Well, you know the drill by now. Yet another chapter!

He opened his eyes and instantly wished he hadn't. He was facing straight up at the glaring grey sky. He squinted and raised his head to try to figure out where he was. A sharp pain shot directly to the center of his brain and he dropped his head to the ground again, groaning. What happened? He couldn't seem to remember exactly what had happened. He and his friends had just been getting to the good part of having fun with the two Rippner boys… he remembered that. How did he get to this state? And where were his goons? He rolled over onto his side, holding his head, and slowly got up. He looked around. This looked like the place where he had jumped the Rippner brothers all right. His eyes landed on Bob lying face down in the leaves by the fence. He snorted a brief laugh and walked over to his right-hand goon.

"Okay, Thompson!" he nudged him in the side with his foot, "Rise and shine!" Bob didn't so much as stir. "Hey! Get up!" That was when he spotted the large amount of drying blood covering the leaves around Thompson's head. The jeering smile left his face in an instant and he crouched down and rolled Bob over. His mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. There was a huge gash on the left side of Thompson's forehead; Harold could even see some bone sticking out of the wound. Blood was smeared all over Bob's face, and his dark, shaggy hair was sticking in his wound. What did that Rippner freak do? They had called him Jack the Ripper a lot because of his name, but they never would have guessed he could actually do anything like this.

Thompson gasped, making Harold jump and his heart race. Thompson's blue-green eyes fluttered wide open. It took a few moments for the enormous pain in his head to register. In those few moments, he only looked at Borden with wide, confused eyes.

He opened his mouth and said weakly, "What happened?" But even if Borden had answered his question, he wouldn't have paid attention to it, because it was immediately after asking that the pain struck… and hard.

He groaned, and Borden slowly backed away, terrified as his groans turned into screams. Thompson raised a hand to his head, and drew it back to look at it. When he saw how covered his hand was with his own blood, his eyes widened and his screams grew even more. Borden looked around, starting to feel panic tugging on his emotions. Panic? That Jackson Rippner is causing you to start panicking? Can't be. This must be a dream? He tried to find something that would prove the unreality of this nightmare. Instead, he found the heap of Ian Schnobb on the ground ten or fifteen feet away, lying on his back. He started walking numbly toward his mammoth of a friend.

"Harold!" Thompson shrieked almost incoherently,"Help me! Ohhh, please help me!"

Borden didn't seem to hear him. He continued to walk toward Schnobb. The flesh of the big guy was too grey… flies were hovering around him. It was only when he was a few steps away that he suddenly realized that Ian was not lying on his back. But that his head was twisted around backward. Harold gave a short scream, and backed away quickly, stumbling over something and falling down on his hindquarters. His face turned an ashy white, and he turned and vomited. Thompson's screams turned to sobs.

"Help me, Harold, please…" he whimpered, "My head hurts real bad."

Harold couldn't believe what was happening. Schnobb? Dead? And the Rippner brothers killed him? The world seemed to be shutting in around him. He felt like he was going to faint. The sky seemed ominously oppressive. He managed not to faint, but instead ran up the alley to the sidewalk and started screaming for help. Thompson watched him go with terrified eyes.

"No! Don't leave me! Harold! Aghhhhh!" He put his hand up to his head and dropped his head down into the leaves and continued moaning over his cracked open skull.

People passing by on the sidewalks gave Harold a wide berth as they passed him. His eyes were wide, he was pale and he had the residue of vomit on the corners of his mouth and chin. Frankly, he looked insane.

"Help! I need help! Somebody!" he cried to anyone who would listen. Finally, a group of men, who had been out to watch a movie, stopped and followed him back into the alley to offer what help they could.

As soon as the boys had gotten back home, they went into the bathroom to clean themselves up as much as they could. Despite the victory, they had both received a pretty bad beating. They washed their faces and started nursing the injuries on their faces to make them as un-prominent as possible. Richard left and went to get a bucket of ice that they could use to help with anything that might swell, while Jackson moistened his fingers and ran them back through his hair to make it less disheveled. When Richard came back, he had a troubled look on his face.

"He won't, will he?"

Jackson took a tissue, ran it under water and scrubbed the dry blood from under his nose and used another to stop the slow trickling that was still coming out of it. Glanced at his brother then looked back into the mirror.

"Who won't what?"

"Dad won't find out what happened, right?"

"He shouldn't… unless someone tells him."

"I don't want him to get angry at you. Ever since the…" Richard looked down. The skiing trip had been a bad experience for all of them. It had seemed to change Jackson somehow, and he hated reminding him of it, "the… you know… he seems to look for any reason at all to beat us. I can't imagine what he'd do if he found out about this…"

Jackson didn't want to imagine what his father would do if he found out about this. He just hoped and prayed that his father wouldn't find out at all.

A half an hour later, the boys almost looked normal again. Richard had a large bruise on his cheek, a slightly swollen lip, and his face seemed oddly naked without his glasses, but otherwise his face looked normal again. Jackson's left eye was darkening and his nose was red but he also looked normal other than that.

They went into their room and started their homework.

Two hours later, as dusk was turning to night, their father came home in a bad mood as usual. He was hardly through the door when the phone rang. He cursed, closed the door and picked it up off of its mount on the wall.

"Rippner residence. Greg speaking," he barked irritably.

"Mr. Rippner?" asked a female voice on the other side.

"Yes?" he sighed.

"We are calling about an incident that happened earlier today that one," a pause as the woman on the other side rustled some papers, "Harold Borden says your sons were heavily involved in."

Greg's grip on the phone tightened. His face became stony, "What about it?"

"According to Mr. Borden, your sons, particularly the one named…" another pause, "Jackson, ambushed him and a couple of his friends in a back alley today. Now, we have no witnesses save for Mr. Borden of course and your two sons to verify this story, but one of his friends…" a pause, "Robert Thompson, is in the emergency room as we speak and the other is dead."

"What!"

"Yes…" another pause. This woman was horrible with names, "Ian Schnobb was found dead at the scene where Borden said he and his friends were attacked, with his neck severely broken."

"And my boys killed him?"

"According to Harold Borden, yes, they did. Now, you realize that this is a very serious matter, and if you have a lawyer, I would suggest that you call him. The court date is November 23. Two weeks from now."

"Court date?"

"Yes, a trial has been arranged. Even if the Borden and Thompson families were going to let this go, someone has died. A trial is required."

"Fine. Fine. I'll call my lawyer," but not before I have a little talk with my boys.

"I'm sorry about the inconvenience, Mr. Rippner."

"Yeah, sure. Good bye."

"Goodbye."

He hung up the phone, a look of great anger, and enjoyment thereof forming on his face. He liked to have a reason to punish his sons. Especially Jackson, the defiant little devil. If they really did kill that boy, they were just asking for it. He walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked up them.

"Jackson! Richard! Come down here!" he called, "We need to have a little talk."

Oh yes… he was going to enjoy this.

Yes, in case you were wondering, I am, in fact, setting you up for the big climax. I'm not certain, but I think that the next chapter will be the last real chapter (there may be an epilogue, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it) Please review!