Author's Note: Happy belated New Year! I hope you guys had a good break (I know I did!)

At any rate, you know the drill. Read and review, please and thank you.

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP, nor do I own anything associated it with it. The character of Patricia Montgomery is mine, however, so please ask before you use it. (Lest I hunt you down, you mangy cur, and get your story removed from ).

Chapter Thirteen: Out of the Horse's Mouth

Trixie tosses and turns in her sleep, full of nightmares and half remembered, vague images. Elusive is her mother's voice, haunting like a forgotten symphony. When she awakes, she's full of discontent. Nothing she chased so ardently remained for her to dissect.

However, instead of opening her eyes, she imagines her mother awaking her gently, shaking her awake while mentioning that Tootie has mysteriously fallen off a nearby cliff and her funeral's tomorrow. Timmy waits by the door, inconsolable by everyone except her. All she need to is get dressed and she'll have everything she's ever wanted.

Like an effervescent dream, it fades into nothingness. Lacking a strong imagination, the warm arms encompassing her vanish and her mother's voice, forcefully portrayed, disappears. No dead Tootie, no present mother, nothing.

And all too soon, reality crashes back down on her. Timmy kissed Tootie (as far as she knows), her mother's gone and only decided to visit Dimmsdale on a business deal, and Veronica, conveniently, has skipped town for the month. The combination is enough to convince her to remain in bed for the entire day…were she that type of person.

However, Trixie Tang refuses to cave into the sheer amount of unpleasantry she has to face. She'll call Veronica first, then, as soon as she got directions to her grandparents' nursing home, she'd badger them into telling her about her mother. And if her father thinks he'll prevent her, he's got another thing coming. She'll put everything, including the dinner, on hold for this.

Throwing aside the sheets, Trixie glowers at the closet, aware that the wrong outfit will gather the wrong impression. If she dresses meekly, her grandparents will think they can walk all over her, but if she dresses in her normal garb, her grandparents will lump her with her mother and tell her nothing. She simply cannot take that risk.

Decisions, decisions. She's absolutely nowhere without her right hand girl, resting comfortably in the Bahamas. Perhaps she'll find a way to cut their resources there, just so she can come home sooner. The old adage- "you never miss something until it's gone" never seems more prevalent.

The phone rings again and she dashes madly for it. Although she's currently in a spat with Timmy, she really won't mind if he calls her. Maybe it's him, telling her he trashed Tootie completely and he's here with a bouquet of roses (they're only sixty bucks!) to ensure her happiness. Oh, and he's seen her mother and she's the only driving him over.

Pressing her hope (and the phone cradle) to her chest, she awaits Timmy's apologies, Tootie's confession that she can never live up to her and she'll stop trying, or Veronica's ramblings about how great the Bahamas are. Whatever it is, she's sure it'll be the usual humdrum phone call. Well, the one in the middle wouldn't be, not by any means, since she'll be so busy degrading Tootie, she won't have time to listen to the voice on the other end.

However, her caller I.D. shows a different story. The number on there is utterly foreign to her, but it's in town, so that lets Veronica out. Even if one of the other two were calling from a payphone, the number prominently displays a hotel. Now, who on earth can get her phone number staying at a hotel? It's an unlisted number!

"Hello?" Trixie murmurs, holding her breath. Close to her hip, her fingers cross and she silently prays for the only other person it could be to reply. Her heart pounds inside her chest and thunders in her ears.

It takes her a few minutes to realize she must act the part of her role, if she's going to keep her status at all. Therefore, she cannot be this shaky little girl, but a strong, confident young lady. So what if she's secretly hoping it's her mother on the line? That doesn't mean she should communicate her unease to anyone who talks to her.

"Trixie Tang speaking. How did you get this number?" Wrinkling her nose, she forces her fingers to straighten and her form to cease shivering. Goosebumps have arisen on her arms and she bids them flee, lest she show outwardly her inward emotions.

"I have connections," A female voice replies briskly, which sounds oddly familiar to her. Where has she heard it before? It's on the tip of her tongue…

Standing at the doorway, her father gazes in at her. A peculiar expression marks his face and she frowns, wondering what interest he has in her conversations. Well, the reason why he's here matters little, only that he leave as soon as humanly possible.

"I don't care what connections you believe you have, but I do not accept phone calls from strangers," Trixie replies briskly, aware her father's noting her every word.

Go away, I say! Damn you!

Tersely, as though she too is being observed by a persistent and all too uncomfortable party, the woman replies, "I'm no stranger, Trixie."

Beating wildly in her chest, her heart skips a beat at her name being spoken by this woman. Once again, the idea strikes her there is something oddly familiar about her, if only she could give it a name. And, once again, she wishes her father would find something better to do than eavesdrop.

"You haven't identified yourself," Trixie pointed out, "and I do not waste time on pointless conversations with people who might as well be aficionados or stalkers. I have no idea which category you fall under but-"

"Neither," The woman replies, a hint of a smile in her voice. "I suppose you don't waste time on pointless conversations with your father, either, because he's neither."

"Hang up," Mr. Tang snaps, crossing the room and glaring at the phone number. Apparently, he knows something she doesn't and whatever it is, the fact she's ignorant annoys the heck out of her. What right does he have to parade around her room and tell her what to do? If she weren't on the phone right now, she'd give him a piece of her mind.

"Who are you?" Trixie snaps, waving her father away. He stands, like a hawk, over her shoulder, attempting to overhear the other person.

"Don't you recognize me?" Sighing, she answers her own question. "No, I suppose not. Your father would have done a pretty good job of making sure you thought you were immaculately conceived."

"Mom?" Trixie cries, delight filling her. At this word, her father snatches the phone from her hand.

"I told you never to call this place again. If you take one step near by my daughter, send her an e-mail, an instant message, phone her, or send her a letter ever again, I'll put the restraining order back. You have no parental right to her and therefore, as per the agreement set up by my parents, you will not speak to her. Goodbye!" With that, her father slams the receiver down and deletes the number from the database.

Anger such as she has never known before surges through her and it takes every effort not to scream in his face. Instead, she collects herself, forcibly recalling the phone number so she can call her discretely from her cell phone (she's aware the number will appear on her bill, but, at this point, she's so furious, she doesn't care what happens in the future).

How dare he do this to me! I was this close to having an actual conversation with my mother until he snatched the phone out of my hands, snapped at her, and slammed it back down.

"I told you, no contact with your mother," Mr. Tang hisses, scrolling through her list of numbers and blocking the hotel (neither a call outward nor inward will come through that number).

Overlooking the obvious that she had contacted her, Trixie replies coolly, "That's all right, Father. I'm sure you and your parents know what's best for me. After all, they knew what was best for you, when they sent my mother away, right?"

All the color drains from his face. Casting a glance about the room and muttering some nonsense about everything being in order, he, troubled, vacates, slamming the door shut. Hmm, she'd never thought him capable of fleeing from an argument before; she'd best store this for future reference.

Snatching her cell phone (after securely locking the door), she dials the number, which, thanks to her photographic memory (belying the fact that, although she knew Timmy's name before, she'd never wasted enough effort to prove to everyone else she did), she memorized. The phone rings four, five times, and her heart sinks. Perhaps her mother's become disenfranchised thanks to her father.

"Hello?" Another voice answers and she realizes, abruptly, she doesn't know her mother's extension. What good did it do her to memorize the general number if she can't get in touch with her? What if she specified no inward calls?

What does she care, anyway? Ten years has been far too many to be separated and she'll be damned if she lets her father push her around. Hell, if she were in the same situation as her mother had been years ago, she'd really let them have it.

"Yes, I'd like to speak with Patricia Montgomery, please," Trixie replies pristinely, her fingers tapping on her table.

"I'm sorry, but she has specified no business calls-" The voice, a man in his mid-forties she would guess, responds.

"I am not business," Trixie snaps. "And I demand to speak with Miss Patricia Montgomery…or else you'll find yourself short changed and looking for work by the end of this phone call."

"Listen, miss," He retorts, "I don't know who you think you are, but I sincerely doubt you have the power to-"

"I am Trixie Elizabeth Tang and if you don't put me through right now, I can promise you it's just a short phone call away to unemployment."

Silence reigns and, smirking, Trixie awaits his reply. Surely he's not stupid enough to deny her, considering she seriously contemplates firing him just for the hell of it. No one treats her like that, no one.

"Right…right away, Miss Tang…" He replies, sounding faint of heart. There's a brief pause and then, she can hear the phone ring again.

Pick up, Mom…please pick up…

For an eternity, the phone rings and, after about the fourteenth ring, Trixie poises her finger over the 'end' button. This is ludicrous- but wouldn't there be a message preventing this many rings? Why is she letting it dangle for so long?

"I didn't realize you had a cell phone," Patricia remarks dryly and, fumbling a little, Trixie places the phone to her ear.

Finally. What took you so damn long?

"I didn't realize my father and his parents intimidated you that much," Trixie shoots back.

"There are things the Tang family has access to…that prevent me from remaining in Dimmsdale for too long…" Her mother replies cryptically.

Fed up with everything, especially withheld information, she snaps, "Like what?"

Will someone clue me in already? I'm ten, not five, thank you very much. And if everyone insists that I'm old enough to wear makeup and behave like a young lady, I'd like to receive the same information one would get.

"I'm not in the mood to discuss this with you at the moment." She sighs.

"Let's just say these things have the ability to put me six feet under, if they're so inclined."

"Dad's family's trying to kill you?!" Trixie shrieks, disbelief sketched on her face. "Why would they do that?!"

Maybe she's jumping to conclusions, maybe she isn't. There's a distinct possibility her father's family would go any extreme to eliminate her from the family, isn't there? Considering what her father's done so far to prevent her from speaking with her, she doesn't doubt it. Nothing's out of the realm of possibility anymore, if Timmy can kiss Tootie.

"Trixie…" She warns. "My phone line's tapped."

"What? Why?" Pacing the room, she strolls back and forth, past the picture of her and Veronica…and a hidden one of Timmy behind it.

And how on earth do they tap hotel phone lines?

"They want me out as soon as possible. The sooner the better. It's too risky for us to talk…"

"Then can I meet you? We can set up a place-"

"Too risky. If you're around a place with the initials IM by the time the sun sets, we can talk then, supposing no one else figures out what that is."

Nodding, she replies, "It's-"

Good old Il Maestro. It's the meeting place for everything and everyone renowned in Dimmsdale. People have dates to decide their future employment, to do whatever. Anyone who's anyone has been there.

"What part of 'this phone is tapped' don't you understand?" She says, exasperated. "And I've already said too much.

"I have to go…I love you, Trixie."

With that, the ring tone thunders in her ears and she pushes 'end'.