Everyone at Foster's cheered Frankie and John's collective victory as soon as they got back from the courthouse. The fact that they both walked in with beaming smiles and Frankie brandishing the order like a diploma helped to accentuate the good mood.

"So you got the restraining order?"

"That's right, Mac. Now Dylan can't do a thing to me, to you, to anyone here. He's gotta stay at least 500 feet away or else he's headed to jail."

"Well, that is a major, major relief," Mr. Herriman said.

"Awesome!" Wilt exclaimed. "So are you two lovebirds gonna do anything to celebrate?"

"We were gonna go out for a drink, if that's okay with you, Herriman," John suggested.

"Certainly, Master Jonathan. Your victory has been assured--it is only fair that you and Miss Frances celebrate." But Herriman, astute as always, noticed someone was missing. "Where is Master Blooregard?"

"He's coming," Frankie said. Just then, Bloo unceremoniously entered the foyer and said, "Hey, everyone" before heading up the stairs to his room.

"What's wrong with Azul?" Eduardo wondered.

"He just had a rough day, Eduardo. Nothing to worry about."

With everyone assured of their safety, Frankie and John left and headed to a bar that John frequented after work, the Sandbox. Upon entering, the doorman clapped John on the back and said, "Johnny Stiles! How the hell are ya?"

"Doing great, Phil. How're you?"

"Fine, Johnny. Who's this lovely lady you've got here?"

"This is my girlfriend, Frankie Foster. Frankie, this is Phil Grey, an old family friend."

Frankie shook his hand and said, "Hey, Phil."

"Hello, Frankie. Well, have a seat, you two! Celebrate whatever you came here to celebrate!" With that blessing, John and Frankie sat down in a booth and ordered a couple of Budweisers and a pizza to be shared between them. When the pizza arrived, Frankie took a piece, stuck it in the air, and said, "To Chris!" John did the same, echoed her sentiment, and they began to eat and talk about how lucky they were and where their relationship could go. They danced together to the music coming from the jukebox, cheered on the Patriots, and tried to sing karaoke but flubbed it miserably.

Towards 11, Frankie said, "John, I hate to do this to you, but I'd better get back home. I don't want anyone getting worried."

"How are you gonna get back to Foster's? We've been drinking!"

"I'll call a cab. No worries." Frankie gave him a kiss on his cheek as she left, saying, "See you at home."

"Yeah. See you soon." John watched Frankie leave and smiled to himself. How lucky he was to have found her through that newspaper ad. He honestly didn't think it would work, but he had finally found someone to love and be loved back. He'd do anything for her, and she'd do anything for him. But his good mood was quickly sullied when he heard a gruff voice from behind him:

"I'm touched, John-boy. Really fuckin' touched."

John only knew of one person who called him that. He immediately tensed up and whirled around to see Dylan standing next to him. "And here I thought you were scraping the bottom of the barrel lady-wise," Dylan continued.

"Get the fuck away from me, Dylan."

"Listen to me, Stiles. She belongs to me, do you understand? You really think that she's gonna stick with you when she could have me? Please. You're a freakin' nobody."

"Well, I'm a hell of a lot more stand-up than you are, you fuckin' louse. Besides, you can't even be talking to me. I have a restraining order against you."

"A restraining order?" Dylan sarcastically laughed. "Do you think a piece of paper is gonna stop me from getting her back? I'm not going anywhere, buddy."

John grew angrier and angrier with every word he said to him. "I'm not your buddy, you cocksucker. You stay the FUCK away from me and Frankie!"

By now, the attention of everyone in the bar was focused on their argument in the booth. "That's MY property, you stupid twat! As far as I'm concerned, I'm lettin' you borrow her for a little while!"

"I'm not gonna say this again, Lee. Get the fuck away from me."

"Wow, I didn't know you were a poet." John, unamused by Dylan's sarcastic aside, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward until their noses nearly touched. He spat, "Listen to me and listen to me good, you piece of shit. If I EVER see you again, if I hear anyone at Foster's say they saw you around, I will hunt you down and I will fuckin' castrate you."

Dylan gasped in mock terror and asked, "Was that a threat, John-boy?"

John reached for an empty Budweiser bottle and said, "No. This is." In a flash, he grabbed the bottle and smashed it over Dylan's head, knocking him onto the table. John leapt on top of him and began to ram his head into the wood as various patrons and Phil struggled to separate the two. When they finally did, John screamed, "You're goddamn lucky I didn't kill you!"

"I'm not going anywhere, Stiles! You can't stop me! Frankie's MINE!" John let that slide, shook off the sea of hands and turned to leave before Dylan smugly added, "Oh...sorry about your car!"

John lost it at this and rushed at Dylan only to be held back by Phil and three burly linebacker types, all the while grabbing at him and yelling, "I FUCKIN' KNEW IT! YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I'M GONNA RIP YOUR FUCKIN' HEAD OFF AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR GODDAMN ASS! YOU'RE PAYIN' FOR IT!"

"Get outta here, John!" Phil screamed.

"All right! All right! I'm going!" John shook him off and plunged out the door, hearing Dylan fire off one last threat: "You can't stop me, John-boy." It echoed in his head as he drove back to Foster's, and when he entered the foyer, Mac asked, "John, what happened to you?"

"Dylan happened to me, Mac." He started up the stairs and asked, "Where's Frankie?"

"Miss Frances hasn't come home yet," Mr. Herriman answered.

John felt every muscle in his body tighten. He froze, turned around and asked, "What did you say?"

"Um...Miss Frances hasn't returned."

John felt like he was going to vomit as he hurriedly ran up the stairs and frantically tore through the house calling Frankie's name. After ten minutes and having covered nearly every square inch of the place, he returned to the foyer, descended the stairs and collapsed on the floor.

"John! Hey!" Wilt yelled.

"She left in a cab nearly two hours ago!" he cried. "How could she not have gotten here?"

"Two hours?"

Wilt assured him, "She'll be back, John. Trust me." Just then, there was a knock at the door followed by the sound of a car burning rubber down the road. Mr. Herriman opened the door to find a package lying on top of the welcome mat. It had a small note attached to it that he dared not read. Instead, he hopped over to John and gave the package to him, uneasily saying, "I think this may be for you, Master Jonathan."

Everyone crowded around him as he took the package in his hands, which shook violently as he opened it. It contained two items--one of which was a GPS unit, the other of which was a manila envelope that seemed to contain a picture. John swallowed hard and pulled the photograph partway out of the envelope, only to scream in shock and rage and drop it to the floor, where it landed face down. Bloo ran in from the game room and asked, "What happened? Who screamed?"

As he approached the group gathered around the fallen photo, he asked if he should turn it over. John hesitantly nodded, and Bloo turned it over right side up and recoiled in shock. A collective gasp emanated from the group as they stared down at the picture in slackjawed horror. It was a photo of Frankie bound and gagged to a pole in a warehouse.

"Wh...wh...what's the note say?" Wilt whimpered. Shaking with rage, John opened the letter to find the same black, jagged lettering that greeted him at the remains of his Camry a week ago. Now, however, the words echoed with a calm, cocky sense of total victory:

LIKE I SAID, SHE'S MINE.