Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
By
E. S. Young
Chapter Fourteen: Forgotten MemoriesAnother day, another chapter. I'm kinda disappointed, though, cuz soon I'll be back at skool and I don't know how that'll affect chapter updates. I'll certainly try to update regularly, of course. I'm just saying that it might be harder because of studying and all that. I'm not in cross-country this year, though, (hallelujah -.-;) so that'll probably make things a lot easier. Physically, anyway. O.o;;
Alphonse Poisson paced the floor of his father's office, hands clasped behind his back, eyes focused directly on the expensive flowered rug below him. Two more identical rugs covered the hardwood floor just like the two large bookshelves that ran the length of the spacious room. They were stationed on either side of the office. At the front there was a pair of huge oak doors and towards the back was his father's desk made of rich cherry wood. The desk was monstrous, Alphonse had always thought, it had so many drawers filled with who knew what. Papers, spare pens, files, small handguns . . . Whatever the desk held was no business of his, but searching through it was the first thing on his agenda the moment his father was six feet under.
But that wouldn't happen for a while.
From behind his mammoth desk, Édouard Poisson riffled through a stack of papers, each containing a picture and an extensive biography of each of his thugs. Two in particular stood out in his mind. Both of the men had . . . misinterpreted . . . his orders, he supposed. They were lucky they had been killed before completing their missions because they certainly would have had a much slower, more painful death had they returned.
Vincent Poisson, son of Édouard, older brother of Alphonse sat on the pale yellow feinting couch calmly reading a magazine. The last two hit men his father had sent out had fucked up big time, Zebbidy Samhain had yet to be brought to them, and now his little niece Joséphine was missing. But he couldn't be bothered with that right now; he was too busy seeking out his horoscope.
"She is a powerful woman . . ." Alphonse muttered to his father, "She knows the sort of things she is capable of – you know it as well!" he added, pointing a dramatic finger at his father, who didn't even bother to look up.
"Fils, you worry yourself too much," he said tiredly as if they had already been through this a hundred times. "She'll come back."
"You've said that before –"
"I was right," his father stated plainly, laying the neatly stacked papers aside. "She will come back; she always does."
"But –"
"Don't you remember, Alphonse?" Vincent stepped in, "Zebbidy ran away a countless number of times as a child. How many of those times could she have been successful?"
". . . more than half," his brother admitted reluctantly.
"Except . . ." Vincent prodded.
"Except she came back . . ." Alphonse said quietly, "She always came back . . ."
"Why, though?" Vincent inquired of his father.
"Simple, mes fils," Édouard answered, "Zebbidy had nowhere else to go. She lived with us in luxury, yes, but she never had any money of her own. And she hardly knew her way around outside of Paris."
"You made sure of that, father," Alphonse chuckled, with a nasty smile.
Nodding seriously, Édouard continued.
"That I did. We couldn't have her leaving, now, could we? We need her."
"But how do we know she'll come back?" Alphonse demanded. "Zebbidy is a grown woman now, she knows what she's doing, she knows the world. You trained her to grow up an intellectual . . . She will not return to this place. She knows better."
"She will return, Alphonse," his father said sternly, "She and the CIA especially are growing restless. They do not like staying in hiding. They want it all to end. And if that means giving Zebbidy to us . . ." He paused, drawing the tension up a notch. ". . . then so be it."
"I never want to go back inside one of those things again!" eleven-year-old Catherine announced in disgust as she stormed into the Egyptian-style suite.
"Aww, but Cat," Lynné of almost-eight said as she came in after her, "I thought you liked family reunions."
"What d'you mean?" her older stepsister snapped, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
"If you're too dumb to figure it out, I'm not tellin' ya."
"Beatrice!" her father thundered, outraged.
Lynné didn't respond. Instead, she sat down on the blue and white striped couch, picked up the TV remote, and began flipping through the channels.
"Beatrice!" This time Catherine looked worried, but Lyn remained calm and unconcerned.
"She only answers to Lynné, Dad," Sands of twelve years explained as he entered the room.
"She'll answer when spoken to," his father roared, glaring at the little girl on the couch.
"But you weren't talking to me," Lyn said calmly, not looking at her father.
"Apologize to Catherine this instant, young lady," her father demanded, looking infuriated that a seven-year-old was defying him.
"Not gonna apologize for something that's true," Lyn replied coolly, a note of defiance in her voice.
"Fine then!" Her father glared furiously at her, but she refused to acknowledge him. "If that's the way you're gonna be, then you can just stay here – "
"And thing about what you've done," Lynné mouthed as her father spoke.
"You're not going to the next pyramid with us," her father said with the smug look of one who had just condemned a person to a horrible sentence. Lynné, who could really care less, continued to flip through the channels. Catherine on the other hand, looked completely revolted.
"I have to go to another one of those things but Lynné gets to stay here!?" She stamped her foot; Lyn snickered. "That's not fair!"
"Life isn't always fair, Catherine, now get moving. We only stopped in here so you could get your sunglasses."
Even though she had outgrown throwing temper tantrums long ago, Catherine found the notion very tempting at the moment. However, her stepfather's own temper was running high and even if she couldn't figure out Lynné's smart comments, she was still smart enough to know that Stepdaddy's patients was not something to be tried. So, she settled for pouting instead.
Her efforts went unnoticed, however, because at that moment her stepfather chose to walk out the door, leaving Catherine alone with her hated stepsiblings.
Her lower lip still protruding noticeably, Catherine stormed over to the coffee table and snatched up her pink tinted specks, glaring at Lynné the entire time. In return, Lyn kept her eyes focused on the television in front of her, but a small grin crept across her face when she heard her stepsister turn to leave.
"I'm looking at the world through rose colored glasses . . ." Lyn sang softly under her breath, grinning more broadly as the song went on.
Catherine, though she had never heard the song before, knew she was being insulted and left the suite in a huff. Shortly after, Sands entered from the bedroom shoving a multicolored hat on his head. He stopped in his tracks, took one look around the seemingly empty hotel room, and started at Lynné.
". . . . . . . They left me again, didn't they?"
"Mmmhmm."
"I knew it."
"Oh, don't feel so bad," Lyn told him, going 'round the channels for what had to be the twelfth time. "The heat out there's terrible."
"I know," Sands said, rolling his eyes. "I just wanted to visit a pyramid that actually had a mummy in it."
"None of 'em do," Lyn said offhandedly, "If you wanna see mummies go visit a museum. All of the tombs that are open to tourists have been emptied out."
"All of the ones we've been to, you mean."
"No," she said confidently, "all of them. Do you really think that they'd leave something as valuable as a mummy alone in a dilapidated –"
"Dilapidated?" Sands interrupted, intrigued that his eight-year-old sister knew such a word.
"Yes, dilapidated pyramid where stupid people like Cat can poke at it an' stuff?"
Sands grinned and took a seat next to her on the couch. Snatching the remote away, he said:
"Something tells me that Cat isn't the one to poke at dead guys."
"If somebody paid her, she would. And you might as well turn the TV off. There's nothing on."
"Don't tell me twice," Sands stated. The TV clicked and went blank.
"So," Lynné began, looking up at her brother expectantly, "wanna find one of those scarab beetles and put it in Catherine's bed?"
This earned her an arched eyebrow.
"Those things eat flesh, Lyn. Human flesh."
An evil smirk spread across his sister's face.
"I know."
Blinking blearily to bring moisture back to her dry eyes, Lynné gave a small start when she saw a dark figure sitting on the edge of her bed. The person didn't noticed. Slowly, Lyn reached under her pillow, ready to shoot the intruder if necessary. Even if it weren't necessary, she'd still shoot the bastard; he'd entered her room unwanted, hadn't he? And people like that needed to learn.
"Care to explain?" she asked in a cool voice.
Now it was the figure's turn to jump. In his panic, the figure topple over onto the bed, his face falling into the patch of silvery moonlight that spilled from the open window. Lynné stared looking very unhappy, not to mention annoyed.
"Liam?"
Her partner's eyes widened and he stared up at her, looking startled.
Or, the voice prodded, like he's been caught in the act!
You are so not funny, do you know that?
"Oh," Liam gasped, a nervous grin breaking out on his face, "um, um . . . hi."
"What in the hell –"
"Mademoiselle!"
"Oh, Christ . . . what, kid?"
"Je ne pouvais pas dormir," (I couldn't sleep,) Joséphine answered plainly.
". . . . . Where are you going with this, Josey?"
"Lynné," Liam cried, as if it were obvious.
"Oh, fine," Lyn muttered grudgingly. Sighing in annoyance, she glared at Joséphine who glared right back.
"Lui aussi," (Him too,) she insisted, pointing a delicate finger directly at Liam. Both sets of eyes widened now, Lynné's and her partner's.
"No," Lyn said, shaking her head, "If you wanna sleep with him, you go to his bed."
"Son lit est un canapé!" (His bed is a couch!) Joséphine said angrily, "Je ne dors pas sur un canapé!" (I'm not sleeping on a couch!)
"Well, where were you sleeping then, if not a couch?"
"Avec Zebbidy," (With Zebbidy,) she answered simply, climbing into the soft, queen-sized bed and sitting up next to her.
"So why'd you leave her bedroom?" Liam asked.
"Why'd you leave your bedroom?" Lynné retorted.
"Uh," he stammered worriedly, "ehm . . . what were you muttering about?"
Lyn quirked an eyebrow. "Muttering?"
"In your sleep," Liam explained. "Something about beetles?"
"I was dreaming I was doing the nasty with the entire rock band," she lied. "All four members . . . and even the others, y'know, before Ringo came along . . . all at once."
"Wow . . ."
"Yeah, well." Lyn shrugged. "I'm a big fan, what can I say. You should hear Sands when he's having one of his Rolling Stones dreams."
"I . . . don't think . . . I want to . . ." Liam said testily.
Meanwhile, Joséphine had fumbled her way around the bed and was now sitting between the two CIA agents, she looked tired, but the tone of her voice would suggest otherwise.
"Qu'allez-vous faire avec moi?" (What are you gonna do with me?) she asked, looking between the both of them.
"Do you have any other family?" Lyn sighed.
Joséphine shook her head.
"Non . . . . Puis-je rester avec vous?" (No . . . . Can I stay with you?) she asked, looking hopeful.
No one spoke for a while. Even though she couldn't see the looks on their faces, Joséphine knew that Lynné and Liam were thinking her question over. She was eager for an answer – good or bad – but she thought it best not to interrupt them.
Christ, Lyn swore, aggravated, I don't want a fucking kid – I don't even like kids.
You sure about that?
Yes, I'm sure. . . . . aren't I?
Why Beatrice Lynné Sands, I do believe you're growing emotions.
Fuck off.
Leaning back against the pillows, making it clear that she intended to go back to sleep, Lynné said, "We'll see, kid," before turning over and ignoring them both.
The scorching rays from the Egyptian sun was intense – beyond intense -- but the light green awning that hung over the small golf cart provided some small source of protection. It failed to save them from the heat, however. The sun's rays beat down on them, showing no mercy for the car's two young passengers.
"Dad's gonna be mad that you stole the club's car."
"Golf cart, and he won't unless he find out. Besides . . . I'm only borrowing it."
"You're only eleven, cheese-dick, you shouldn't be driving anything."
"And you're seven, you shouldn't be swearing, fuckmook. Where did you learn to cuss like that?"
"Watching shows Dad says not to," Lynné answered simply, adjusting the floppy straw hat on her head. In the driver's seat, Sands pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and eased the execrator pedal down to the floor.
"So," Lyn began, "why DID you take Dad's golf car?"
"Would you rather walk around the desert?"
"No."
"Okay, then."
Lynné rolled her eyes behind her dark glasses. Dust continued to churn, making her grateful that she had brought bottled water. Beside her, Sands wiped the sweat off of his brow and Lyn noticed him tighten his grip on the steering wheel, almost as if he couldn't maintain control of the vehicle for much longer.
"Where'd you learn to drive this thing anyway?" she asked cautiously.
"Had to do something whenever Dad took me to the golf course. I wasn't gonna caddy for him, so this was pretty much my only –"
He never finished. He never had a chance to. At that moment, the tiny car hit something; a rock a mummy, whatever it was it was something hard and solid instead of the soft sand. The golf cart went flying, its miniature wheels not accustomed to rolling over anything other than turf or gravel. It went rolling along the ground at an uncontrollable speed, tossing both of its passengers around inside as a jumble of flailing arms and legs. Such rough movements were bound to leave more than a share of scrapes and bruises between the both of them, but neither Lyn nor Sands cared at the moment. The only thing that mattered was making it out of the wreckage alive.
Lynné had her seatbelt on; Sands didn't. The only thing Lyn felt was the sharp tug of the straps pulling her back as she pitched forward where she sat. While his sister was saved from harm, Sands was thrown forward. Lyn could only watch in a kind of fascinated horror as her brother flew out of the car, his limbs thrashing and his eyes wide with terror. When he hit the ground and, there was no mistaking it, an awful 'CRACK' filled the air. Sands had landed on his left leg and Lynné feared the worst.
Wasting no time in leaping from the badly damaged golf cart, Lyn rushed to her brother's side. His breathing was now going double-time, but other than that he made no sound. Lyn felt her teeth sink into her lower lip when she saw that Sands' had his eyes closed. And closed they would remain. He didn't want to have to look at his most definitely mangled leg.
"Sands?"
He heard Lyn speaking, but he chose not to answer. Not now. Now all he wanted to do was get back to the hotel, collapse onto the luxurious bed, and sleep. It was a stupid want, and Sands knew it because the pain that tore through his leg was nothing short of unbearable. He'd never be able to sleep with that coursing through him unless he fainted, and he wasn't going to let anything like that happen. Not in front of Lynné; not in front of anyone.
"I think it's just broken . . ." he heard Lyn say from some far off distant land. He felt his head being lifted gently. When it was replaced, it was resting on top of something Sands could not identify. It was like a scratchy cushion.
Lyn's hat, he realized.
"How would you know?" Sands hissed out loud with his teeth clenched defiantly.
"Grace broke her arm last year, remember? It kinda looked like this only . . ."
"Only what?" he demanded at her silence.
"Only not as bad," Lyn snapped, annoyed.
I'm trying to help him and he's being a jerk!
That's how he is, kid. Would you rather he acted like a whiney little wuss?
No, you've got a point . . .
"Ohh . . ." her brother gasped suddenly. His eyelashes fluttered in one blurred motion, as though he wanted to open his eyes but couldn't bring himself to do it.
"Oh God . . ." he breathed faintly, "oh God I was stupid . . . I was really stupid . . ."
"I'd say 'no, you weren't' but then you'd just call me an idiot," Lyn cracked, smiling weakly.
Sands gave a weary laugh but still refused to open his eyes.
"Dad's gonna kill me . . . Or, no. No . . . he'll let me stay like this and not take me to the hospital. Or he will take me to the hospital but he won't let the doctors give me any morphine. Say I'm allergic or something like that . . ."
"If he does, I'll kick his ass," Lyn assured him.
Biting his tongue, Sands barely held back a yell as more pain ripped through his leg. It didn't subside like the last time. Now it rocketed throughout his entire body, sending bolts of agony through his already battered limbs.
"Oh God . . ." he heard Lynné mutter to herself.
Something in his sister's tone made him want to look up at her. Sands always hated hearing her when she was worried, and right now she was on the very edge of hysteria. He couldn't hold himself back anymore. At last, Sands opened his eyes. They locked with his sister's for one brief moment before they were forced shut again when another wave of pain fell over him.
"What're we gonna do . . . ?" Sands asked. The sound of his voice both surprised and angered him. He sounded so weak, so helpless, like he had been pleading to his sister for some sort of positive answer one that he knew she wouldn't have. He hated feeling that way, but there wasn't any choice.
"Lyn?"
"I don't know," she replied, sounding far beyond worry. Lyn stared off into the distance hoping to see people coming, a gas station, anything that could aid them. Nothing but the swirling sand could be seen. Lynné sighed harshly, wishing she had something to tap her fingernails against. The quiet, rhythmic drumming helped to clear her warped mind, she always thought.
"What do you mean?" Sands panted tiredly, the ache shinning painfully bright in his dark eyes.
"I don't know."
So that was why he didn't remember Egypt.
Restless, Sands turned over on the daybed in the living room that had served as his sleeping quarters for the past three months.
But it all, at the risk of sounding cliché, came flooding back to him now. There had been so much pain, so much agony engulfing him at that time that he really had passed out. Unwillingly, of course, but it wasn't like that mattered. He had lost consciousness and had probably scared Lynnie shitless. Or maybe not. Even as an seven-year-old Lynné was already becoming well known for her coolheaded-ness.
Sands wasn't sure how the hell she had gotten help. Flagged someone down, perhaps? Snagged the concern of some kind tourist, who took pity on two poor stranded children, one of whom was suffering from a broken leg? Maybe. But Sands didn't know and if anyone had ever told him, he didn't remember. Didn't care either. All he did remember, however, was hearing his stepsister's voice full of malice . . .
"What were you thinking taking the car like that, Sheldon? You're twelve years old, you can't run around Rob's car. How stupid are you?"
With a bored, uncaring expression on his face, Sands let his head lull to one side, not wanting to look at Catherine. The doctors had stepped in and given him morphine before his father could make up some excuse as to why they shouldn't.
"Traipsing around the desert doing who knows what and destroying my golf cart in the process! What the hell were you thinking!?!" his father had yelled earlier.
The words echoed in his head, but Sands merely shrugged them off. His eyelashes felt like they each weighed about as much as he did (which wasn't much). The drugs had put him in a drowsy state, and he was growing increasingly sleepy as time passed.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, young man!" he heard his father roar over an over in his head. The furious, hate-filled words rang in Sands' mind. Fine. Let them ring. He didn't care.
He was in trouble; he knew it. And he had been foolish to take the car; he knew that too. But Sands could really care less at the moment. All he wanted to do was sleep. The hospital bed he was lying on was so comfortable . . .
"You put Beatrice in danger . . ." Cat's words seemed to waver as she spoke. A result of the drugs, no doubt.
That was true . . .
". . . could've gotten her killed . . ."
Was she taunting him?
"Good thing her injuries weren't serious . . ."
That caught his attention. He could have gotten Lyn seriously hurt or even killed. That thought had never even occurred to him until now. What if Lyn had been badly injured? She could have been the one wearing the itchy cast instead of him.
What if she had died . . . ?
Even his thoughts sounded small and meek, two things that didn't suit him well at all. For the first time Sands noticed that Lynné was not present in the room. Immediately, panic filled his system.
"Where is she?" he demanded of his stepsister, all the while forcing himself to remain calm. Sands tried to sit up but the drugs made him dizzy and he soon found himself slumped up against the pillows again.
"Where is she?" he asked again, this time more quietly.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Cat replied, grinning evilly.
"Tell me, Cat, I mean it –"
"Go away, Catherine," someone snapped irritably. "You're the last person he wants to see."
"Lynné!" Cat whined pathetically.
His sister looked, save for a few bruises here and there, completely fine. Cat had been leading him on, the evil cow. And he, like an idiot, had almost believed her.
Yeah, well, just because you're a child genius doesn't mean you have any common sense.
"What're you doing here?"
"Getting rid of you," Lyn answered simply. "Now, if you don't mind . . ."
Cat left in a huff, a normal reaction Sands and Lynné knew all too well. Lyn followed her older stepsister out of the room with her eyes the entire time. When at last Catherine was out of sight, Lyn turned back to her injured brother to find him wearing the same accomplished smirk as her.
"Are you okay?" Lyn asked with care as she walked over to the bed.
"Fine," Sands answered, shrugging. "Dad yell at you?"
"A little. You?"
"A lot," Sands replied resentfully. "You know Dad. It's always a comfort to know he cares so much."
"I know I feel safe knowing that he's there for me," Lyn said, climbing up onto the bed and sitting next to him. Sands raised an eyebrow and looked at her with disbelief.
"He supports you in everything you do?"
"Of course," she replied, rolling her eyes.
Feeling suddenly drained now that the danger had passed, Sands felt his eyelids grow heavy once again. He quickly shifted so his head was now cushioned on his sister's shoulder. Lyn didn't seem to mind. Perhaps she too had grown exhausted after that day's exhilarating events.
Lynné felt her brother's head on her arm, but it didn't bother her. She was wiped, thoroughly wiped, by the car wreck. The heat of the day had gotten to her as well, burning out the young girl's adrenaline. Slowly, she began to close her eyes.
The two siblings sleeping next to one another looked like the perfect Kodak moment, but before anyone could snap a picture, an angry voice broke through the peaceful silence.
"Where is she!?"
"Sir, if you would just –"
"Don't tell me to calm down, young lady. I have a right to see my children, now, where are they!?"
"Mr. Sands, I'm sure they're fine–" the flustered female doctor tried to assure him.
"Oh, you're sure but you don't know," their father scoffed coldly.
"I know where they are, Rob!" an excited voice piped up. Cat. She sounded eager to spill her guts, as if doing such would get her into her picky stepfather's good books. Probably would. Good for her. Neither Sands nor Lynné tried nor cared.
The sound of a door crashing open roused Lyn from her sleep, but not a lot. It was only her father come to bellow at them about irresponsibility again, so she didn't even bother to open her eyes. Beside her, Sands did not stir at all. Unlike his sister, sleep had taken over him entirely.
"Beatrice, Sheldon!" their father yelled with fury that would have sent most people running to the hills.
Catherine stood next to him, her hands clasped in front of her, with bright, excited eyes that read 'You guys are in sooo much trouble' all too clearly.
"What the hell were you two doing –"
"Mr. Sands," the doctor said sternly. "These may be your children, but they are my patients. It's obvious that they've had a very tiring day. If you would kindly wait in the coffee room, I'll be finished here in a few minutes. I just need to check on Sheldon's cast and see how he's doing."
Their father must have made some sort of motion to show that he wasn't going to stand by and let some know-it-all doctor tell him what to do because the woman said sharply:
"They'll be fine. It's just that they need their rest."
"If you think you can talk to me like that and still expect pay –"
"They need their rest," she repeated, this time more forcefully than before.
Sands and Lynné heard the squeak of their father's shoes against the shinny linoleum as he turned sharply and exited the room. They heard his swift, aggravated steps for several seconds before the sounds abruptly stopped.
"Catherine," their father ordered sharply.
There was a disappointed sigh from Cat who obviously thought it unfair that she wasn't allowed to stay and torment her stepsiblings, but it was soon followed by the sounds of sandals against a polished floor, which relieved both Sands and Lynné.
From her place at the doorway, the doctor took the scene of the father and his stepdaughter stalking angrily down the hall and exchanged it for the nicer photo of the sleeping little boy, who was resting against his sister, who was beginning to doze off as well.
As quietly as she could, the doctor walked over to the slumbering pair. She carefully pushed a few arrant strands of hair out of the little girl's face, but she had no sooner reached out when the child's brother swatted the hand away as he slept, making it clear that he didn't want anyone, even a doctor, disturbing his sister. As she watched this, the doctor withdrew her hand and smiled.
Such dreams were pleasant, even comforting, Sands might have even considered them a nice change from the horrific nightmares he had been having. But this dream, like all the others, would not stay peaceful for long. Sooner or later things would take a turn for the worst, and the dream would suddenly morph into a terrible nightmare filled with drills and screams and Ajedrez's cruel laughter. Perhaps it was because of this that Sands found himself being thankful when he was yanked sharply from his tranquil thoughts when someone let out a sudden yell.
Oooh, suspense, suspense! Or at least I hope so, anyway. Don't have much to say here 'cept my family and I are going to a national park tomorrow. Should be pretty nifty. But the thing is, I won't be around to write for I don't know how long, so if the next chapter is a little late, I'm sorry. No outlets for laptops out in the woods, gang.
Author's Thanks and Review Responses:
Dawnie-7: Oh, yeah, isn't Cat lovely? Or, wait, make that nasty – no, cruel – what the heck, she's just downright evil. Sands and Lyn will get under her skin in the next chapter, though, rest assured. u.u
morph: I'm gonna write some action into this story somewhere in upcoming chapters. ) And Josey's blindness will be explained, of course. Good choice of song, too, lol.
vanillafluffy: I'm guessing you're talking about Liam when you say 'some needed more training?' lol. Meh, Sands voice is . . . well, putting it bluntly, disgusting, perverted, and just plain sick. But, as it's mentioned, it's just a voice, not a real person or anything so I'm thinking that it just doesn't see things like watching your own sister fight another woman in the mud while wearing nothing as wrong. That still doesn't stop it from being perverted though. XP
TheDmntdFerret: Seems like a lot of people haven't been able to get online lately. o.o;; Hope a virus isn't going around. Thanks for reviewing, though, and I'm glad to hear that this story's still keeping your interest. )
DragonHunter200: Books are almost always better than their movies, from what I've read about him, I'm sure Johnny would understand. u.u lol, I hate the chime thing too (hence why it was in the story, heh) that and the 'You've got mail!' message. Veeeery irritating. F
Lynx Ryder: lol, you're not alone, kids creep me out too. Especially those psychic ones that seem so popular now. Evil, foreboding demon children XP They're not right. Neither are the TV kids with fake speech impediments. Somewhere, some insane, stupid person with a lot of money informed the world that it was cute for kids to talk with lisps in movies or on commercials. What were they thinking?? (shakes head to stop the rambling) Anyway . . . Depp-references! There seem to be a lot more of them in this story than the last one. I'm thinking of fitting some quotes in there, too. I know there are a few that would go in perfectly. Wanna say thank you very much for liking my stories, reviewing, and putting me on your favorites lists! D I'm just shocked that so many people really like these things o.o;
Oh, and this just in: Lynné's got her own Dead Journal now. 9.9 She wouldn't shut up, you see. She claims that Sands takes up all the space with his rants and tangents in the online journal reserved for my head-voices (see my bio if you're interested in that) and that she can't get a word in edgewise. So I knew that if I ever wanted quiet I'd have to give her what she wanted. She now has her own Dead Journal but won't let me post the link (grr) so if anybody wants it, ask and I'll ship it out in an e-mail. Sands tends to use it for his own purposes too, much to Lyn's chagrin. Her entries take place right at the beginning of this story, so it'll be following things pretty well. u.u
o