Well. The reviews came in pretty fast. I was caught totally off guard because I didn't expect many to come in. When I checked my email (finally) WOW! About eight new reviews. That is completely AWESOME! So check out the much anticipated EIGHTH chapter.

"Quinn?"

Quinn didn't even bother to unfurl from her fetal position. If anything, she tensed as her mother walked over to her bed and placed a gentle hand on Quinn's unkempt red hair. Even though it was uncomfortable laying face-down in her tear-soaked pillow, Quinn didn't have the energy to move.

"Oh, Quinn," said Ms. Davidson, giving her daughter a squeeze. "Your father's in a better place now."

Quinn ignored her mother. Her presence, instead of comforting, only made her feel worse. It only made her remember all the horrible things her mother had said to her father.

"This isn't what I signed up for!" screamed Mrs. Davidson.

Mr. Davidson looked helplessly up at his wife. "I'm trying my best, dear. I…"

"I was told that I wouldn't have to work a day in my life if I marry you," snapped Mrs. Davidson. "So I did. Now I'm stuck working a nine to five job to support both you and our daughter. And what do you do all day? 'Look for work.' It's been half a year and you're still 'looking for work'. How long do you expect me to swallow all this bull?"

"Oh, honey," said Ms. Davidson giving Quinn's shoulder another squeeze. "I know you're hurt by your father's accident…and…and I know how you like to keep your feelings to yourself but…if you ever feel like talking…?"

"I'll let you know," said Quinn dismissively.

"Mom, what's going on?" asked Quinn, feigning drowsiness. "I heard you yelling and…"

"It's nothing, baby," said Ms. Davidson, hastily lowering her voice and putting a smile on her face. "Why aren't you in bed yet?"

"I just heard…"

"Why don't you just skip off to bed, huh? Me and your dad were just having a grown-up chat. And I'd very much like to return that little discussion."

Ms. Davidson stared pointedly at her husband while Quinn yawned. Quinn walked over and sat herself down on her father's lap.

"I want to stay up with Dad," said Quinn, pouting.

Mr. Davidson smiled and kissed the top of Quinn's head as Quinn got a firmer hold on him. Quinn's mother threw her hands up in exasperation and exited. Probably to raid the fridge. Quinn smiled covertly. It always comes in handy being small and cute when you want to stop an argument.



"Quinn, at a time like this, I really think that you should stop trying to act so grown and just act your age," demanded Ms. Davidson. "I know you're scared and hurt and angry and it's okay to let it all out. You don't have to handle every little thing by yourself. You're just too damn young."

"And you were just too damn retarded," retorted Quinn.

"Excuse me?"

"Chivalry died a long time ago and fairy tale endings only happen in stories. Your head was in the clouds if you expected Dad to pay all the bills by himself. Take care of us by himself. Make you, of all people, happy all by himself. He died trying to please you. Trying to get a damn job so he could 'give you what you signed up for'. You were always so critical of him. So mean…" Quinn's voice cracked. "And I was the only one who understood him at all. I had to protect him from you."

"How could you possibly blame all of this on me?" asked Ms. Davidson.

"Because of all the people in this goddamned town…you should have been the last person to look down on him. It's fine for everyone else to do it but when his own wife couldn't even deem him worthy enough to wipe her shoes on…Dad just hit a new low. And you didn't even realize it you self-absorbed prick."

"You shouldn't talk to me like that young lady!"

"Careful. Or you'll drive me to kill myself too."

The slap was so sudden and unexpected, Quinn didn't even cringe from the pain. She blinked at her mother. Her mother's eyes slowly filled with tears as she stood and left. Quinn just sank back down onto her bed and stared up blankly at the ceiling.

"You know, a father's supposed to provide for his family. At least that's what my father taught me. If a father was as good-for-nothing as your dad, then he should just drop dead. There isn't any point in his being here if he can't even buy you some proper glasses."

Quinn was alone. Her mother had already left to go to the morgue to finalize details for her husband's burial. Holed up in her room, she drifted from website to website, just staring absent-mindedly at the screen. Until she ran across a certain headline that caught her attention. She clicked on it and waited for the page to load.

'101 Ways To Get Revenge On Someone,' the website had read. It had been meant as a joke but it turned out to be so much more. Just between rule #67: Get as many alarm clocks as possible, set them for different times throughout the night and hide them in your target's room and #69: Smother their house with honey and set loose a circus bear.

It read: #68: Make a voodoo doll and torture them (try out this website: /howtomakeavoodoodoll)

Quinn quirked her eyebrow. Even though her mother was a Christian, Ms. Davidson believed her children should be able to choose the religion that fit them. She had brought Quinn to Sunday school for three years before Quinn told her she didn't want to go anymore. Ms. Davidson had listened and allowed Quinn to stay home. Even though Quinn didn't believe a majority of what she had learned from church, most of the beliefs stuck with her. Quinn felt nervous about clicking the link but was curious.

To Quinn's amazement, she had all the materials necessary. It was like she was in a trance as she crafted Paul's doll. It took most of the weekend to make it but when Quinn had finished, she was proud of how professionally made the doll looked. All she needed was some hair…

"Voodoo?" said Artemis skeptically.

"I don't know," mused Quinn. "It was like I was meant to make that doll. It felt like something else guided my hand as I sewed the doll up. It just felt so right making it."

"And the angels want to help you, why?"

Quinn shrugged. "The Lord works in mysterious ways."

It was a sin how much the blade of the scissors gleamed in Quinn's hands. Entrancing and begging to snip off a bit of Paul's hair. It was Arts & Crafts time. The funeral had been two days ago and now more than ever, Quinn was aching to get the hair to complete the voodoo doll. After a very humiliating welcome back, Quinn was sitting in her old seat behind Paul debating whether or not to go for the brown.

Do it.

Leaning forward slowly, Quinn made sure the scissors would cut off a huge chunk and…

"QUINN DAVIDSON! WHAT ON EARTH…?!"

Brown strands littered the floor and Quinn clutched a handful in her hand. She was going to get in trouble, sure. But it was worth it.

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