Disclaimer: Most of the characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes. Any original characters featured are the intellectual property of their creators.
Five
April 17, 1905
The bacon in the pan sizzled as, for the second time that day, Vanessa stood in the kitchen, preparing a meal for a man she loved. But it wasn't for her husband she was cooking; David was at the office and she didn't expect him home for a couple of hours more at least. It wasn't David's hat that was hanging on a hook; a rugged and worn cowboy hat was perched in its place. It wasn't David's hands gripping her lightly around the waist as she turned the bacon over to make sure it wasn't burning.
And it certainly wasn't David's hot breath on her skin as the tall man hovering behind her breathed softly.
Vanessa shivered and, though she knew she should push him away, that she should turn him out of her home and pretend he'd never darkened her doorway again, she just couldn't find it in herself to do anything more than lean her back against his lean chest and echo his contented sigh.
He was bending his knees slightly, his strong jaw nestled against her neck and his chapped lips beside her ear. He breathed in, the intake of air tickling her skin, and murmured, "It smells delicious, Nessie. Almost as delicious as you do."
His compliment pleased her, tickling her fancy as much as her neck, and she grinned. She hated herself for letting him affect her like this, and she hated herself for doing this to David, even if her poor husband had no idea what went on when he wasn't around. But she grinned nonetheless, though she didn't turn to look at him as she said, "It's almost ready. Why don't you take a seat?"
He brushed the side of her neck with a quick kiss before letting her go. Vanessa touched that same spot with her free hand, daring a glance over her shoulder just as he was about to sit down.
Her heart nearly skipped a beat when she saw the chair he had chosen. "No, not that one," she cried, louder than she ought to have. "That's David's chair."
And Jack Kelly, inches away from the seat of his trousers meeting the wooden seat of the chair, met the panicked look in Vanessa's eyes and promptly froze. She was fretting, her voice gone high when she mentioned her husband's name; hearing David's name spill from her lips was enough to cause the slightest of guilty pangs to hit him. Without a word, he nodded and stood back up.
She let out a strangled sound, a sigh of relief mingled with an embarrassed laugh. Visibly flustered, she shook her head, keeping her gaze down on the bacon pan as she tended to the meat with more vigor than before. "I'm sorry, Jack, I didn't mean… it's just a chair—"
But he was already on his feet. "No, it's not," he interrupted, walking back to her side and placing one firm hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "You're right, that's David's chair, I understand." Taking his hand back, he moved and let it settle on the back of a different chair. "How's this one?"
Vanessa looked up at him, grateful he did understand. "Yes… yes, it's fine."
And Jack sat down, Vanessa returning her attention to the stovetop, both left to marvel over what had just happened—and whether her worry and his guilt really had anything to do with a simple wooden chair.
It didn't, they both knew it didn't. Still, in a way, Jack rather thought it might be, but not because the chair was a chair. It was David Jacobs' chair, this was David Jacobs' home, Vanessa was David Jacobs' wife. He knew how guilty it made her feel every time she let him into David's home and gave herself over to a man that wasn't her husband—hell, it made Jack feel guiltier than he expected, too, and he knew adultery was a grave sin—but they just couldn't help themselves. Jack couldn't help himself. He wasn't even sure he would if he could. If it made Vanessa feel better to deny him some small thing that belonged to David, he understood.
It was for that same reason, he knew, that she refused to lie with him in the marriage bed she shared with David. Though, of course, that hadn't stopped her from leading him to the empty cot in the spare room.
Looking back on it, Jack Kelly decided that the strike last summer was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him.
By the time the newsboy strike of 1899 was over, Jack was a hero in the lodging house and a legend on the street. He'd all but guaranteed another year at least of selling papes; already past eighteen, a dreary future in the factories was still a long ways away as he stubbornly continued to hawk headlines and improve the truth.
It was much easier to show his face on the street, too, when he didn't have to look over his shoulder and watch out for the smug, beady grin of the old Refuge warden Snyder. Thanks to Bryan Denton's interest in the strike and his appeal to the governor, Snyder was rotting in jail and Jack had his freedom—as well as a ride out West he chose not to take.
And that wasn't all the strike gave him…
He'd never known what it was like to have a family, not really, not until he met David Jacobs and his little brother Les. David brought him home and his parents welcomed Jack in, sharing their meals with him and even offering a roof over his head once or twice. Now that the truth about his past was out there, he didn't have to hide his jealousy or pretend that it didn't warm his heart to be included. For once, he could pretend he belonged.
Then there was Sarah. Sarah, David's older sister, was a pretty, smart girl who caught Jack's eye and became another reason why he was always hanging around the Jacobs' apartment. He stayed for her when Roosevelt gave him a way out as much as for any other reason. There was a spark, and though she never asked him to stay, he couldn't leave. She was everything he ever wanted… until the time came when he wanted more than she was willing to give.
Still, that wasn't all that came out of the strike.
It was at the end of the strike, after he'd gone scab and back again, after he borrowed Pulitzer's press and turned it against the man, it was when he was handing out some of the Newsie Banners on his own when he first met Vanessa. She was working washing laundry, a too-thin girl with red and raw hands and dark hair kept out of her face with a kerchief. She took one of the papers he offered her with fingers that always seemed damp; the edge of the paper wrinkled and the ink bled where she touched it.
He asked her if she could read and, though she didn't answer him, her eyes skimmed the sheet and when she was done, she laughed. The article had made her laugh—and it was the most beautiful laugh he ever heard, a loud laugh, heartfelt and not shy or demure at all. She laughed and then, with a smart remark, she thrust the crumpled paper back into his ink-stained hands and returned to her laundry.
Jack remembered her laugh when the newsies ended up winning the strike and, at the time, he half wanted to go back and tell the washer girl how it all had ended. But he never did, though her laugh haunted him, until another refusal from Sarah sent him looking for comfort elsewhere. He couldn't explain why, he never understood how he got there, but one afternoon he found himself back at the same place where he first met the girl who did the laundry. The memory of her laugh in his ears, he boldly knocked on the back door.
She answered with a small grin and surprise in her hazel eyes. "It's you again," she said, sounding pleased.
"It's me," he agreed.
And she laughed.
It didn't take him long to learn that the washer girl, a feisty girl called Vanessa, was as intrigued by him as he was by her. There was a spark there that rivaled the one he felt with Sarah, and he made it his point to make this girl his. And, seeing as how she wasn't the type of girl who said no, it ended up being much easier than he expected.
Yes, he thought one night, leading Vanessa by the hand to an empty room in back, the strike had been very good to him indeed.
Jack was leaning back in his seat, comfortable and cozy; knowing this wasn't David's usual chair made it even more inviting. It could be his chair, his table, his kitchen. Vanessa could've been his wife—
—but no, he thought, that was the wrong road to go down. Why not just revel in the present, revel in the certain knowledge that, while the cat's away, the mice will play? This might all really belong to David Jacobs but for now, for this one perfect moment, it was Jack's.
He was loose, relaxed, languishing in the chair like a lord in his throne, his eyes closed and a satisfied smirk at home on his rugged face. He took a deep breath. This was the reason he kept coming back here. The smell of bacon in the air, the scent of Vanessa's perfume on his skin… it was perfect. And he knew that he shouldn't keep returning, he probably should never have come at all when he found out about David and Vanessa—but he did, and he wasn't quite sure he regretted his rash actions.
Seeing his old flame again hadn't been on his mind when he first came back. But a chance meeting with Racetrack down at Sheepshead Bay—or not so chance, he had to admit, since he'd gone to the tracks specifically in search of Race—told him where he could find David… and his new wife. Jack had been interested, especially since the only wedding he'd known about was between Spot and Sarah Conlon, and had innocently asked a few questions. He just never expected to discover that David's bride's name had been Vanessa Sawyer.
"Darn!"
Jack's eyes sprang open, his thoughts interrupted by Vanessa's cry. Did she just say darn? "Is somethin' the matter?"
"The bacon fat," she answered, wrapping her hand in a dish cloth, "it spat at me."
He was on his feet in an instant. Standing over her, Jack held out his hand, gesturing for her to show him. "Here, let me," he told her when she hesitated. "I won't bite."
Looking slightly ashamed, Vanessa slowly removed her left hand from beneath the folds of the damp cloth and let her palm rest against Jack's. He couldn't help but notice that her wedding ring was missing, but he wasn't surprised. Since the first afternoon when they met secretly in her apartment, Vanessa always removed her wedding ring when he visited her. Jack never saw her do it, either. It was just gone whenever he looked for it.
There were pink spots on her hand where the sizzle of the bacon fat had hit her. Lowering his lips to her hand, Jack blew on them carefully. Vanessa shivered, he felt the trembles against his palm, and he asked, "Better?"
"Yes, thank you."
She didn't take her hand back right away, leaving it to rest where it was. Jack wasn't in any hurry to move back to the table, enjoying the warmth of Vanessa's skin up against his again. Her fingers weren't as callused as he remembered, but the reminder of her old life was there. Rubbing his fingertips alongside the rough edge of her hand, he wondered if Vanessa had really changed as much in the last four years as it appeared.
He knew he had.
Jack never meant to be away so long, but whenever he decided to head back to Manhattan, there always seemed to be some sort of reason—some sort of excuse—as to why he just couldn't. Now, standing close to Vanessa, he wondered whatever had made those reasons seem so pressing, so important. He wondered why he had stayed away, thought he knew damn well why he left, and he worried about when he would have to go again.
Who knows how long the two of them would have stood there together, especially since there wasn't much time left until David was due home, if it hadn't been for the sudden unpleasant smell that filled the small kitchen. It was an acrid odor, foul. Jack coughed and Vanessa's eyes widened, both of them realizing at the same time where it was coming from.
Vanessa was the first to move. "Oh, the bacon," she cried, hustling back to the stovetop. A cloud of black smoke hovered lazily over the pan. Using the dishcloth still in her grasp, she waved away the smoke and removed the pan from the flame. She frowned then, transferring the burnt meat to a spare plate she had sat on the side. Poking at it with the spoon, she said mournfully, "I'm so sorry, Jack, it was overdone."
"I'm sure it'll be much better than anything I'm used to," he assured her quickly. She looked so upset, it was the least he could do. And, as if to prove he meant it, he saw back down at the table to await his meal.
After trying to scrape as much black off the bacon rind as she could, Vanessa piled the meat between thick slabs of day-old bread and brought one plate over to the table. She set it in front of Jack, a tentative expression on her worry-filled face. "I hope it's not too burnt."
Jack eagerly pulled the plate close to him before noticing that there wasn't one for Vanessa. "Aren't you havin' any?"
"I'm not very hungry. You go ahead."
"You really should eat something, Ness."
Her answering grin was light-hearted but short-lived. "You sound like my—you sound like David."
Jack knew exactly why her grin had slipped away like that, and he wasn't sure he blamed her. She was always so careful not to call him her husband, as if every time she acknowledged the truth, it only made it all the more real that David was her husband, she was his wife yet she was sleeping with Jack.
Worse, Jack was sleeping with his David's wife.
He felt those traitorous pangs of guilt attack his stomach but the sort of life he led made it easy—almost too easy—for him to push them aside, maybe imagine he never felt them at all. He swallowed, pretended that it didn't bother him in the least that his girl was a married woman, and picked up his sandwich. A portion of his appetite returned and he took a bite.
"I can see where he's comin' from, too. You're gettin' to be a little thin," he told her around a mouthful of bacon, "and you're too damn pale."
"I haven't really been feeling so well lately," she admitted. And it showed. There were dark circles under her eyes that hadn't been there when Jack first arrived a month ago, and her skin was a whiter shade of pale; the contrast was even more striking when he noticed that the color had faded from her cheeks and her lips, leaving her as wan as a ghost.
Jack swallowed, barely noticing the charred taste. There was that obnoxious guilt again. Where was it coming from? He'd done many things, many bad things, and it never affected him like it was affecting him now. And it wasn't just guilt over David—he was hurting Vanessa, too. In the month since he arrived back in New York, in the month since he saw Vanessa again for the first time in years, their hidden affair had certainly taken its toll on her.
Pushing the guilt aside, he asked, "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing to worry over," she said, nervously playing with the front of her skirt. "I'm fine, really."
It was quite obviously something, and Vanessa was certainly less than fine, but Jack knew better than to say another word on it. Instead, he nodded at the chair next to him—opposite of David's, he thought it to be hers. "Won't you at least sit with me?"
"Sit with you? Yes… yes, of course."
She threw her dishcloth on the counter, smoothed her dress absently and took the seat opposite of Jack. It wasn't the seat he expected her to take, and he raised an eyebrow as he lifted his sandwich back up to his mouth. But she said nothing; Vanessa just sat with him at the table, her fidgeting hands folded tightly in her lap as she watched him eat.
It was only when he was done, when he'd washed his sandwich down with the glass of cool water Vanessa had retrieved for him and finally pushed his plate away, that she spoke up again.
"Tell me, Jack… how much longer will you stay?"
Jack wiped his mouth with his hand before placing both of his palms against the edge of the table. "Why?" he asked, sounding a lot quieter, a lot calmer, than he wanted to. That wasn't what he was expecting her to ask. "Ya want me to leave, is that it?"
"No!" Vanessa's voice came out shrill and she took a moment to compose herself. "I mean, no, Jack… it isn't that. It's just… you never told me why you returned at all—"
He frowned. "Vanessa, I thought I told you—"
"You've told me nothing, and I accepted that. You have nothing to explain to me… but it would be nice…" Her voice trailed to a close. But then she bucked up and with a hint of the fiery girl she'd been when he left, "Yes, it would be nice if you answered me just once, Jack. You couldn't expect me to wait for you—"
"I never expected that," interjected Jack, coldly.
"You say so, but if that wasn't true, why would you have come?"
"I was looking for Davey."
"And yet it's been a month and all you've seen here is me," Vanessa pointed out, and it was the truth. Jack had just hoped that she'd never be able to figure that one out on her own.
He should've expected more from her, but he hadn't. She had seemed so different that he was able to forget how Vanessa could be. But not now. Hints of the girl he used to know, manipulative and desperate for affection but, more than anything, alone… it all began to shine through as she watched him unblinkingly from across the table.
She lost that nervous edge that plagued her as she continued, "I was just wondering… if you're really looking for David, you can come by for dinner one night and talk to him. It would do him well to see a familiar face and then…"
"And then what? Leave and just sneak back over another day? After I looked Dave in the eye, you want me to come back to you?" When Vanessa said nothing, he sneered, "I see. So you don't want me comin' around, is that it? Or do ya want him to find out?"
She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, interpreting his question as the threat he obviously meant. "Never!"
He certainly had to give her credit now: he always thought she was smart, and her recent actions proved she could still be a selfish, sneaky girl, no matter how respectable her marriage made her look, or how proper she was now in a comfortable apartment with a real stove and working lights. She was still Vanessa Sawyer, she was still the girl he used to bed in the quarantine rooms in the Lodging House and the woman he laid with in her husband's home.
She was still his Nessie, and he knew what she was saying and just how to keep her from saying it again.
"Ya don't want him to know about us now, and I understand. I sure as hell ain't gonna be the one to tell my old pal that I'm screwin' his good little wife. It wasn't my idea when I came here," he said, lying through his teeth, "and I don't know how you can think it was. 'Cause I know ya, Nessie, and I can see ya think I came here for old time's sake. I wanted to see Davey but I found you. I was happy,.. but maybe I shouldn't have been."
It was nice to pawn his guilt off onto someone else for a change. There was a slight pink tint in her normally pale face as she lowered both her hand and her gaze. "Oh, Jack, I'm sorry—" Vanessa began.
But Jack just shook his head as he pushed his seat back and abruptly rose from the table. "You have nothing to be sorry about."
He was the one who should've been sorry, even if he wasn't.
Jack Kelly was a bummer, a scabber, a louse. A coward. Hell, he wasn't even really Jack Kelly, was he?
For six months he visited Vanessa wherever she found work: first at the laundry, then at a sweatshop, then selling flowers on the corner and even as she took in sewing at her room in the Girls' Home. For six months he watched Sarah forget about him in favor of Spot Conlon, all the while knowing her sympathy was wasted when he already had another girl waiting for him. For six months he kept his relationship with Vanessa to himself, promising her everything, knowing it would take years until he could hold true to his word. Five years, in fact, and he could set them up right.
Except, he didn't have five years to wait.
When Vanessa first came to him with her worries , her fears, Jack was already making plans. Always the sort of man who looked out for himself front and foremost, he recognized that kinship in Vanessa and knew she would understand what he had to do—she wouldn't like it, but she wouldn't be able to blame him. And even when her worries turned out to be nothing, Jack was too far gone to even think about staying.
So he penned three letters that last afternoon, three letters that he paid a penny to Tumbler to deliver; three letters to three people he couldn't find it in himself to say goodbye to. He wrote to David, telling him it was time he left. He wrote to Kloppman, thanking the old superintendent and asking him to keep an eye on the newsies who still called the Lodging House home. And he wrote to Vanessa a lie:
Nessie,
I should've stuck around long enough to tell you I was leaving, but I couldn't. An opportunity came along and I grabbed it. Like I always said, seize the day! I've always wanted to go out West, go to Santa Fe, and I'm going. My train leaves today. Maybe once I'm there I can find us a nice place to live and I can send back for you. You'd like it out there. Everything's bigger.
Jack
It was a lie, surely as his name was Jack Kelly or that his parents had gone out West themselves in the hopes of finding a nice ranch before they sent back for their only son. His words were a lie, but they were a lie he could let Vanessa believe in—and maybe, just maybe, he could believe them himself.
So he gave Tumbler three pennies and sent him off with the letters, hoping they'd be delivered long after he was gone; it was for that reason he sent the younger boy, knowing him to be less reliable than, say, Snipeshooter or Boots. But Tumbler was timely and two of those letters sent their recipients running after Jack. It was with his letter in hand that David hurried down to the train yard, and it was hers that Vanessa folded up and tucked into the skirt of her pocket just in time for him to bump into her innocently.
He didn't reach for his hat on its peg, nor did he leave and go towards the front door. Striding purposely, as if he could leave Vanessa's questions behind him, he headed for the spare room in the apartment. He had hoped she wouldn't follow him, it always made it that much easier to go, but there was no such luck. Without a word, Vanessa left the table behind her and followed him in.
It was a quaint room, the smallest in the apartment, barely large enough to hold the freshly made cot and a battered nightstand. Still, it was cozy and Vanessa kept enough fresh flowers on the tiny table to keep it fresh. When she walked inside, the smell of peonies embraced her; normally one of her favorites, just then they made her nauseous.
Or, perhaps, that was her guilt.
Jack was sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning against the pillow as he reached for the first of his two boots. He'd removed them almost immediately after he arrived, kicking them off in his passion, but now he wanted them on his feet so that he could go.
Vanessa hovered in the doorway as if by standing there, she could keep him from heading out. "It's not that… I don't want you to leave."
Jack snorted and reached underneath the cot for his second boot. "Ya got a funny way of showin' it, Nessie."
"I don't want you to leave," she said again, "so I've been thinking…"
That caught his attention. He paused, looked up and cocked his head to the side. "Yeah?"
Taking heart in his interest, Vanessa rushed into the room. Her bare feet padded against the floor, the hem of her skirt swishing around her ankles as she hurried. She stopped when she was standing before him. "Instead of leaving," she asked, hope in her voice, "why don't you stay?"
"Stay where? Wait… here?" Jack's laugh was hollow, a laugh for the sake of filling the ensuing silence. He waved his hand as if he was dismissing the ridiculous idea before jamming his second boot onto his foot. Him? Stay with Vanessa and David? What a laugh!
Vanessa wasn't laughing, though Jack's sent her moving away from him. Sounding like a child, she crossed her hands in front of her and insisted, "You could."
"No," he said, just as firmly, "I couldn't"
His answering tone was terse and sharp, warning her against continuing. But Vanessa couldn't stop. "We have the room. I've often thought of taking in a boarder to help with the rent, and you wouldn't have to go back to that flophouse. Listen to me, Jack," she implored, for Jack was shaking his head, leaning over as he laced up both his boots, "I… I know David wouldn't mind. He's your friend—"
"He was my friend."
"And I was your girl," she countered, "but here you are. Won't you even tell David you've come back? He misses you, I know he misses you."
He turned to look at her sharply. "Does he know?"
She shook her head. "No, Jack. I've never told him about the past… but, still, he talks of you regardless. He doesn't know, and he'll never know because I'll never want to hurt him that way. But you could stay…"
"Vanessa… you know I can't."
It seemed like she knew that, too; it just took Jack saying it again for her to give up. Like a balloon that had lost its air, Vanessa deflated then, exhaling softly as she folded her skirt underneath her and sat down at the other end of the bed. "I know."
He couldn't really explain what he was doing here. All he knew was that, ever since he discovered the truth, discovered what had become of Vanessa Sawyer, Jack knew he couldn't leave New York without seeing her one last time. Maybe it was a pride thing, maybe it was a kick in the pants… maybe Jack wanted to torture himself by seeing what he could've had… whatever it was, Jack followed the address good old Race gave him and hoped that, when he arrived, David wasn't the one who opened the door.
It was in a much nicer apartment building than he ever expected Dave to be able to afford, and for a moment he was sorely tempted to take a trip down to Duane Street and just make sure that David hadn't dipped into that money. Not that he would've blamed him, either. A girl like Vanessa… well, it's what he would've done if he hadn't had it in him to leave.
His steps were heavy, his boots pounding the stairs as he climbed up slowly. He went up five flights, turned out on the landing and headed straight for the first door on the right. If Racetrack was to be trusted, that door would lead to the Jacobs' apartment. It took him a few minutes when he arrived to buck up enough nerve to actually knock—worse, it took even longer for someone to answer. Jack fought the urge to remove his hat, spit in his hand and smooth his hair down as he watched the handle turn.
And there she was. Vanessa. She looked exactly the way he remembered, but undeniably more attractive. She looked softer, almost, and she wasn't as thin as she was. She looked healthy. Beautiful. He sniffed tentatively. Vanessa was wearing the same perfume. Jack's heart dropped down to his boots. What was he doing here?
He didn't say anything and neither did she , and for one horrible moment he wondered if she had forgotten him. Then she exhaled, a quiet sigh, and he knew that she knew him. He could feel her gaze on him, and he dropped his eyes accordingly. They landed on the simple band encircling the slender ring finger on her left hand.
Jack's shoulders slumped. "You really married him, didn't you?"—
Vanessa looked so disappointed that, for a moment, Jack felt like a rat for laughing at her suggestion. Her idea was so fanciful, so ridiculous, that he couldn't even believe for a moment that she was actually serious about inviting him to stay with her and her husband. But she was, wasn't she? She had to be. Why else was she pouting like that?
Scooting over, Jack stopped when he was sitting right next to her, his thigh brushing against her thigh. He placed his hand on top of her right thigh. "This would have to stop." Jack didn't have to say anything more. They both knew exactly what he was talking about.
Her hazel eyes glanced down at his hand. The way it settled so naturally, so possessively on her leg, the way it felt so familiar… the way it was inching further up… She shook her head hesitantly, lifting her gaze so that she was staring at the blank wall opposite her. "Yes."
"Do you want it to stop?"
Vanessa paused, her hands folded at her left side, her fingers kneading against each other. She still wasn't looking at him, though she couldn't keep her eyes away from his traveling hand as she admitted: "I love him, Jack."
He'd expected as much, though he'd be lying if he thought it didn't matter. Jack would never admit it, but he'd often imagined in the past few weeks that since Vanessa had been so quick to rekindle their childhood romance, perhaps her marriage to David was nothing more than an elaborate façade. Or, at least, he'd hoped that that was true… but, no matter how much he pretended otherwise, he knew that her words were heartfelt and real. He took his hand away from her and smoothly ran the back of it across his mouth before running his fingers through his thick hair.
Still, Jack had to ask: "Do you, Nessie? Do you really?"
"He does right by me," she said simply, "and he loves me."
This was it, Jack's big moment. The time when he could tell her how stupid of a kid he'd been to leave her like that, how reckless of a man he was to fool around with her now that she was married to another. Maybe it would lessen his guilt, maybe it would make up for the intent in his mind to visit her again in a few days… maybe it would do nothing at all, but he had to try.
He took a deep breath. "I love you."
And both of them knew he hardly meant it.
"You did." Her smile wasn't hesitant this time, just sad. "Seems like we're both stuck in the past, Jack."
—"You really left."
End Note: Well, that answers the question of who was at the door, and what Vanessa was doing down at the train yards four years ago. Of course, it does pose quite a few other questions... but, don't worry, they'll all be answered soon. I know the flashbacks in this one were a little vague, but that was intentional. There's still a little bit more to discover about Jack and Vanessa from the past, and since it's tying in to David and the next chapter, we'll see some more of that before the next Jack-focused chapter (which will be chapter six or seven, I think).
The story is really beginning to cruise along now. I've officially hit my first bout of writer's block, and I've only got about 20 percent of the next chapter done (though it is planned through the scenes). Still, after that set-up, the next chapter is really going to bring in what this story is all about. I'm sticking to my Saturday schedule and, with the holiday this weekend, I hope to get back on track. I can't wait to write that chapter, and I hope you guys are still enjoying this. I really appreciate the reviews I've gotten, and I'm glad to see that people want to hear this story almost as much as I want to tell it ;)
Enjoy your weekend everyone!
- stress. 07.03.10