After watching (ok, not watching, but having to log into the chat rooms and having the guys there relay the info on the game back to me) I have seen the A's win four – zip! So, naturally I'm in good humor.

Meaning I'm updating! YAY!

To WanderingTeen: in all actuality some people don't cry at funerals. See, some people are so devastated that they're at loss for emotion.

PS: We're back to Katey's POV

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I made my way back to my room and flopped down on my bed. I wished more than anything… for… oh God… what did I want? I knew I wanted something… but I couldn't place it.

All I knew was that my chest felt like it was contracting and I couldn't breathe. The altogether too familiar feeling of my throat contracting made this hurt worse, and I let out a sob.

I was really a quite depressing sight. I was laying face-down on my rumpled powder blue bed spread, which was deepening to a navy blue as my tears pooled on the sheet, crying for something I didn't even know about.

But I made no motion to change anything, and I felt only worse and worse as I cried harder.

'Why am I blubbering like this?' I thought miserably as I let out another sob.

I couldn't think of anything good to reply to myself, and so I lie there, slowly realizing that it wasn't all that fun to have to breathe through a thick, wet cotton blanket, seeing as you didn't get much ventilation.

At long last, I rolled over onto my back, and took deep breaths of the cold air, relishing the non-carbon dioxide atmosphere.

My eyes were swollen and puffy from the now stopped tears, and, like after every good crying jag, I felt tired.

Even though I really would like to skip waking up depressed after having gone back to Paris, I couldn't keep my heavy lids open.

I gave a great yawn, and, for the first time in ages, fell abruptly to sleep.

-

The smell of dampness was the first thing that aroused me. It wasn't the sea type of damp; it was a cave-ish type damp.

I turned my head, and regretted it quickly. Oh goodness gracious! It felt like I just smashed it into a freaking wall or something! But through my pain my nose picked up a different fragrance… like… man, what was it? It smelled distantly familiar… like… like…

I opened my eyes and had to resist screaming bloody murder.

I was back… back in… the room. The cave… the lair… the… the… whatever it was… but I was back.

It was a nightmare… it was impossible… but how? How in the name of Hades did I wind up HERE?

Why did I wind up back to the scene of my murder?

I slowly sat up, feeling light headed and terrified of what I would find. I had been sprawled out on the Oriental rug, right under the low leather couch, and from the position I had woken from, one could say I had fallen from my sitting position.

I felt around my neck, almost expecting to feel the coarse rope still choking my life away, but my fingers met bare skin.

My heard was thudding a mile a minute, and I was praying to the God who had ignored my plea once before to bless me with an empty chamber.

I peaked my head around the side of the couch, and then looked all around me to make sure that Francois wasn't there.

I let out a sigh of relief and sagged down on the couch.

My nerves were pretty much shot from being alert so often, and it felt good to just relax, if only for a moment, which is just what I had.

I had my eyes closed, I leaned back on the couch, hoping that I was completely alone, but I suppose the Man Upstairs decided to make things interesting, because the next moment…

"What the HELL?"

My heart stopped. My blood ran cold. My eyes flashed open and my heart started back up in a jerky beat as I saw the man who hated me, and I hated (right?), staring at me in disbelief.

"What the HELL? Why aren't you DEAD?" Francois shouted, his voice echoing through the cave.

I wanted to run for my life, to scream until my lungs burst, to do anything but be here in rigid horror.

My breath came ragged, and now my heart had gotten to a tempo so fast that I was sure it was going to shatter my breast bone.

We were still staring at each other in shock, or, in my case fear, and in his case, incredulity.

"Damn…" He muttered. And at this, for some reason, I got back my sense of speech.

"Surprised to see me?" I said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

YES! I had regained full use of my put-downs, scorn, mockery, and comebacks!

Francois game me an edgy look, as though to wonder why I wasn't trembling with fright. I used his unease as a crutch, and leaned back with ease into the couch.

"Why didn't you die?" He demanded, not at all happy that I was relaxed once more.

"Gee, wouldn't we all like to know!" I smiled. "Or," I added, putting a thoughtful look onto my face "Maybe I came back to avenge my death."

Francois chuckled. "And how, pray tell, do you figure upon this?"

"Hey, I've read my share of horror books involving particularly violent spirits come back to take revenge on the person that, basically, screwed them over and then killed them to add to personal injury."

"Ha, and I suppose you think you're that particular violent spirit, come back to haunt me and make my life Hell until the end of my days?"

"You know I'll do my very best to do exactly that." I smiled sweetly. There was a silence as he appraised me, to see if I was telling the truth.

"Remember those movies back home? You know, the ones where the used ex-girlfriend decides to come back and give the old boyfriend, whom she thought truly loved her, exactly what he deserves?"

Francois nodded slowly.

"Well I've decided to portray that role."

Francois laughed rudely.

"You actually believed that I loved you?"

His remark stung a little, but I only pursed my lips, hoping my emotions didn't show plainly on my face.

"Ah," he said, softening his voice a little, and approaching where I sat. "So you still have feelings for me, though I loathe you, and literally murdered you."

"No." I sniffed, unconvincing.

He laughed again, and louder.

"My, my, my… aren't teenage hormones fun?"

"I'll hate you until the day I die." I vowed spite in every syllable.

"Well that must explain why you still fawn after me, seeing as you are dead."

"Damn." I muttered, realizing my err.

Francois chortled and whispered "Young ladies shouldn't use such foul language."

His breath brushed against my neck, and sent shivers up and down my spine, making everything seem to swim… hang on… it's more than swim… more like, swirling clouds of black… Oh my god… I'm in a dryer with a load of black sheets!

-

I gasped and sat abruptly up, breathing hard. It was a dream, right? I really hoped it was just a dream… ok, maybe not… wait, what?

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Also, late congrats to Barry Zito for his 1,000th strikeout!

Pretty please review, even though I know that none of you really care about the A's!