A/N: You know how I said the last chapter and the one before it took a long time to get up...forget about them, THIS ONE TOOK FOREVER! I wrote it over the course of three days though. It was Killing the Daisies that took forever, actually...hehe...I had to write chapter 8 of that story first, I just had to... I'm sorry it took so long. Bet you all were wondering if I gave up on this story...I haven't, I plan on finishing it, all in due time. I'm trying to fight the urge to just give it this really rushed ending and be done with it, trying to stick to the plan that I have laid out.
Thanks to the reviewers, my loyal readers, whom my greatest apologies is extended to for the long wait:
SteffieWitter96: I don't know if it should be made into a movie...but thanks for the compliment! And I'm glad it was cleared up. I don't mind that you lurked, I'm just so ecstatic you're not anymore!
iluvdanbyrd: Yeah, a little of the TJ cheekiness is returning...which is a good thing. Insane people do make the story better...don't they, just? You think it helps that I'm utterly insane as well?
RavenForever: Good, good, you're still alive. Wouldn't want you keeling over while I still have chapters to post for your reviewal. Yup. I'm totally psyched about starting my new stories, but I'm trying not to get too worked up as I need to finish this first.
TNPD: I don't know if Randall died. And yes, they are all the "same" person in essence...everything will be better explained in the end.
Sarah: Writing a good story doesn't give me super powers. I just happen to have super powers. And that little suggestion at the end of the story wasn't me trying to utilize my powers on you, I was just giving you a suggestion. Come on, I know you did just that when you were finished reading, admit it. No, Butch hasn't fired the gun.
momo-chan: She's a lot more than 4 people in one, I just haven't divulged all her personalities yet...and it's a little more complicated then MPD. Yeah, Gretchen punching the psycho...another moment I was excited about writing, that I had planned and ready from the moment I started writing this little psychological thriller. Sorry if I pushed your patience...but I think I'm developing carpel tunnel syndrome and...um...yeah...excuses, excuses...
DAGL: Yup. WOW. But what did you really think of that chapter...what pulled at your heartstrings, what pushed you out of your chair and onto your feet in an emotional uproar? I see...you're the strong silent type, I can work with that...
Trisk: The root word of revelations is not realize; it's reveal. Gives a completely new meaning to the word. Say it with me now, "Ohhhhh"....thanks for the reviews, bud.
Music Rec: Aerials or Chop Suey by System of a Down would be good. Now, on to babbling. Guess what I downloaded? Guess? You'll never guess. Not only did I d/l the Fraggle Rock Theme song, but I went overboard and got the Rescue Rangers theme, the Gummi Bears theme, Talespin theme, Ducktales, Gooftroop, Bonkers, and a bunch of powerpuff girls songs including their end theme. WHOA. Oh, and I was extremely excited when I was finally able to d/l Donna Lewis's song I Love You Always Forever (look for use of this song in a fanfic coming soon...), which is next to nearly impossible to get, from my experience. But don't worry, I still buy CDs. I'm anxiously awaiting the arrival of my Green Day American Idiot Cd, as well as my Frou Frou, Mandalay, Emiliana Torrini, and Daughter Darling CDs! YAY! I also bought Recess, a Miracle on Third Street (The Christmas DVD). I'm thrilled, and my wallet is considerably dented. And you've stopped reading this, haven't you? Oh well.
3 down, 2 or was it 3 to go...ENJOY!
Chapter 33: Can't Stand The Heat
Ring. Ring. Click. "Hello?" Dave nearly hopped with excitement when the disgruntled voice filled the phone, but simmered down long enough to realize he had nothing to say.
"Um...hi..." Dave mumbled. What could he possibly tell this man that wouldn't cause him to hang up? Oh, simple. "There's a fire, at Third Street Elementary."
"What?" the man seemed to shuffle, and it sounded as though he dropped the phone, "On fire?"
"The gym, it's on fire," Dave went on, "And I think there are people trapped inside. And there are people who need medical attention, now."
"Where are you? Who is this?"
"I'm outside of the school...this is Dave, my brother Sam...oh god, you have to hurry...he went in there and..."
"Calm down, young man, people are on their way."
"They have to hurry...or they'll be too late...please..."
"I need you to stay on the phone." Dave nodded, knowing that it didn't matter, as the man on the other end of the line couldn't see him. He stared at the gym, saw smoke rising into the air, felt his heart pounding in his chest. Where did Sam go? Why didn't he stop him? Dave was the older brother, the one who should be rushing in the gym, risking life and limb, not Sam. Sam was Dave's baby brother, his best friend...his...his own blood and bones. "Please, hurry," Dave whimpered into the phone, "I can't lose my brother...I just can't..."
-0-0-0-0-
Ashley B. felt her way around the dark, her hand trailing along the boxes. She stopped, heard the clack of shoes against the gym floor, they were close. She sank to the ground, her eyes tear filled. Where was everyone? Randall, Ashley Q., Francis, they were all gone. She buried her head, tears catching on her arms, falling down to her chin.
There were noises, gunshots, laughter, screaming, shouts. It was a mess. Ashley B. closed her eyes tightly, scrunching next to one of the boxes and pretending she was anywhere but there. Someone would come. Eventually, someone would come, right? Shuffling, boxes falling, moving. Ashley B. straightened, scanning the darkness for movement. There, in the shadows, someone's outline skulking through the dark. She searched the ground for a weapon, sighing. There was nothing, of course. She fell back against the boxes, which moved, scraping against the floor loudly. The figure paused, and Ashley B. stiffened, her heart pounding. She covered her mouth, trying to shut out her breathing that sounded, in that eerie silence, supersonically loud.
The outline of the figure shifted, moved towards Ashley B. She felt around her, the boxes, on top of the boxes, the floor, looking for a weapon. He was upon her; she stood, swung out pathetically with her fist. He grabbed her arm, groaned.
"What are you doing? It's me, Sam," the figure cried out and Ashley B. felt relief wash over her, flinging her arms about his neck.
"I have never been happier to see a man," she exclaimed, and Sam stood perfectly still for a moment, most likely blushing, gently bringing his hands up to pat her back.
"Are you okay?" he finally asked and Ashley B. pulled away, flushed and nodding.
"Yeah, I'm fine, I think."
"Where are the others?"
"We got separated when the door closed and the lights went out. Hey, how did you get in here?" Ashley B. demanded, his face becoming clearer as he produced a small flashlight from his pocket, flicking it on.
"Good, the batteries still work..." he mumbled, then looking up, "How'd I get in? Oh, there's a window over the dumpsters...it's high off the ground, so you can get in but you really can't get out..." Sam fiddled with the tiny flashlight a little, "But it's alright, so long as Dave was able to get a hold of someone. Now, you said that you got lost from the others."
"I didn't say I got lost..." Ashley B. spat, "I said we got separated when the lights went. You climbed on a dumpster to get in here? And how come we didn't see the window before?"
"Sure I did, I know the dumpster is unsanitary, but I kind of thought your lives were a bit more important. And the window was boarded up, I assume when the school shut down. I remembered it was there from when...back when we still attended Third Street." Ashley B. raised an eyebrow skeptically, "Hey, my nose wasn't always in the dirt as a kid!"
"Speaking of nose in the dirt," Ashley B. smirked, wiping at Sam's nose, "Don't you ever bathe?"
"What for?" She shook her head.
"How's Ashley T.?"
"Fine, sleeping, out like a rock," Sam shrugged, "Menlo's hurt bad. But sitting and chatting about things isn't helping. We have to find the others and get out of here before the fire completely...erm..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish his thought and seeing that Ashley B. didn't want him to either. "Shall we, then?"
"Yeah, I think Randall headed in this direction, I assume Francis and Ashley Q. tried to follow him," Ashley B. pointed foreward, frowning ever so slightly, "I think I'm going to find that psycho bitch and punch her lights out."
"Ashley Q.? I thought you two were friend," Sam mumbled.
"No, that Clara witch," Ashley B. frowned, walking foreward, confident now with Sam beside her, and the little luminance provided by his flashlight.
"I hope everyone's alright," Sam said, with little faith in his voice, "This has gone from bad to worse..."
"Yeah, I thought the worst thing I would have to deal with this week was my divorce settlement," Ashley B. muttered.
"Divorce?"
"I guess it's nothing to be ashamed of really...yeah, I'm getting a divorce. No big deal, I suppose, I mean I am the one leaving his sorry ass," she explained, then paused, "Why is it so hard to hate someone? My soon-to-be-ex-husband is the lowest kind of scum you could ever meet, but he was my lowest kind of scum..." Sam eyed her sympathetically.
"I know what you mean," he spoke up and she snorted lightly, doubtfully, "Oh, I do. My brother...I just can't hate him. As much as I try, I can't. How can it be so hard? Huh? He hates me, and he makes it look so damned easy while he's at it."
"What do you have to hate your brother for, and more importantly, why does he hate you?" Sam sighed, looking to Ashley B. warily. She seemed interested, which was odd for an Ashley, especially for that particular Ashley standing before him.
"Things that we said, things we fought about. His wife, mostly," Sam shrugged. It was probably the severity of the situation they were in that was making the both of them so candid.
"He's married?" she nearly choked it out, then seeming to consider the idea, shrugged, then looking a little sheepish, her eyes on the ground, "What about your wife?"
"Non-existent."
"Oh, I see," she said in a manner that suggested anything but.
"She's a gold-digger, his wife," Sam explained, "And as much as I love digging..." Ashley B. chuckled slightly at the bad joke. Laughter stifled their fear.
"It's funny..."
"What?" She paused, chewing her lower lip slightly, the faded lipstick and smeared make-up looked odd considering her usual precision perfect face. She looked better like that, Sam mused.
"I don't know, I've never heard you talk this much before. I guess it's because I've never really been around you when Dave wasn't there...Dave does all the talking," she looked ahead, her eyes narrowing, "There's someone up ahead." Sam turned as well, shining the light on the forms. Ashley Q. sat, her back leaned against the boxes, Francis's head resting in her lap. They're eyes were closed, and there was blood everywhere. Ashley B. rushed forward, falling to her knees, her arms about her friend at once.
"Please be okay..." she cried, "Ashley Q., please wake up..." Eyes fluttered, a confused frown falling into place along pristine lips.
"Ashley B...why are you yelling?" she whispered, "I'm fine."
"There's all this blood," Ashley B. cried, falling back.
"It's Francis...it's his..." Ashley Q. shifted slightly and Francis stirred. Ashley Q. narrowed her eyes on Sam, "Shouldn't you be outside?"
"There's a fire..." Sam started.
"I thought I saw smoke," Ashley Q. murmured, looking down to Francis, "He passed out...hasn't moved since. It's his shoulder. I tried to...but I'm not exactly packing a first aid kit, so..." Sam bent down, searching his pocket for his handkerchief, and examining Francis.
"You have to help me move him. We need to get him out of here, we need to get you guys out of here," Sam told them distractedly.
"What about the others?" Ashley B. demanded.
"Yeah, I thought I heard Ashley A. scream earlier..." Ashley Q. put in.
"I don't know...I'm not very good at this," Sam cried, "The best I can think of is to get to the front exit, it's the only way out. The others will head that way too. If they're not there, I'll go back in and search for them." He lifted Francis to a sitting position, examining the gaping wound in Francis's arm and frowning. Ashley Q. had attempted to use her jacket as a tourniquet, but it wasn't very well done, sloppy and not tight enough. The blood had already managed to soak through. Sam removed it, finding his handkerchief, tying it around Francis's arm.
"How did this happen?" Ashley B. questioned.
"I got distracted, there was this doll on the ground...if Francis hadn't...then I would be dead..." Ashley Q. explained, eyes focused on the injured young man.
"A doll...?" Sam pressed, looking up to meet her eyes, "Like...a doll, doll?"
"Yes, a porcelain doll. I stepped on it...it broke," Ashley Q. cried, "What don't you understand?"
"Calm down," Ashley B. hissed, "It's okay."
"No one's ever...for me..." Ashley Q. whispered, "I mean, I don't even think my husband..."
"Let's think about this while we move," Sam snapped, attempting to lift Francis and shooting a meaningful glance towards the Ashleys. They shifted to help him, so that between Ashley Q. and Sam was Francis, and Ashley B. walked before them with the flashlight. They made their ways to the front door.
-0-0-0-0-
TJ was tired. He'd stared down Clara for the last time that night, he'd already decided. No matter what happened, he would end it all right there in that gym. Problem was, she had the axe, he was worn and beaten, and the situation did not favor him in any light. He wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing warily to the raging fire, then back to Clara holding firmly to the glistening blade stained with blood. He barely dodged the first swing, feeling the cool metal brush along his skin, a shudder racing along his spine. He fell to the ground, was up in an instant grimacing with the pain that surged through his ribcage and found himself dodging another swing.
"Stop this, Clara, you need help," TJ pleaded, knowing it was useless.
"Clara isn't talking to you right now," a calm voice seethed, "You broke her heart."
"Then who am I talking to?" TJ cried, falling out of the way of another swing, and feeling the blunt handle of the axe connect with his shoulder blade, jolting his body, "Mary Anna?"
"No," was the sweet acid whisper, "I am the first."
"First...Brenda?" TJ tried, but when there was no response, he knew he'd guessed wrong. Somehow, he thought, if he knew who he was talking to then maybe he could calm her down and get a conversation going, get her to stop trying to kill him. "I don't know who else you could be!" he groaned, as one of the swings scraped along his stomach. He gasped, more from shock than pain, but he could already see the blood seeping through and around the slight tear in his shirt. He looked to that woman, his eyes widening, one last name worth trying, "Maryland?" A smile spread along the woman's thin chapped lips.
"You can call me mom," came her seedy response. She had paused, stopped with the violent attacks.
"You are Maryland, then," TJ whispered.
"Yes, and no," the woman laughed and TJ narrowed his eyes at her, "When she broke, the original, someone had to take her place. Someone perfect. I am perfect. I am the perfect Maryland."
"Why?" TJ demanded, "Why do this to us? To all of us? Why hunt us down like this? Attack us? Stalk us?"
"I never intended to hurt anyone," Maryland shrugged, "I was only searching for perfection. Just trying to fix what was broken..."
"And the messages...? What did they mean?" Maryland's face contorted with confusion, scrunched up.
"Messages...?"
"In brown envelopes?" TJ pressed.
"I never sent messages," Maryland shrugged, "But I can't exactly speak for all the girls...they do have minds of their own, you know. Mary Anna wanted to kill everyone, in a blaze of fire...but she doesn't have a right to make suggestions, you see, we're not talking to her. But Clara...oh, she does me proud, this was all her doing. Trickery, endless trickery...brilliant really. It only got better, when you loved her..."
"But I don't love her, I never did," TJ whispered tersely, and then realized he shouldn't have. Maryland's eyes flickered with pain and emotion; she became Clara, as TJ could tell from her altered mannerism, and the axe was raised once more.
"You were a fool to trick me like that," Clara hissed, "Mother and father will not stand for it...you'll be taught a lesson! We all must learn our lessons." Her face became placid; she turned her head, staring into the dark void of the gym. "Coming..." TJ knew an opportunity when he saw one, springing forward and grabbing the woman's arms, holding them stationary and attempting to knock the axe from her hands. She struggled, but was too startled to make a good effort of retaliation, her weapon of choice inevitably clattering to the ground and her, falling back unceremoniously on her rump.
TJ, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath, kicked the axe into the darkness, staring down at Clara, Maryland, Mary Anna or Brenda, he wasn't quite certain who she was at that moment. She frowned at him, pouting.
"I tried...I tried..." she whined, and TJ fell to his knees.
It was cold. The gym, the world, everything felt so cold. He balanced himself, gracelessly, his hands pressed against the smooth floor of the gym. Sit-ups...he hated doing sit-ups. He'd only ever managed to do seventeen in the minute time they were given, though once he pushed to twenty-three. Vince always did somewhere around sixty, seventy. Overachiever. That's what TJ used to call him jokingly...affectionately. Spinelli used to manage thirty, forty, sometimes fifty on a good day. Super girl. She always did the most out of all the girls. Mikey never did sit-ups; he had some excuse. Gus would usually do thirty, whatever the bare minimum for a passing grade was, but he never tried too hard. It's not how many you can do really fast, rather then how many you can do, he would always say. If there was no time limit the boy could do sit-ups forever; at least, that's what he claimed. Five, ten, from Gretchen, if she was lucky. What's the physical impressiveness of being able to sit-up contingently at a ridiculous speed, she'd always ask.
Sleep sounded good at that moment. TJ felt the rubbery skin of Clara's hands slipping around his neck. He struggled slightly, but when she didn't squeeze, didn't attempt to strangle the life from him, he gave up, rolling his eyes to look at her.
"Can we stay here?" she whimpered, tears streaming down her dirt and blood stained cheeks, "Together? Mommy, daddy..." TJ gently took her hands from his neck, attempting to sit up, staring curiously at her.
"Who...?" he began to ask, but stopped. It didn't matter. She was scared, he could tell, shaking. She wasn't Clara, wasn't Mary Anna, and most definitely wasn't Maryland. He tried to comfort her. "We can't stay here," he told her, "There's the fire...we have to leave."
"But mommy...and daddy..."
"They'll be okay," TJ whispered, not sure what else to say. She slipped into his chest, hugging him tightly.
"Fire...I'm afraid of fire..." she confided and TJ slipped an arm around her.
"It's alright..." he told her stiffly, uncertainly. What was going on? Did it matter? Maybe it was all right. Maybe everything would be all right. He winced, feeling the object slide into his side, puncturing skin and flesh, closing his eyes. Or not. The woman fell back, Clara burning in her eyes.
"The river ran red once," she said gleefully, pulling the screwdriver from TJ, blood flowing freely from the open wound.
"How many times am I going to die today?" TJ moaned, feeling the blood rising in his throat, his focus was blurring, but he narrowed his eyes on Clara, who was babbling about something or the other that he couldn't understand, "Now...normally I don't hit girls..." he started, his fist slamming heavily against her cheek. She fell across the room, and didn't rise again, "But I'm playing on the hope that at least one of you isn't a girl..." He looked to the fire, now rising up to the heights of the gym, flouncing along the floor, and catching every box along the way. He fell back heavily, his hand covering the injury, blood seeping through his fingers, catching in his shirt. There was too much for the cloth to soak up completely, it was forming a puddle in his lap, trickling to the ground. He spat, thick red mixed with saliva hitting the floor. Coughing, more blood followed. He looked to Clara's unmoving form, frowning. "You ruined my life..." he mumbled, "But I guess I ruined yours, maybe that makes us even..."
"She was crazy to begin with, TJ," the voice was soft, close. TJ's head lolled to the side, his eyes finding Vince crawling through the smoke and boxes, mouth covered with his shirt.
"What do you want?" TJ demanded as best he could. He was feeling lightheaded, from the loss of blood and long weary hours of pushing his body further and further past it's limit.
"To get us out of here...the fire's out of control, we have to get to the exit," Vince told him. TJ's eyes fell on Clara and Vince followed.
"What about her?"
"I can only carry one person," Vince informed him.
"Then only carry one," TJ whispered, sinking further into himself, "Get her out of her, Vince. It's not fair. We can't kill her twice...I can't kill her twice..." he nearly choked on those words, feeling their burning accusation.
"And I can't lose my best friend twice," Vince snarled, turning back to TJ, "I'm not leaving you here to die while saving your would-be killer."
"You will, because you hate me," TJ argued.
"No, I don't."
"Then I'll make you hate me."
"TJ, she isn't your fault," Vince hissed, "You didn't do this to her, something before...something else happened before that did this to her. She was crazy from the start. Taking her out of here won't save her, she'll still be this way...she'll still be crazy. And that won't be your fault. And what happened all those years ago, it wasn't your fault. It was no one's fault. If I stop blaming you, TJ, will you stop blaming yourself?"
"Vince...I can't..."
"No. I am not leaving here without you. I am not facing the others, I am not facing Spinelli, and telling them, telling her that I left you here to die," Vince snarled, "And I sure as hell ain't facing them with that bitch in my arms, got that?"
"Spin...she hates me anyways...it's better if I die, then she won't have to make any of those hard decisions I put on her to make," TJ muttered.
"She doesn't hate you, TJ. I don't hate you," Vince whispered, "None of them hate you. I'm starting to think that it's true...that no one can hate TJ Dettweiler," He extended his hand to TJ, "Let's forgive ourselves, or at the very least, each other?" TJ met his eyes with his bleary gaze.
-0-0-0-0-
Gretchen pressed against the gym door, pushing her weight entirely on it to no avail. She looked to Spinelli who had sat on a box leaning her head back, eyes closed.
"The key," Gretchen demanded, hand outstretched, "Do you have the key?"
"No," Spinelli mumbled, "I checked. I don't know...it fell out of my pocket, or something."
"Damn it."
"Do you think she's prettier than me?" Spinelli asked, her eyes opening slightly, peering out at Gretchen meekly.
"Who?"
"Clara...or Mary Anna...whatever her name is."
"If you want the psycho look..." Gretchen spat, annoyed, "Spinelli, we are locked in, there is a fire, we are going to burn alive, I know we're a little behind, but this is no time for girl chat!"
"I bet TJ thinks she's prettier than me. He feels obligated to be with me...I bet...because we've been friends for so long, because I stuck by him..." Spinelli went on, "But that doesn't change that he is a guy. She has a bigger chest...she's more...more...shapely, like a woman should be. Not like me."
"Okay, Spinelli..." Gretchen sighed, slumping against the door, "Apparently we're all screwed anyways, so I'll say it, yes, she is prettier than you. In most men's opinions, she would be the ultimate wet dream. But let's be honest, TJ is not most men. In fact, TJ's hardly a man. He's a little boy most of the time. He doesn't notice those things that men are supposed to notice. Chest size, leg length, sexiness, he's as oblivious to women's sexuality as you are to the emotions of others. What is this about, anyways?"
"Erm..." Spinelli shifted slightly. She wasn't sure she should say anything. Gretchen had a high opinion of TJ, as did the others, and she didn't want to tarnish that. On the other hand, he did break her heart...she looked back, the way they had come. "Where is he, anyways?" Gretchen bit her lower lip. TJ had said he'd be right behind them, but neither he nor her had believed a word of it. Apparently, Spinelli had.
"I don't know..." Gretchen lied, looking away, fearing the worst.
"You think he's dead, don't you," Spinelli mumbled.
"No." Bad lie. Her voice was too shaky.
"You remember when me and TJ had our first kiss...out behind the dumpsters?" Spinelli said and Gretchen nodded, expecting some great revelation of how she really did enjoy the kiss or something equally inevitable, "I really hated it."
"What? I...why?"
"It wasn't the way a first kiss should be..." Spinelli murmured, "We didn't want to do it...so...we were afraid to enjoy it...so...we didn't. He's a good kisser...in case you're wondering. But that kiss, wasn't very good." She closed her eyes again, lowered her head, "I love him, Gretch. But I...I think we're over...our relationship; it wasn't the way a first relationship should be. We were too...we got too serious, fell too much in love. We were together too long...we never...I never let him be with someone else..."
"He didn't want to be with someone else, Spin," Gretchen argued, "What are you talking about? What is this about?"
"It's my fault. I couldn't tell my parents about him...that's what started this whole mess. And I was jealous...of Mary Anna...I hated her, I pushed it too far...that's why this is all happening..."
"It's not your fault..."
"But it is! I was the reason Mary Anna was unconscious in that building. I hated her, Gretch, because I knew that she could be everything I wasn't. So I...I made sure she wasn't going to be leaving that gym anytime soon, made sure she understood how much I hated her. My fault. And Mundy..."
"Mundy? What does Mundy have to do with anything?"
"He lit the gym on fire, and he...because of me, because I didn't stay, because I had to go with TJ, I had to be with TJ. That's why TJ's back there, back dying, or dead...or worse...because I was selfish, because I wanted him to be with me, because I loved him and I'm oblivious to the feelings of others. I can't even see when the man I claim to love isn't really interested...I couldn't tell my parents, Gretchen, for so many reasons. But mostly because...because if I kept it to myself, then no one would know if he left me, if he dumped me for someone who was developed and looked and acted like a woman. So that, when he left me, because I knew that he would leave me, then my parents couldn't do their sympathetic clucking of their damned tongues and tell me 'oh, pookie, they'll be other boys' or 'oh, well, maybe if you were a little less pushy and forward', or 'maybe if you wore more pretty skirts and make-up, made yourself look nice once in awhile', I couldn't deal with that, Gretch!" her voice broke into a sob, but she made no attempt to hide her tears, "They don't like me, Gretchen, all those guys, they never did. They say they love me; they love how I act like I don't give a damn. The truth is, I can't give a damn. If I did...then...then...I would break...I would just...I couldn't go on...if I spent all that time worrying about what others thought, or felt. I'm not oblivious, Gretch, I just don't want to see. And now I'm seeing...now I'm seeing how TJ feels, wondering what he thinks of me, of what he thinks of other girls..."
"Do you honestly think that TJ would do that to himself? To you? Stay with you because he felt obligated? He may be the only one who really does love you because of you, because of all your damn forwardness and every last one of your damned insecurities," Gretchen spat, "You are selfish, Spinelli, and self-centered."
"I guess I am..." Spinelli mumbled, "I don't want to give in, Gretchen, but I'm going to. He's going to want to be with someone else, he deserves to be with someone else, and I need someone else...someone that isn't him...he's bad for me, I'm bad for him. We're bad for each other."
They started when they heard noises, boxes being moved. Gretchen was on her feet at once, scanning the darkness with keen and alert eyes. She saw the first figures move from one side, and backed against the door, glancing to Spinelli. Three figures, moving forward through the darkness. They stopped, staring, undoubtedly, at Gretchen.
"Who's there?" Gretchen called out.
"It's me, Mikey, and Gus, and Ashley A. Is that you, Gretchen?" Both young women relaxed, slumping back, breathing as easily as they could in their position.
"Yeah, Spinelli is with me," Gretchen said and the other's moved forward quickly, Mikey at Spinelli's side.
"Are you alright?" he asked, and she nodded simply.
"The door is locked," Gretchen said, "Spinelli lost the key. We're locked in. And I can see the fire from here, which has me worried. We're stuck..."
"Damn," Gus spat, then looking back to the darkness, "Where's TJ?" They all fell silent.
"Dead, probably," Spinelli said casually, examining her shoes.
"Don't say that," Ashley A. whimpered, "Don't say dead...no one is dead..."
"And we won't be," the strong voice startled them all, and they turned to the other direction where four more figures sporting a light stepped forward, "Dave got through to the police. I heard sirens." Sam, Ashley Q., Ashley B., and Francis's limp body stood before them. They set Francis down on the ground, Gretchen examining him, and Sam stepped towards the door, brow furrowed. Ashley Q. and Ashley B. ran to Ashley A. at once, arms flung around one another, squeals of concern and relief, hugging and crying.
"It's locked," Mikey spoke up.
"I know," Sam said, "But it's more than just locked, it's jammed...with something..."
"Are we stuck?" Gus demanded, glancing back at the raging flames quickly gaining on them.
"Hm...yeah," Francis said, coughing, stirring, and waking up. His eyes opened partially, and somehow he found Ashley Q., standing awkwardly with the other Ashleys. "You okay?" She nodded.
"Thank you," she mumbled.
"Yeah," Francis looked around, eyes falling on Spinelli, "How you holding up, kid?"
"TJ's dead," she said, looking stone-faced into the flames.
"Don't say that," Ashley A. snapped, "You don't know if it's true. He's not dead, he can't die...if he can die...then we all can die...and I don't want to die..."
"Where's Vince?" Gretchen asked, looking to Ashley A., trying to get her mind back to what was important, "And Butch and Randall are missing too?"
"They're probably all dead," Spinelli muttered.
"Shut up," Ashley A. screamed, walking over and promptly slapping Spinelli across the cheek. Spinelli didn't say or do anything, her eyes simply refocusing on the fire.
"Next thing you'll say is you're too pretty to die," she snarled, "But we aren't very pretty, now, are we?"
"You're a bitch," Ashley A. whispered.
"So are you. TJ's dead, have you no sympathy for me?" Spinelli smirked morbidly, "I guess it doesn't matter. We'll all be dead in a moment. Good. If TJ's dead, I want to be dead too."
"She's out of it," Gretchen murmured, shaking her head, "Don't listen to her. She's snapped, exhaustion finally caught up to her."
"But how much of what she's saying is true?" Sam demanded, "Do you know if TJ is alive? Or Vince, or Butch, or Randall? They probably are all dead. We have to stop asking where they are and look how to get out of here. Because I sure as hell ain't waiting for the fire to catch up to us."
"Randall picked the lock before...maybe one of us..." Ashley B. suggested.
"None of us know how to pick a lock," Ashley A. cried.
"That's not entirely true," Francis gargled, "Is it...Spin?"
"Let's just lie down and die," Spinelli muttered in reply, her eyes fluttering shut, "I'm too tired...I don't feel good...I don't want to..."
"Spinelli," Gretchen said sternly, crossing over to stand in front of the woman, "Can you, or can you not, pick this lock?"
"Yup," Spinelli smiled somewhat, sadly, "The delinquent princess...of course, I know how...doesn't mean I will." Gretchen sneered, wrapping her hand in Spinelli's collar and jerking her forward, dragging her to her feet. Ebony eyes snapped open in fury.
"Let me go, Grundler," Spinelli snarled, "You think because you had your little moment back there you can take me on?"
"You want to fight me, Spinelli?" Gretchen demanded, "Do you want to hit me? To beat the living shit out of me because I had the nerve to grab you and tell you what to do? Because I had the nerve to shake you from your self-loathing and whining, and sulking?"
"I didn't...but," Spinelli spat, "I'm starting to..."
"Good," Gretchen hissed, pushing her towards the door, "Because that means you're not ready to give up, there's fight still left in you. Now open that goddamned door."
"But TJ..."
"I love him, Spin, I do," Gretchen stated flatly, "But if he's dead, I don't want to join him."
Spinelli pouted, looking back to the raging flame, back where they'd come from, back where TJ was. She turned to the door, sinking to the floor and examining the lock with an expert eye. She looked to the Ashleys.
"One of you packing a credit card?"
END A/N: Hmmm........how long will the next chapter take? I wonder...I'll try and get it up faster. I'm thinking of putting Killing the Daisies on haitus until I finish this one, what do you guys think?
GASP! Is Randall dead? Did TJ take Vince's hand? Will Clara/Mary Anna/Brenda/Maryland/And every other personaility that trapped inside her ever realize that she's really just one woman? Does one of the Ashleys have a credit card on them? Will the gang escape the fire and blaze? All this and more will probably be answered in the thrilling next chapter of Where the Skeletons Lie....but we can't be certain.
REVIEW! (That one was for you, Trisk)
Please excuse any and all grammatical and typing errors.
Thanks for reading. I hope you're all happy. I'm coming down with the flu, or the common cold, but it doesn't matter because I will be sick! Cough, cough.
I got nothing witty to say. I know, I know, the world is ending.