Dear Isabeau,

Dear Readers, Reviewers, and Other People,

I'm so sorry I haven't updated in weeks! Blame my vacation!

Love, cometsgirl

Ahem. Now I would like to thank Rafael Pereira and Enigma Dragon Warrior for adding me to their Author Alert subscription and their Favorite Authors list.

And my appreciation goes out to willothewisp123, suzyq85, and Enigma Dragon Warrior for adding Dear Isabeau, to their Story Alert subscription; and willothewisp123, Enigma Dragon Warrior, suzyq85, and Daniel The king of Dragons for adding Dear Isabeau, to their Favorite Stories list.

Reviews!

Dear Athulis, I'm glad you think so. I personally enjoyed writing about Zeke and Izzy's first meeting, myself. Your guess is correct, although it's mostly Whitney at this point. You'll see what I mean at the end of this chapter…

Dear sithlorde1988, I don't imagine Izzy as a thief. You are right, that it was hers to begin with. She's just requisitioning, as you said. You'll see what I mean at the end of this chapter…

Dear Imagi, I'm honored that you would take a break to answer the spoof :) That sounds painful, though, but at least it's almost done with, right? And if you're at the CIT anger level, then maybe a long break is exactly what you need. Bugs Bunny and a hammer… Now there's an interesting sight. Kinda like revenge against Elmer Fudd, is it not? Winter and Whitney are two rather different problems, but you'll (hopefully) enjoy hearing Ezekiel's and Izzy's stories! Zeke's isn't as dramatic as Izzy's, but then again, he is a sheltered, homeschooled, prairie boy and she's a wild child. As of right now, I'm not exactly sure how the other campers will fit in, but I'm still thinking.

Dear The Kobold Necromancer, I agree. This chapter shall be very interesting. And don't think of it as theft, ha-ha, think of it as, as requisitioning, or taking back what's hers. Winter is pretty cool. :)

Dear Enigma Dragon Warrior, Yay! I'm glad you decided to read my story! It is pretty much about Ezekiel's, and later on Izzy's, past memories. I wanted to give some of the characters from TDI/TDA/TDWT/TDR a background, and I choose everyone's favorite homeschooled boy and crazy girl.

Dear suzyq85, Izzy's past is more entertaining and exciting than Ezekiel's, but much more deadly.

Dear Enigma Dragon Warrior, The interviews were something I enjoyed writing very much, as it was fun to include some of the other campers. I didn't want to get sued/arrested for copyrighting, so I created my own stores. It's just an odd coincidence that they happen to sound alike. And of course I will. Why wouldn't I? You better not stop writing Almost! Total Drama Action, or else I'll sick Izzy on you, and you wouldn't like that now, would you?

Athulis, Imagi, and suzyq85 all guessed where the spoof came from: Finding Nemo!

Also, to Imagi and The Kobold Necromancer, congratulations! They were correct in the fact that Winter is, in fact, based off of Winter-Rae, a great fanon-pairing author here.

Thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed my story! You don't know how much it means to me.

Readers – You people are the reason I get up every day to write.

Reviewers – You people are the reason that I love to get up every day to write.

Now, on to the second to last chapter of this story…

Chapter 6 – Pain: Past, Present, and Future

Ezekiel and Izzy sat on the bench together for a couple minutes in complete silence. Finally Izzy turned towards Ezekiel with an expectant look on her face.

"Zeke?"

"Yeah, Izzy?"

"Well?"

"Well what, eh?"

"Aren't you gonna tell me about everything?"

"What's everything?"

"Do you answer every question with another question?"

"I doo'nt knoo'. Do I?"

"Really, Zeke. I want to know."

"But Izzy, what is everything, eh?"

"Why are – sorry, why were you so sexist? What does the name Willa mean to you? What does that girl from earlier have to do with anything?"

"Yoo' might want to get coo'mfortable. This will be a long stoo'ry, eh."

A young boy, no older than 10 years old, was running around a park, his wild brown hair blown every which way by the wind. A golden leaf, finally fallen from its tree as days before winter slowly dwindled down to a close, flutters down to the cool sidewalk underneath. The boy looked up from the furry green caterpillar he was examining to watch the leaf slowly drift this way, that way, spiraling down towards its death. He smiled, his teeth flashing in the sunlight, and jumped up. He quickly brushed off the dirt, grass, and twigs that stuck to his clothing. He then dashed off after the leaf, occasionally jumping up to try and grab it.

An article from a littered newspaper was carried across his path, and he stuttered to a halt. He picked up the paper, and started reading.

Nightmare on Elm Street

House after house lining Elm Street falls to mysterious fire.

(PAGE 3)

Sunday 4 – The rumors are true. Last Thursday, a house along Elm Street, owned by the Smiths, was burned down. When police investigate the crime, they discovered a bottle of gasoline, a match, and a dead body which was conformed not to be a Smith, but rather Randy Handles, a high school dropout that has been reportedly missing for the past three years. It is entirely possible that he has joined one of the many terrorist groups intent on fulfilling the threat promised by the head terrorist Alma Junín: "We shall destroy, brick by brick, house by house, town by town, city by city, nation by nation, this corrupted world that God has created for us."

This is not the first house to be burned to charred wood and fragments of blackened shingles, and if the terrorists keep to their promise, it will certainly not be the last. Six other families have been left houseless, and that's just on Elm Street. Police desperate to find solutions to these fires have discovered something that every burned down house had in common. We asked the Chief Policeman for more details.

"Well, as odd as it sounds, none of the houses burnt yet have had someone in them. It's entirely possible that the terrorists want the families to experience what it's like to be homeless, to have no place to call your own. But that is completely useless now, as the region has set up a safe house for these currently homeless families. Volunteer carpenters are rebuilding these families' houses as we speak, so the terrorists have had no lasting effects. Another strange pattern is that these families are of great importance to our government. Well, perhaps, it's not such a strange pattern. The first house to burn was our blessed governor's house. The second and third houses belonged to powerful school board members. Our representatives' houses were quick to follow. If this keeps up, soon everyone of importance will be crowded underneath one roof. A true terrorist's dream come true, and our own nightmare."

As you can see, this is much more serious that we originally thought, as – (CONTINUED ON PAGE 4: FIRE)

Ezekiel, who had missed most of the point due to the fact that he kept skipping over the longer words, still frowned none the less. He looked up, just in time to see his leaf flutter by. He dropped the newspaper like it was a hot iron and resumed his chase after the leaf.

Sitting on a nearby bench, Mr. Martin, the head of the school board and Ezekiel's father, opened up the Sunday news, puzzled over the two missing pages, and started reading the headlines. He turned the page, and just as he was about to start the stock market section, he glanced up. Ezekiel, to intent on his leaf to notice his surroundings, was unaware of the upcoming edge. If he fell, he would tumble head over heels down the hill for several minutes. Mr. Martin sighed in humor and exasperation and stood up. He stretched and started strolling down towards Ezekiel, his long legs easily overtaking the young boy's short ones.

The leaf fluttered down to within grasping range, and Ezekiel jumped, his hands closing over the crisp newly-fallen leaf. He laughed, and promptly started losing his balance. A pebble fell loose and skid down the hill. Ezekiel was about to follow, when, like a snake, his father's arm hooked around Ezekiel, preventing him from falling. Ezekiel just laughed and squirmed to get free.

Ezekiel, still clutching the leaf, raced over to grab the newspaper he had previously discarded. He picked it up and brought it back to his father, who quickly scanned the paper. As Mr. Martin neared the end, his face grew ever paler. Finally, he grabbed Ezekiel's hand and started pulling him towards their house.

"Father, eh, where are we going?"

"Not now, Ezekiel."

"But Father, where is Mother? Where is Candia?"

"She's at some café or another with her friends. Females need the support of one another and us, Ezekiel, to help them. And she's got Candia with her."

"Father, is that true? Because there's this one girl I see every now and then, Mai, eh, and she's very independent…"

Mr. Martin turned to stare at Ezekiel, without ever stop walking.

"Ezekiel, you are much too young to be talking with girls like that. I'm sure this Mai girl has many males helping her without your notice. Now come."

"But Father –"

"Didn't I tell you not to call me Father?"

"Well, yes Father."

"Was that supposed to be funny, son?"

"No, Father, eh."

"Ezekiel…" Mr. Martin trailed off. They had arrived at their house, 183 Elm Street.

Something crashed from inside, and both Mr. Martin and Ezekiel winced. Mr. Martin reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his keys, and inserted them into the lock. He twisted the keys and opened the door. The first floor was deserted, but both Zeke and Mr. Martin heard two people upstairs gasp.

Mr. Martin quickly grabbed Ezekiel's hands, which fell open with shock and the crushed leaf fluttered to the ground, and pulled Ezekiel up to the staircase. Father and son briskly walked – Mr. Martin could never be troubled to run, not matter how urgent – up the stairs and started opening rooms one by one.

"Ezekiel, son, let me knoo' if yoo' see anybody, okay?" Mr. Martin called back to the small brunette.

"Yes, Father!" Ezekiel chirped back.

Mr. Martin and Zeke painstakingly slowly worked their way down the hallway. Candia's room – which was entirely pink – was empty; as were Ezekiel's bedroom, the guest bedroom, and the two bathrooms. Finally Ezekiel and Mr. Martin were standing outside of Mr. and Mrs. Martin's bedroom.

"Father, I hear someone in there, eh," Ezekiel quietly whispered.

"Be silent, Ezekiel, please?"

Mr. Martin gently opened the bedroom door, opened it to an unexpected betrayal.

Mrs. Martin was sitting half-naked on a guy's lap. A guy who was not Ezekiel's father.

"Zeke… Your mother was cheating on your father?" Izzy asked.

Ezekiel just nodded.

"So are your parents divorced?"

Ezekiel nodded again.

"Who do you live with?"

"My father, Mr. Martin, eh."

"But, Zeke, I heard your mother on your audition tape."

"Yoo' remembered that?"

Izzy nodded and smiled.

"Well, Mother was just packing up, eh. Soon, she moved out."

"What about Willa?"

"She's my step-mother. But she can never take the place of my real mother, eh."

"Zeke, she's not trying to. She probably just wants what's best for you and your sister."

There was another moment of silence, and then Izzy asked, "So where does that girl fit into this?"

Ezekiel looked up from his feet and smiled. "Olivia's been oo'r mail-girl fur two years now. She was kind and nice, eh, but then she was really mad at me ab'oot what I said on Total Drama Island."

"Does she know about your step-mother?"

"Yes, Olivia does."

"Well, then she should understand that it's not your fault you were being sexist. It's not even your father's fault for teaching you. After all, if your wife cheated on you, it could lead you to believe that women aren't as strong or as smart as the men."

"But then why else would she be mad at me, except for what I said, eh?"

"Maybe – and I'm just throwing out suggestions here – maybe she likes you, and she couldn't bear to see you like someone else."

Zeke didn't say anything, but Izzy felt like she stuck the nail on the head.

"Zeke, do you think Olivia might tell everybody where I live? She already knew where you lived, but know she knows where two elusive, famous Total Drama Island camper celebrities live."

Ezekiel shrugged, but answered, "She might."

"Zeke… Ezekiel Martin, if that girl… if Olivia breathes a word to anyone about where I live, if I see so much as one single paparazzi fly, because of you, I'll, I'll… I'll do something dangerous and drastic for punishment. I've enjoyed this peace and quiet for too long for a mail-girl to break it."

"Izzy! I woo'ld never ask Olivia to tell anybody, and I woo'ld never tell anybody myself, eh! When I get home, I'll ask her not to let anybody knoo' ab'oot yoo'. Really, Isabeau, I woo'ld not do that to yoo'."

Izzy smiled. "I didn't think you would, my Zeke, but you've surprised me often enough that I never know what you'll do next."

Ezekiel smiled back. "Are yoo' sure yoo' are talking about me? Because that soo'nds a lot like yoo'. I never knoo' what the day will be like with yoo'. That's one of the many things I like ab'oot yoo'."

In response to that, Izzy scooted closer to Ezekiel and leaned her head against his shoulders. Ezekiel was shocked for a moment, but ended up smiling. "Izzy, yoo' never told me why yoo' stole that keychain. I knoo' it's a pretty keychain, eh, but there must be something special ab'oot it for yoo' to steal it. Yoo' didn't – and still doo'nt – strike me as the thieving type."

"I'm usually not a thief, Zeke. As a matter of fact, would you believe me if I told you that was the first thing I've ever stolen? And I don't like to think of it as stealing, because it's more of a returning to the rightful owner kind of deal… eh."

"I believe yoo' Izzy. But why, eh?"

"That keychain was my parents."

"Was?"

"They're dead."

"Huh?" was Ezekiel's shocked reply.

"I was fourteen at the time, Zeke…"

The clock showed it was 11:55, but the party looked like it had no intention of stopping soon. Everywhere you looked, you would see elegant women with beautiful flowers and expensive dresses, or tall men dressed in smart-looking black tuxedos. The chandelier swayed overhead, the glittering crystals chiming together. The delicate laughter echoed around the large room. Everyone was so caught up in meeting famous and influential people that they didn't notice the redheaded, green-eyed, barefoot, 14 year old girl standing in the doorway.

"Excuse me, miss, but you're in the doorway…No darling, I'm sure that France wouldn't mind if you bought one of the Channel Islands."

One of the many guests just arriving pushed past the girl, hardly even noticing her, he was too busy discussing with a fair looking blonde that just reeked of money. She stepped aside, realizing she was attracting attention, even if it's only a small amount. It would only take one person to make the assumption that she didn't belong there, and then it would be too late to prove anything.

Izzy noticed the staircase and the deserted balcony and she made her way over to the red soft-feeling, luxurious-looking carpet-clad stairs.

Something was pulling the girl up the stairs, some instinct that allowed humans to survive for many millenniums, but whatever it was, it told her something bad was about to happen.

"Oh goodie," a voice behind her said quietly.

"Huh?" she asked, turning around to see a boy about her age leaning up against a wall.

"I thought I was the only child invited," he explained, flipping his bleach blonde hair out of his blue eyes.

"I'm not a child!" she fumed.

He smirked and raised his hands in defense. "Whoa there. What I meant by child is anyone younger than the age of twenty, which seems to be only me… and now you, apparently."

When the girl remained silent, he held out his hand and smiled. "My name's Stone. Well, not really," he added, seeing the girl's doubtful look. "It's actually Henry D. Johnson the fourth, but call me Stone."

The girl shook Stone's hand and said, "I'm Isabeau. Or, at least, that's what Mom and Dad call me."

"Speaking of which, who are your parents?"

"Opal and Richard Winters."

"So you're Isabeau Winters. I should have known; after all, Isabeau isn't a very common name."

"Oh, but of course, Henry is a very uncommon name, too," Izzy rolled her eyes in sarcasm.

Just then, an elderly-looking gentleman walked up to the two teenagers and said in a heavy British accent, "Excuse me, fellows, but I don't exactly remember there being bloody children on the guest list for the Party of the Pretty and the Famous."

Stone showed the man his invitation and then looked expectantly at Izzy. The British man asked, "Well? Where's yours?"

Izzy bit her bottom lip and looked at Stone for help. He quickly covered, saying, "My parents allowed me to bring a guest so I wouldn't get bored. This is Isabeau Winters."

The British man didn't say anything, just nodded and walked off. Izzy laughed once he was out of earshot and told Stone, "Thanks for covering for me back there."

"You're not really on the guest list, are you?"

"I'm not even supposed to be here!" corrected Izzy.

"But, then, why –" Stone wanted to know.

"Why am I here? Because I want to prove to my parents that I'm not a child." Izzy turned away.

"How will being here help prove that?"

"Because Mother and Father," Izzy sneered, "are too busy partying tonight to care for me – not that I need caring, that is – they hired a babysitter. A babysitter! Really!"

"So, then what?"

"I convinced my babysitter I was going to bed, even though no one actually goes to bed as early as 11:55, and then I snuck out. Through the window in case you were wondering. So then I hitchhiked here with a couple of really nice people."

"But why are you here? How does sneaking out prove anything, except that you had a very bad babysitter?"

Izzy frowned. "I don't know! It just does!"

"But –" Stone was interrupted by a tall woman with his blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Henry, there you are! I've been looking all over for you. Now, why don't you introduce me to your friend there?" the woman, Mrs. Johnson, Stone's mom, asked expectantly.

"Her name, Mom, is Isa –" But Izzy was already gone, lost in the crowd of strangers.

Izzy was drawn back to the staircase. She quietly climbed up to the top, checking the clock. 11:58, it read. She sped up her pace.

At the top of the stairs was a balcony, overlooking the party. It was deserted, except for a lone figure further down. Izzy walked over towards him, stopping about ten feet away.

"Uncle Bonjour?" she asked, her voice strangely calm.

"You!" he gasped and turned around. Izzy tried to take a step back, but her feet were rooted in place. Her Uncle Bonjour was holding a gun.

"Why are you holding a gun? You wouldn't kill anybody, would you?" Izzy asked again.

"Silence. I need concentration."

Izzy scooted closer to the balcony and looked down. Her stomach starting doing flips. The only two people in Uncle Bonjour's line of sight were Opal and Richard Winters. Izzy's mother and father.

"No, don't shoot them!" Izzy pleaded. "Why?"

"Because I'm 'crazy'," Uncle Bonjour answered. Izzy gulped. It was true, that her parents deemed Uncle Bonjour as being crazy and locked him up in the attic. He never struck Izzy as being crazy, or even slightly insane.

"It's about revenge, isn't it?" Izzy asked one more time, trying to distract her uncle.

"I know what you're doing, and it's not working. You better go say goodbye."

Izzy took his advice and ran over to the balcony. She cried out, "Mother, Father, run!"

But all her warning did was cause them to turn and look up at her, confusion on her face. It was the very opening Izzy's uncle needed. He pushed the redhead out of the way and pulled the trigger. Those two shots echoed around in Izzy's head.

"Thanks, Niece, I couldn't have done it without you. How about a parting gift?" Uncle Bonjour aimed the gun at Izzy and pulled the trigger one last time. Izzy ducked, but a second too late. Pain exploded in her left shoulder. Her vision turned fuzzy. But she could stay awake in time to see her uncle disappear over the edge of the balcony. She didn't feel sorry for him. Today, he took three lives, possibly four. His own, Mr. and Mrs. Winters, and, as Izzy slipped into unconsciousness, maybe even her own.

Ezekiel didn't even realize he and Izzy were crying until he noticed his jacket was wet where Izzy was leaning up against. He reached a hand around her shoulder and whispered to her, "Isabeau, my Izzy. I didn't knoo'."

"You didn't know how messed up a family I had?" Izzy whispered back.

"I didn't knoo' how hurt yoo' were, eh. Is yoo'r shoulder… okay?"

In answer to his question, Izzy pulled down her shirt so Ezekiel could see her shoulder. A small, circular red mark was easily visible. Ezekiel hesitated, but then ran his finger over it. Izzy didn't pull away.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Izzy answered.

"So the keychain…?"

"It was the POTPATF keychain for the year 2006, right?"

"POTPATF, eh?"

"Party of the Pretty and the Famous."

"Yes, it was."

"That was the year my Uncle Bonjour killed my parents. That keychain was theirs and now it's mine. I don't know how that gift shop wound up with it."

Izzy pulled out the infamous keychain, and it glittered, catching the sunlight.

"If yoo' are only 16 right noo', who do yoo' live with?"

"I live with my RCMP Guardian, Mr. Wright, or, as I like to call him –"

"Let me guess… Mr. Wrong?" Ezekiel asked, smiling.

"Yeah!" Izzy grinned back.

"How's come yoo' are the RCMP second most wanted person, eh? Yoo' doo'nt seem that dangerous to me."

"Oh, ho, ho, just you wait, Zeke, just you wait. But I have a tendency to run away from Mr. Wright a lot, so…"

"But I heard yoo'r mother in yoo'r audition tape, eh."

"Can I tell you a secret? That wasn't my real mother. Mr. Wright isn't the first RCMP Guardian I've had. Back then, I had a woman Guardian, Monique Ollie Monroe. She claims to be related to Marilyn Monroe. But I called her 'Mom' because I can't shout, 'Sorry, RCMP Guardian!'"

"And the fact that Monique Ollie Monroe's initials are MOM?"

"True, true, Zeke. I didn't think of that."

"Why do yoo' live in yoo'r tree house, thoo'gh?" Ezekiel wondered.

"The house next to the tree house belongs to me, but it's so, so empty without Mother and Father there. I don't want it… or all of the money Mother and Father made."

"So yoo' live in the tree house –"

"Because it's nice and cozy, and –"

"Yoo'r father helped yoo' build it, so –"

"There are too many memories wrapped up in it –"

"For yoo' to leave it alone, eh."

"Exactly, Zeke!" Izzy laughed and smiled at him. "You were reading my mind!"

Izzy slowly leaned in. Without thinking Ezekiel leaned in too. They were inches away from each other, when they heard someone cough from above. Broken from their trance, both Izzy and Zeke looked up to see someone Ezekiel never expected to see again. Her bright pink hair waved in the breeze.

"Whitney…?" Ezekiel murmured.

"Hey! How's my Ezekiel doing?" Whitney asked in an overly cheerful voice. At the words 'my Ezekiel', Izzy recoiled back, as if struck.

"Whitney, what are yoo' doing here, eh?" Ezekiel asked, louder this time.

"Silly! You're the one who asked me to meet you here!" Whitney answered.

"Zeke… Is that true?" Izzy whispered, her eyes tearing up again.

"No, Izzy, it's not, eh!" Ezekiel protested. Unfortunately, his argument was lost, because Whitney yanked Ezekiel back on his feet and kissed him. When she pulled away, Ezekiel stood there confused and shocked. He blinked, and Whitney turned around and walked away.

"Izzy? Isabeau?" Ezekiel turned around. But, just like the sun disappearing behind the horizon, just like birds migrating south for the winter, just like all of Zeke's dreams, Izzy was gone.

DUN DUN DUUUUUN!

Well, what do you think? Shocking, no?

Sorry for the shortness, but hopefully the next chapter will make up for it... :)

Now, before I leave you, we have a recommendation brought to you by Athulis!

Smell by Lord Akiyama! It's a very cute Bridgette/Ezekiel one-shot dedicated to The Kobold Necromancer. If you're waiting for the finale of Dear Isabeau, then that would be a great story to read.

Yes, that's right. The finale of Dear Isabeau, only one more chapter left… I leave y'all with these questions…

Will Izzy forgive Ezekiel? How will Ezekiel cope with the unwanted kiss? And will the infamous Ezzy couple get back together? Stay tuned to find out!

Almost done, and until next time,

Forever Me, cometsgirl