Hello, everyone. I hope you enjoy today's chapter!

Veronica was right, it only took about fifteen minutes. I pulled up to a manor with a gate - evidence pointing to Chandler's suburban life. Behind the black, swirled bars laid the Victorian estate, dotted with oak trees and a wide, shimmering pond.

Veronica stepped off of the motorcycle, walking straight up to the gate. She picked up a stone, grabbed the key under it, and opened the padlock. It budged within a few seconds, and she pushed open one of the gate doors. She motioned for me to follow, and I slinked past.

"Her parents aren't home," she clarified, sauntering to the house. "But we should go through the kitchen, anyway. She's got a cocker spaniel in the parlor, and that dog barks like crazy if you even look at the front door."

"Is it named Heather?"

This earned a snort from Veronica. She laughed for a second. "No. It's Corey, but good guess."

We were passing the front of the house now. I craned my neck, looking at the multitude of rooms. I identified a billiard room, study, sewing room, bedrooms...

"It's like she's got everything."

Veronica turned to me, her dark brown eyes burning into mine. "Oh, she does. She rules the world."

"Oh, mark my words, Veronica Sawyer. Soon, the Wicked Witch of the West shall be gone! We Ozians will have our freedom!"

She stopped walking as she spun around. She narrowed her eyes, a smirk plastered on her face. "And what does that make you?"

"A patriotic, humble taxpayer of the Emerald City, Dorothy."

Veronica clenched her jaw, scoffing. "If we don't get moving, the witch is going to wake up soon."

She stomped over to the back, reaching for the backdoor. Just as she was about to slide it open, I sighed. "Are you sure she's even here?"

"Trust me, she skips the Saturday morning trip to Grandma's, even when she's not hungover."

I slithered in the kitchen, glancing around. Veronica was already looking in the fridge.

"We'll just concoct ourselves a little hangover cure that'll, ah, induce her to spew red, white and blue, then," I began, skimming through the cupboards.

Veronica paused slightly. "What about, like, milk and orange juice," she asked, looking over at me. "What's the up-chuck factor on that?"

I didn't respond, still scanning at the products. Chandler's family had everything, enough food to feed the whole town of Sherwood, Ohio for a couple of days - months, even. I looked over at the next cabinet, noticing a bright blue and white bottle. Hull Clean.

I grabbed it and showcased it to her. "I'm a no-rust-build-up man, myself."

She strolled over, holding two bottles of milk and orange juice. She wasn't budging. "Don't be a dick. That stuff'll kill her."

I hesitated, slightly disappointed. I opened another cabinet, grabbing a glass while Veronica continued talking.

"I know, we can cook up some soup, and put it in a coke. It's - it's pretty sick, eh?," she explained as I poured Hull Clean into the glass I had recovered. "Now should it be chicken noodle or bean with bacon?"

"Put a lid on that stuff. I say we go with big blue here."

She frowned, rolling her eyes. "What are you talking about? She would never drink anything that looked like that, anyway."

I had to admit - she was right. Hell, I wouldn't drink it, even if I didn't know what it was. But, Chandler needed to go down. Somehow.

I grabbed a mug with a lid. "So, we'll...put it in this," I poured the liquid into the cup. "She won't be able to see what she's drinking."

Veronica walked over, still holding the cartons. She took down another mug. "It's only in a cup, jerk."

"Hmm, well, maybe we could cough up a phlegm globber or something."

Might as well, since she obviously wasn't going to take my suggestion.

We coughed, but came up with nothing. We looked at each other, both mumbling, "No."

"Oh well, milk and orange juice will do it quite nicely," she concluded, smiling.

I stalked away, standing by the stove. "Mmm - you chicken?"

"You're not funny."

I stopped in my tracks. Sure, Chandler needed to disappear, but not forever. She just needed to move away - or I needed to move away. Chandler was the equivalent of a bitch, but that doesn't result in the death penalty.

I walked back, murmuring a quick I'm sorry before kissing her. She grabbed one of the cups, and I followed. Chandler wouldn't die today, but we'd make her pay one way or another. Death would be the easy way out.

Veronica ambled out of the kitchen, starting up the staircase. I followed, glancing back at the kitchen. "Do you, ah, have a plan after Moby Dick blows?"

She paused, blinking slowly. "Not really," she confessed. "I was hoping that you'd pick up the situation and get us the hell out of here."

"'Mmm. I'll try to think of something."

Veronica lead us into Heather's bedroom. First thing I noticed? It had a color scheme like Veronica's - a little bit of red, but mostly pink. It seemed like the Heathers all had their own color.

Chandler was still asleep, thankfully. Veronica, holding the mug, strolled right over. "Morning Heather."

Chandler rose up instantly, like she was on cue. She narrowed her eyes. "Veronica."

Her eyes shifted over to mine. "Jesse James. Quelle surprise. Hear about Veronica's affection for regurgitation?"

"Heather, I think last night we both said a lot of stuff we didn't mean."

"Did we?" she scoffed. "How the hell didcha get in here?"

I looked down for a second, before meeting her gaze again. "Um, Veronica knew you'd have a hangover, so I whipped this up for you - it's a family recipe."

Veronica offered the cup politely.

"What did you do, put a phlegm globber in it or something? I'm not gonna drink that piss."

I shrugged, shaking my head. "I knew this stuff'd be too intense for her."

"Intense," she mocked, pulling off her ribbon. "Grow up! You think I'll drink it just because you call me chicken?"

I nodded. Veronica kept silent, but continued to grin and look at me.

Heather stomped over to Veronica, grabbing the mug. "Just give me the cup, assholes."

Heather Chandler downed the fluid, before beginning to choke. Veronica stared at her, puzzled. She looked up at me, mouthing 'did you get the right mug?'

I furrowed my brows. Why so dramatic? Can't she just get it over with and puke?

Both of our questions were answered within seconds.

Heather Chandler, the dictator of Westerberg, stumbled forward, smashing down into her glass table. It shattered, with the magazines flying everywhere.

The Wicked Witch of the West was dead.

Looks like things are starting to heat up. JD didn't notice that Veronica picked up the Hull Clean - a fatal mistake. I wonder what'll happen now...

Thanks for reading! Also...We got our first review!

SweetRiceball20: Thank you! I can't wait to upload more chapters :)

Have a wonderful day.