came to me, she told me you did."
"Who?" Spinelli cried out.
"The little girl. She said that there was a list...a list of everyone who knew," Mundy grinned, pressing his lips into Spinelli's clavicle, blowing his warm breath into her shoulder, "She showed me where it was, told me I had to kill all of you. She haunted me, followed me everywhere...she would tell me...she would tell me that it was their fault, those people on the list, that I had to suffer. She told me I had to kill all of you or she'd never rest." He grimaced, ran his fingers along Spinelli's cheek, rested his hand against her hip. "She said you had to die, especially you. I wouldn't do it, you know, I fought her for so long. I didn't want to kill you, you were the only one who cared about me." He pulled back, as though burned by her skin, looked away, "But then you left with that bastard boyfriend of yours, and I knew...I finally gave in...I finally had to give in..." His eyes lit up and he came close to Spinelli's face, close enough that she could feel his warm breath against her lips. "That's when I came up with my plan. It started when everyone thought I was dead...I knew I had to lure all of those on the list back here. Yes, even your tournament was a part of my plan. It wasn't that difficult to set up, I just sent your gym notification of a tournament in our small town, and you came flocking."
"What?" Spinelli demanded.
"I knew you couldn't pass up the challenge," Mundy grinned, a cold harsh flash of teeth, "I know you too well." He stood up, walked away from Spinelli, behind boxes out of her vision. "Now you understand. I have to...I have to make her leave me alone...she won't let me be alone...I have to redeem myself...she said this would redeem me and I could go to heaven...can you see it? Me? In heaven? She said all of you would go to hell...I'm sorry babe, but you're going to hell...but I'm going to heaven." Spinelli struggled within her sweater, trying to free herself but only managing to tighten her bonds, "I have to let her rest. I have to give her what she wants. I don't want the blood on my hands...I don't...I don't want your blood on my hands...but I have to...I have to do this...It won't be painful for you, it'll be quick. I don't want it to be painful for you. When I kill your boyfriend, though, I may be tempted to make it painful, prolonged, let him see what I did to you, see your dead body...I know it'll tear him apart, and I'll tell him, this is because you took her from me you stupid bastard..."
"Please...don't kill him," Spinelli begged, "Don't kill any of them. They don't know, none of them know any of this...I'm the only one that knows now."
"I don't believe you. I can't believe you. I won't believe you."
"We can help you, Mundy...you need help..." Spinelli pleaded, hoping, at the very least, to distract him long enough to get herself into a more defensive position.
"No..." Mundy said, again by her side, "You can't. And the truth is, I don't think I want you to." His hands encompassed her neck, scraping roughly against her delicate skin. "Now, I guess it's time for you to go to sleep..."
-0-0-0-0-
Menlo dragged his finger through the dirt, drawing circles. They wanted to prod him to continue with his explanation, but he seemed unwilling to divulge at first, as though wondering if it was something he should share. He seemed ashamed of the knowledge he had, and Randall and Butch kept their mouth's shut only because they understood what that felt like.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled finally, "I don't know what to tell you that you probably don't already know."
"Start with Mary Anna isn't Mary Anna," Butch suggested silently, gently. He wasn't going to push the young man.
"Right..." Menlo was silent again, and Randall shifted his weight slightly, taking his cigarette between his cracking lips. The motion seemed to startle Menlo, "Do you have any more of that...of the whiskey?" Butch handed the canteen over and Menlo seemed content simply to take it in through his nostrils the strong bitter smell. That alone seemed to make him lightheaded again, "That file..." he started, "I remember it clearly because it was atrocious. Names scribbled out...things like that. From the looks of things, two files had been mixed together. So...so I investigated...I..." he broke into a sob, howling, "Oh Miss Lemon, I have failed you, betrayed your trust of confidentiality! Darn those permanent records and their tantalizing manila colored folders!"
"I changed my mind, Randall, you're completely sane," Butch commented in a hushed whisper, "He's flipped his lid."
"Menlo, what was the name on the folder?" Randall demanded.
"I don't know! The last names were all changed, to James," Menlo whined, he covered his head, "And the ages were changed too. Originally Mary Anna was supposed to start in the sixth grade, but it was changed."
"Is that all?"
"No..." Menlo whimpered, "The address was altered as well...it was supposed to be a nice house on Seventh Street...but it was changed, to, from what I can figure, the boathouse on Third Street Lake. Nobody lives there; it's not sanctioned by the state as a residential building. It's actually not supposed to be in use at all as it's not up to code."
"Anything else?" Butch sighed, coming to the conclusion nothing he was saying was of any use.
"Yes...I told you, I investigated...I searched through the father's name, Freud James, and I found that he did have a daughter, one daughter. Brenda James, and that she was...that she was supposed to be at a hospital...Vessel McDowell's Hospital for the Clinically Insane. That it was also where her mother had been...and that...that Freud had been put in custody of a young girl as well, a girl by the name of Mary Anna. That he had moved here with that little girl, that she was the daughter of a cousin or something...some sort of relative...and that he was living in a house on Seventh...but that...that he had owned the boathouse."
"When did you do this...when did you find all of this out?" Randall pressed, his voice a low and harsh hiss.
"After the gym burned down...oh, I'm so sorry," Menlo sobbed, "I know I should have said something...but...I...it didn't seem important...they were just...I thought they were just inconsistencies in filing is all..."
"It's alright Menlo," Butch sighed, patting the bawling man's shoulder. He straightened, walking away slightly, Randall following closely behind, putting out his cigarette and flicking the butt into a nearby trashcan. "What do we do?" Butch asked, looking out at the playground where Vince was, "Do we tell him?"
"It may mean nothing," Randall shrugged, thumbing his gun just to make sure it was still there, securely in place, "That must have been hard on that Freud guy...both his wife and his daughter in a mental institution." Butch nodded, he lifted his sleeve, tossing the patch to the ground and sticking his hand out.
"I need a smoke."
"Butch...I don't know..."
"Give me a goddamned cigarette! Tonight may be my last night, I want to go out drunk with a cigarette in my hand!" Randall fumbled in his coat, producing the crumpled package and opening it quickly, he frowned, shaking the box.
"It's empty."
"Damn!" Butch moaned.
"There's no more in this...bottle..." Menlo slurred from the tree in bemused stun, and then broke into fits of giggles. Butch and Randall frowned at him, pink faced, drooling, and falling on the ground in attempts to lift himself to sitting again.
"Damn," they said in unison. Butch made his way back to the tree, pushing Menlo over as he tried to sit up, which caused another eruption of laughter from the drunken slob. Randall sighed, tossing the empty package as well before returning to stand over by the two older men.
"I'm not going back," Butch finally said, before pushing Menlo over again.
"Back where?" Randall questioned, frowning somewhat at his dirty silver canteen and the poor slab of a boy lying on his belly in the dirt licking its outer rim.
"To the university," Butch shrugged, burying his head again, "What's the use?"
"You have to give a lecture.""Big whoop," he shuddered, pulling his jacket over his face, "I would say about three people come to my lectures. Do you know what they call me? The Freaky Teach. Damn students don't show me any respect because all I know about is urban legends. Bastards. I hate kids."
"You are a kid." And that seemed to strike Menlo's funny bone as he burst into a wild chortle from where he lay, which the two other young men just took as confirmation that he hadn't passed out or died of alcohol poisoning.
"You know what I mean." Butch sighed, laying his head back against the trunk of the tree, and pulling down his jacket.
"Yeah," Randall nodded, squatting down to Butch's level, "I didn't get much respect when I was a kid."
"You didn't deserve much respect, Randall, no offense."
"None taken," Randall sighed, attempting to straighten the wrinkles in his shirt, "We hate our lives, Butch, but they're our lives."
"Women think I'm creepy, and men think I'm a jerk and just want to beat the hell out of me," Butch muttered.
"Yeah? People are afraid of me. They avoid me as much as possible, and no one will talk to me."
"So nothings really changed for you? Except for the people being afraid of you part," Butch joked, chuckling slightly, sadly.
"My mother won't let me move out," Menlo said from the ground.
"What?" both his companions cried as one.
"She won't let me move out," he hiccupped, "But I guess I don't want to...well...I want to...but I'm afraid to."
"You're twenty-five, Menlo, it's not a big deal that you still live with your mother," Randall attempted to reassure him, "When your thirty is when it gets serious. And what do you mean she won't let you move out?"
"Just that. She won't let me get a job that pays more...she wouldn't let me go to those Ivy League Universities I got accepted to, with partial scholarships. She wouldn't pay the other half, and I didn't have a good enough job to pay," Menlo seemed to crumble, bursting into tears, "But I'm afraid of leaving my mommy! Who'll protect me from the things that go bump at night?"
"Um..." Butch rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment for the drunken man sobbing vehemently.
"And...and...I thought if I stayed with my mother and stayed at the school, then...then...it would be as though nothing ever happened...as though Mary Anna never happened," Menlo choked out, "Everybody else wanted to run away from it...but me...I knew I could forget it...I just knew I could, if I just pretended it never happened, then I would forget all about it...if I just kept going about things the way they were before it happened..."
"Was that how it was?" Butch mused, "Were we...were we running away? I always thought I was running towards something...but now...now that I think about it...maybe I was running away. I wanted out, as soon as I could...to escape the memories...all of them. Who would protect us? Not my mother...no...never my mother..."
"Butch...?" Randall questioned.
"What?" he blinked, looking up a little stunned, "She had boyfriends," he explained with a casual shrug, as though it were nothing big, though his eyes betrayed the truth, "I mean, boyfriends are important, right? I wouldn't say more important then sons...but hey...mom would. And what's important to her should be important to me, right?" His eyes seemed to glisten with forming tears, as he stared up, trying to compose himself, his voice starting to shake under the pressure of his emotions, "Maybe if dad would come home from the bar at least one fucking time." Menlo was silent, unmoving, and Randall's eyes were downcast, studying the grains of dirt. "But it's more important to be drunk...more important then your sons, right dad? Lord rest his fucking soul." He fell silent, licking his dry lips, "Sorry," he mumbled, "I guess you don't care about my life. No one really cares about my life, everyone's just got something so much more important."
"That's not true," Randall assured him, then chuckling somberly, "Look at all of us...the poor, pathetic products of broken homes. But I guess I can't complain. My dad brought the bar to our house, so at least he was home all the time. Though, it is hard to play catch with a drunkard yelling at the television set."
"My father didn't care about me unless I did something wrong," Menlo murmured from the ground, seeming a bit more sober from the yelling, the words a haunting reminder of his own household troubles, "Then I would receive a lecture. They weren't so bad...it's mother I don't want to cross..."
"I thought you and your mother had an impeccable bond," Randall recalled, a bit more bitterly then he'd intended.
"Of course we do," Menlo commented in all seriousness, "My mother loves me. That's why she wants me to stay in line, and do things correctly. She just hits me to remind me to do the right thing."
"Your mother hits you?" Butch whispered.
"It's not bad. You say it like it's bad. It's not bad," Menlo choked out as though straining to believe his own words, "I'm a boy. Boys need a little extra helping to remember right from wrong. Boys can be rambunctious, forget their place...they can..." He faltered, and the other two were silent.
"I guess it's true," Randall muttered, "Misery loves company."
"Yup," Butch agreed, "Trouble, pain, gloom, dread, sadness, child abuse and they all have a nice little party in a little black cloud over our heads."
"I'd drink to that," Menlo mumbled from the ground drowsily.
"Well, none of us can drink to anything seeing as how you drank all the whiskey," Butch snapped.
"Did I?"
"Yes," Butch and Randall cried in unison.
"Whelp, that explains why I feel sick."
"God, I hope we're not the cavalry when psycho bitch gets here," Butch shook his head.
-0-0-0-0-
Vince was startled to say the least when he noticed Gus coming upon him and Gretchen. The young man looked worn out, panting heavily, and Vince could see the Ashleys making their way over to the playground as well, in hasty hobbled steps. He could also see Mikey struggling to climb down from the jungle gym.
"What are you doing here?" Vince demanded, "You're supposed to be watching TJ."
"I know, but TJ left the boathouse," Gus gasped.
"What? Why didn't you radio?"
"The radios aren't working," Ashley B. exclaimed coming up with Ashley T. leaning heavily against her. Vince pulled out his own radio, turning it on.
"TJ?" he said into the speaker, but no answer came.
"Magnets!" Gretchen exclaimed, "The magnetic disturbance. It's throwing off the radio waves!"
"Damn," Vince growled, "Did he have her with him?" Gus stared blankly, "Clara? Was Clara with TJ?"
"No," Gus answered, "He was running, too, back here. He looked...he didn't look good..."
"Oh man." Vince moaned.
"What's going on?" Frances questioned, coming up, Ashley Q. at his heel. Ashley A. made her way over as well, crossing her arms and frowning at Gretchen.
"I thought we were using the buddy system," she spat, "But how does the buddy system work when my buddy takes off?"
"Sorry," Gretchen mumbled.
"We've got a problem," Vince said, he turned to the gym, frowning slightly, "I haven't heard anything from Spinelli...you'd think she'd be wondering what was taking so long." Mikey limped over, breathing harshly.
"The gym," Mikey choked out, "TJ's yelling something about the gym."
"Oh, shit," Frances hissed. With an almost silent agreement, they raced to the large double doors. Vince reaching them first, tugging at viciously at them, despite the fact they wouldn't budge.
"Damn. It's locked," Vince cried, banging on the door, screaming, "Spinelli!"
"What the hell is going on?" Randall asked, him and Butch, carrying Menlo between them, appearing.
"Something went wrong," Mikey explained, "Now the gym door is locked, and Spinelli is in there," then peering closer at their gangly cargo questioned with a furrowed brow, "Is Menlo...is he drunk?"
"What do you mean the gym door is locked?" Randall snarled, shaking his head and shoving all of Menlo's weight onto Butch before stepping forward, "Move aside."
"Shoot the lock with your gun!" Ashley B. commanded, shoving his shoulder and he looked at her bewildered.
"Why? So the bullet'll ricochet off and kill one of us?" he snapped, fumbling in his coat and producing a thin wire, hooked at the end, from one of his sleeves, "I was thinking something a little simpler and less macho stupid." He knelt down, inserting the wire and twisting it about, "It's funny," he commented, a little distractedly, "The last time I was at this door, I was locking a little girl inside unknowingly to her death. And now I'm here unlocking it to save someone else. Irony."
"Just hurry up," Vince told him roughly, "We can ponder all the ironies of our situation later, when we know Spinelli is safe."
The lock clicked open, and the door swung in.
END A/N: Next chapter: ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE! Ready the rock music, 'cause that's what I'll rec.
Hm...did Menlo's little revelation answer anything...? I wonder...Oh, and he seemed like he'd be a momma's boy with an abusive past...don't those guys make an odd group? Menlo, Randall, and Butch chatting about their horrible lives. They're the most anti-social, that's why I felt they'd make suitable comrades, like the Lone Gunmen, really, does anybody remember those dudes from the X-Files who had their short lived spinoff series (That was actually really good but lacked the ratings to keep going) or am I talking to myself here?
Oh, and a note on our smokers and they way they hold their cigs (because it's important to their character). Mundy holds his like normal, between his two fingers, and he blows his smoke up. He's proud, and that's really what that shows. Randall on the other hand, holds his cig like a joint. Now, I hope to God that none of you peeps out there have smoked a joint, because it's bad and illegal. And, if you've survived middle school w/o knowing how a joint is held, then I want to know where you live so I know where to raise my kids when I have them. Back to my explanation...a joint is held between the thumb and index finger, and Randall kind of lowers his head when he smokes. Why? Because he's a little ashamed of himself and his dependancies. It shows how he feels about the cigeratte as well, the way he holds it, as though it were a drug. THAT'S ALL! SMOKING IS BAD. Not only does it pollute your lungs, but the lungs of those around you. DON'T TAKE ANOTHER PERSONS RIGHT TO BREATH AWAY FROM THEM! What do you mean 'what about drinking'? Um...er...UNDERAGE DRINKING IS ILLEGAL!
I am a bad person. I'm going straight to hell. But please excuse my grammatical and typing errors.
PLEASE, go and REVIEW, I love hearing from people. I feel more connected with my readers, knowing how they feel about my story. Even if all you have to say every time is that "it was great", at least I know that you liked it. If you have something constructive to say, criticism to give, I love that as well. I like people to feel involved with the story, and I think REVIEWs are a good way for them to be involved. If you haven't REVIEWed my story yet, I'd love to hear from you. If you have, keep it up, my devoted patrons.
THANKS FOR READING. Now...where did I put the key to hell so I can prepare for the next chapter...