"Here the Sire may serve the Dam,

Here the master takes his meat,

Here the sacrificial lamb,

Utters one despairing bleat."

—The Phantom of the Opera's "Don Juan Triumphant"

(Dunno what "Don Juan Triumphant" is? Think of Mozart's "Don Giovanni" opera.)

Hello my lovelies. Thank you for all the desperate reviews begging me to update. I loved it. Enticed me right out of my little writers 'funk'.

OK. This is a short author note, for me anyway. Just to rain on your parade, the long one's at the bottom. If you APPLY YOURSELF, you might make it. lol.

Okeydokey, where we left off:

Close enough to recognise him.

. . . And Her.

And where we begin:

Lying motionlessly tangled together on the floor was Daniel . . . with Alanna.

Alanna . . .

I gathered my feet under me and ran blindly towards the door, throwing myself frantically against it, but it was locked. I was trapped. I didn't need to try the other door on the adjacent wall to know that it too would be locked.

I stopped trying to open the door, and turned and slid down it instead, closing my eyes in order to avoid the sight of the two of them sprawled as one on the carpet.

It was futile. The horrible image of them was imprinted forever in my mind, never in my life would I forget.

Entwined in an uncompleted duet of love, every emotion I'd ever seen the two of them express, was magnified to unbearable levels. Their embrace that spoke only of love, His obvious contentment and joy in both her presence and body . . .

But worst of all was the look on her face. Especially her eyes . . . closed in a still expression of bliss.

Something she'd once said flashed into my anguished mind. "And when he kisses me . . ."

I banged my head repeatedly on the solid wood door, desperate to eradicate the picture from my mind, and her voice repeating that phrase, over and over again.

"When he kisses me . . ."

"When he kisses me . . ."

"When he kisses me . . ."

Her voice rising to unbearable volume, I continued to smash my head against the door, until I felt the blood on the back of my head . . . and still, I couldn't feel its pain.

My mind was entirely consumed by another pain. "Alanna . . . why," I whimpered in a broken voice, "How could you . . . Why . . .?" Desperately I shouted, "WHY????? What did she EVER do to you?"

The door contiguous to the one I was leaning on inched slowly open, and I froze, tensed for attack.

"That got you, didn't it?" a smug sounding voice floated through the door.

I got haphazardly to my feet, and moved towards the doorway, deliberately keeping my gaze locked on the darkness at the top of the stairs.

I couldn't handle looking at them. I couldn't. My own image mercilessly tortured my senses; I felt if I were to look at them I would go insane.

I made it through the door and stared searchingly up the dark stairway; my eye's denying me the knowledge of who it was, but my mind suppling it in abundance.

"You did that to hurt me?" I was shocked, disgusted and tormented beyond belief by this callous, calculated murder. "You killed Alanna and Daniel to hurt ME?"

"Alanna? Is that her name? I did wonder."

The tears started again. "Why her??? What did she EVER—?

"Well." Keith said slowly, coming down the stairs. "It seemed you needed more persuasion, babe. Your own fault. As for her, she was close to you, hmm? And the boy? You and him were into each other a while ago." he sat on the bottom step and beamed up at me as I took a disgusted step back. "But the display." He said happily. "My little arrangement. That was very good, wasn't it? Not my idea, unfortunately, but very pleasing."

"So someone told you to—"

"You did wreck it a little, though." He ignored me, continuing his narrative thoughtfully. "He was supposed to be fucking her raw when I shot them. Did you get a close look at them, Melinda, babe? He wasn't actually in her. Pompous little jerk off, I was going to give him a last little bit of fun . . . release some of his sexual frustration. Check your pocket, babe." He said to me with a leer. "I think you've got them."

I was incapable of doing anything other than starting at Keith with revulsion.

"CHECK." He snarled. "Or I'll do it. And that's not all I'll do." He made violent jerk off motions with his right hand.

I fumbled with my jacket pocket, and when my hand closed around a cylinder bottle, I was hit with sudden understanding. I pulled out the bottle took a sharp intake of breath as looked with dawning realisation at Daniels pills.

"So, I went to the Doctor this morning and asked him to give me something the migraines. Speaking of," he glanced at his watch. "I'm supposed to take three now. Anyone got any water?"

"Uh, somewhere," I said distractedly, looking up from my cell phone—like watching it was going to make him text me—and saw that Daniel did, in fact have a prescription bottle in his hand, filled with bluey coloured pills.

OK, the guys legit.

Thought we had a druggie on our hands here.

I rummaged through my bag, found bottled water, and chucked it to him.

"The old man's gotta take his meds." Joked Scott.

Everyone ignored him.

"Hey, look who it is," Daniel said, pausing with the water bottle halfway to his mouth and abandoning his one handed attempts to beat the childproof seal on his medication bottle. "How's the friend?"

I broke the childproof seal that accorded Daniel and Alanna the smallest amount of dignity and shook a few of the vivid blue tablets into my palm.

These blue pills . . . They weren't migraine pills.

I looked up at Keith to find him watching me with a sick kind of pleasure.

"Viagra . . ." I whispered.

"Yup. If he wasn't such a noble little wanker, determined to respect her, he wouldn't have needed them." Keith said contemptuously. "He would have got in there already, like any real man, and FUCKED her ass. I would have."

"You didn't—"

"No." said Keith, with what sounded like regret. "I didn't rape her. It's not as fun when they're dead."

I made my way towards him, my mind occupied with the thought of smashing his nose through to the other side of his face, but his experience in Nick's car of me banging his head against the dashboard must have been a lingering lesson, because he got to his feet and pushed me sideways, with so much force, into the wall, that I crunched horribly against it and fell to the ground.

"Bitch." He remarked. "I'm not finished my story. I want you a miserable WRECK, when I'm finished."

Those were the words that gave me courage. That sentence, was so informative, so illuminating, it gave me the strength to defy it.

"Well." I said, trying to sound indifferent as I dragging myself into a sitting position, while my side screamed in protest. And my head wasn't too great either. But that was my own fault. "Why Alanna and Daniel? Why not someone with the morals to rival your own? Why not seek out a fellow mentally impaired rapist?"

"Because." He said, not seeming at all angered by my words. "Weren't you listening? Not only would they hurt you the most, but also they make very dramatic headlines. The girl, she was a virgin, see. And the whole plan was to have your innocent, sweet little girl friend murdered while fucking her boyfriend. Well," he corrected with a smirk. "Almost fucking her boyfriend."

Something I'd thought of earlier flashed into my head. They'd died from lack of contact.

"It really was very fun." Keith continued, "I can't WAIT for her mother to find out. She'll remember her daughter as nothing but a dirty slut, now."

I said nothing. I was trying desperately to let his words wash meaninglessly over me, to show no pain, to show nothing.

"So," he said pleasantly. "When he came with her to visit you, I just waited for them to fool around a little—it didn't take much to please little Alanna, I'm afraid. All he had to do was kiss her and she was moaning and begging him to keep kissing her. I could have done much better. I could have had her dripping—"

I choked back my repulsion and sat there, struggling a violent internal battle to maintain a blank exterior.

I could hear every word, but I tried to numb the meaning.

But I couldn't take much more.

"—And then the bullet and a little . . . rearranging!" he was enjoying this. "You're pretty stupid for a shifter, you know that, don't you? But I like you. Don't worry babe, you'll be alive to enjoy it when I have my turn."

I was fighting so desperately for control. What would happen if I relaxed that control, I didn't know. I'd either go completely insane and break down, or get uncontrollably violent.

What jolted me out of my hostile semi-catatonic state was the distant sound of sirens.

Mrs Grey.

Obviously my hanging up on her hadn't done much to put her middle-aged mind at rest.

I slowly got to my feet and slid the cleverly disguised Viagra back in my pocket, the pain of my body no longer remembered, as I'd willingly shut myself off, all I had to work with logic and cold facts. And I knew that I could not be found here.

I turned my back on Keith, and the bodies of Alanna and Daniel—I walked straight past them—and continued out of the house out across the front garden—if you could call it a garden. An avid gardener my mother was not—and got in the car mom had loaned to me, and took off.

I was grimly sure that I had to get wherever I was going, quickly.

Mrs Grey was well meaning, but essentially misguided. She'd landed me well and truly in it, and I was sure she wouldn't hesitate to inform the police of my presence.

Unless . . .

I had my phone in my jacket pocket, my hand brushed the Viagra as I pulled it out and searched the contacts for a number, a few months ago, I would have never thought I'd willingly use.

The deep purr of the ringing sounded in my ear, I concentrated on it's echo as I drove on, giveway's and indications a thing of habit, dangerous for sure, but the least of my worries.

"Hello?" Nick's phone was answered by a bright, happy voice.

"Chenaol?" I said. "It's Melinda. Put Nick on." Then as an afterthought. " . . . Please."

Time was not something I had in abundance. (A/N: major Rocky Horror Picture Show flashbacks. "I ask for NOTHING master!" "And you shall receive it, in abundance!!!")

"Melinda?" she sounded confused. "Oh, uh, sure . . ."

"Melinda?" Nick's voice came through. "Sorry, Chenaol beat me to answering. How—"

"Nick, I've been with you all afternoon." I said by way of greeting. "I came home with you after we visited Mrs Van der Leigh, my neighbour is old and possibly not in full possession of her faculties."

"Ok." he agreed. "You can explain when you get here. How far away are you?"

"Scenic drive now."

"I'll meet you at the doors." He hung up and within a few minutes I'd pulled the car to a haphazard halt just off the Slater's driveway.

Nick opened the door for me and wordlessly led me into a sitting room, never once taking his gaze off me.

"Keith pulled a double murder at home." I said, by way of explanation. I didn't go into specifics. I couldn't, just yet. "My neighbour called to tell me she'd heard a gunshot and she must've called the police as well."

He looked at me in what I'd describe as horror. "Not Jesse and Suze—"

"No." I said, but I didn't offer further information.

Chenaol then walked into the room and no doubt thought something a little odd about me, I was staring out the window, studiously ignoring Nick who was trying to get me to take a seat. I wasn't really aware of how worrying my behaviour was, and I didn't really care besides.

"Hi Melinda!" she said cheerfully. Then, "Hey, you don't look good. You OK?"

I'M fine. I thought, slightly bitter. It's Alanna and Daniel who aren't so great.

"Chenaol," I said instead, "Is Slater here?"

"Slater?" she frowned. "That's sorta confusing . . ."

"Paul." I clarified.

"Sure. Um, I'll go grab him."

She left and I had a few minutes in which I was forced to play oblivious to Nick's needling expression. The time was passing by so slowly, it seemed interminable. Eventually she came back, preceded by Slater.

"Melinda!" he said pleasantly. "Nice to—"

"Theoretically," I interrupted, not because I was trying to be rude, but simply because I didn't care what he had to say, "If Nick says I was here, Police are more likely to believe him than an elderly neighbour, right?"

"Well, in theory, I suppose . . . " he answered, vaguely.

"But—" I corrected, talking pretty much to myself now, "If you denied it and said I wasn't—you being a respected lawyer—el miedra."

"Who says I'm going to do that?" Slater said mildly.

I stared at him impatiently. I knew I should have gone to the Mission. The problem was Father Dominic probably wouldn't lie.

Then my phone rang. I'd been expecting it; I knew it would be the cop's—Mrs Grey having wasted no time in setting them on me. I pulled my phone out and was about to answer, when I was interrupted.

"Let me." Slater said, stepping forward and easing the phone out of my hands.

I shrugged. I was looking at possible murder charges anyway. What was I going to say? "The Ghost did it?" Might as well let Slater throw in some big words, keep him happy.

"Melinda de Silva's phone." He answered, looking decidedly odd with a bright pink phone in his hand. I assume that's why Chenaol started to giggle. "Yes," he continued, pleasantly, "And what may I ask, is this in regard to, Sergent?" He winked at me and listened quietly to (as it sounded to me) the indistinct—yet still authorative—voice coming through my phone. "I see." He said calmly. "Well as both Miss de Silva's lawyer and Alibi, I think you'd better reconsider."

"He's enjoying this." Chenaol mumbled.

" . . . Yes." Slater said after a long silence. " . . . Unfortunately for you, Miss de Silva's whereabouts can be undisputedly accounted for by an number of my house staff, my wife, my son and myself . . .if you'll let me finish Sergent . . . as she's been at my residence on Scenic drive since around four this afternoon."

I didn't miss the subtle implication of money. What I was struggling with was Slater backing me up.

" . . . I see . . ." Slater continued. "Well I think you'll find the neighbour is mistaken. Elderly? Perhaps senile . . . ?"

I sat down on the couch beside Nick and observed the scene in front of me with—if not an open mouth—then obvious astonishment.

" . . . Paul Slater . . . Yes, the lawyer . . . Yes, Sergent Peterson I think I have had the honour . . . Yes, very sorry about that—Bit of a public disgrace for you, wasn't it?"

I suddenly aware that I was watching a master at work.

"Well I think you'll find, my friend, that owing to the lack of any substantial evidence in your favour—other than the word of an elderly neighbour of doubtful mental clarity—you can't hold Miss de Silva accountable to this heinous crime. Really, anything else would just be seen as incompetence from our trusted Police force!" Then, "Enjoy your evening, Sergent." And he hung up.

"They just believed you?" I asked, incredulously. "Just like that, Mrs Grey's insane and I've been here all afternoon?"

"Of course." Slater said with a casual shrug. "Our protectors of the law have their weak spots like everybody else. Something the media always enjoy pointing out."

"Yes," I said, getting to my feet, and finding I could understand that only too well, "But why'd you do that? You could've—"

"Sorry to interrupt—" he didn't really sound all that sorry, "—but I know where you're going with this. And tell me. What would you say to anyone else who just helped you like I did? Someone who hasn't had Suze beneath them, lying her ass of about how much she liked it—"

"Getting weird . . . " Nick muttered, but he was ignored.

"—Someone who hasn't," he continued, "Had his nose broken by your Father, twice now, I think. Someone who hasn't loved your mother—"

"Someone whose not you?" I interrupted, totally killing his little exercise.

"It's history now." He said, sounding deadly sincere. "Memories. To be appreciated and remembered, but not lived."

"I'd say . . . " I said slowly. "Thank you. And then . . . I'd apologise."

He smiled. "And then our third person who is me and isn't me at the same time—would say that you are welcome."

Chenaol looked totally lost, but I understood.

"Now," he said, "I'd suggest you call your parents. I don't think anyone else is in any immediate danger, this ghost—"

"Keith." Nick supplied. "And you're right, he seems to like the dramatic, which doesn't really add up with what Melinda's told me of him, but I think he'll wait a while."

It was then I remembered with a painful swooping sensation why I was here in the first place. "How do you know?" I asked. "He could just be making us thinks that, he could be here right now, listening—"

"He's not." Slater said, with such absolute certainty, I believed him. "But call your parent's quickly. I assume the police are currently requestioning Mrs Grey—"

I wordlessly flipped my phone open and called mom's cell phone. Dad never turned his on in a restaurant. He considered it rude. Mom had no such reservations.

It rang only twice before she picked up. "What?" was her greeting, obviously she'd checked the caller ID. "Didn't you see my note? If you can't fix the microwave meals then Alanna should be able to."

I clenched my teeth. "Mom. I've not been home yet. I'm with Nick, but the police just called, something terrible has happened at home."

It was harder than I thought, to pretend I didn't know what had happened to Daniel and Alanna. Unfair, somehow.

"Oh God." She said. "Keith? Have you really been with Nick all afternoon?"

She knew. I didn't have to say it. Thank god. "No." I answered.

"Ok." She said and I heard her say in the background, "Jesse, we have to go, the police are at home—"

"Mom!" I interrupted, and then remembering the audience I held, Chenaol and Nick still in happy oblivion, I walked out into the hallway. "Please don't . . . it's . . . " my voice had shrunk to a barely intelligible whisper, because, I told myself, I didn't want to be overheard. "Daniel and Alanna. Its horrible."

I stared up at the huge artworks lining the hallway and wondered if the same artist was to be credited with all of them. They looked quite uniformed, more of a professional decorator's touch.

"OK honey." Mom soothed. "Is Paul there? Could you pass the phone to him?"

I wordlessly turned and walked back into the room and passed the phone to him.

"Suze? Yeah, I heard . . ." He turned, as I did, and left the room. The last think I heard was, "Now, I'd advise you . . . "

I was left in the room with Chenaol and Nick, who immediately walked over to me and rather impatiently demanded to know what I had done to my head. I observed with detachment that he was concerned, and with the same detachment, I lifted a hand to my head felt the half dried blood and then shrugged, not caring.

She had been so happy with him. So confident and secure. Soulmates, or whatever. Mom and Dad's easy companionship with a spark that was all their own.

"Melinda!!!" Nick nearly yelled. Obviously patience would only take you so far.

"I hit it on the wall." I muttered.

"Makes sense." Chenaol giggled. "—Sorry. But it's really hard to be sympathetic, when no one will tell me what's going on . . ." as no one rushed to fill her in, she sighed. "Melinda, you should see a doctor. Come on, I'll take you . . ."

"No." Nick interrupted. And then, with his usual perception, he said, "I don't really think that's the problem, is it Melinda? Please . . . Tell me what happened."

"I don't really want to—"

"Don't." He warned.

It was pointless. Saying: "I don't really want to talk about it" to a Slater was like saying, "Bite me" to a Cannibal.

Chenaol looked back and forth between us, me back to staring blankly out the window and Nick behind me, obviously worried by how freakish I was acting. "Right." She said. "I'm going to go see if Paul and Suze are finished . . . Then maybe someone will tell me what the hell is going on."

She left and I could tell without looking that Nick was still waiting patiently behind me, his silence an argument of persuasion in itself.

"You can't help." I said calmly, turning to face him. I didn't finish the rest of my sentence because I knew it would just provoke a series of heartfelt but meaningless: "Of course it wasn't your fault . . ."s

"I heard," he said gently, "Dad say something about Alanna . . . "

"What? That her and Daniel are dead on my living room floor? Because that'd probably be it." My words came out harsher than I'd intended and I instantly regretted them.

"Fuck . . ." he said, almost to himself. "How? I mean, sorry, but how?"

"Viagra, a sadistic ghost and," I said, my voice sounding, even to my own ears, unhealthily bland as I remembered what Keith had said, "Then just a bullet and a little . . . rearranging!"

He looked at me for a moment then reached for my hand and led me upstairs and into his room. I perched myself on his bureau—god knows why. But it wasn't like it had anything on it. Wallet, clock, and some blank paper.

His whole room as bare. I couldn't help but think that for his birthday, I had to get this boy a lava lamp.

Silver and blue, like Alanna's—I felt my eyes start to water.

Again I could see them. Limbs entangled,

He still had hold of my hands and he took me by surprise when he leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.

I turned my head away . . . and then I told him everything.

Including why Keith chose them. Including everything about how I found them. The horrible beauty, happiness and death—I had to look away from Nick's piercing blue eyes at this point. Instead I picked up the clock and started to fiddle with it—Even about the Viagra and how he would've given Daniel a little "fun" with it first. This was about when I broke the clock and hurriedly put it down. Even though he saw me break it.

The only thing I didn't tell him was about Keith's explicit wish that he could have 'had a go' with Alanna before he killed her. His experience raping dead girls. Or his promise that I wouldn't be dead when he raped me.

"You'll be alive to enjoy it when I have my turn."

That was something I didn't think anyone else had any business knowing.

"So . . ." I finished, going for a show of nonchalance, which I didn't, couldn't, feel. Reliving it just renewed the already vivid, ever present images.

My throat was uncomfortably tight, I couldn't look Nick in the face. If I did, he'd know.

"Fuck." He said, again.

I agreed. Then said, trying to appear blasé, " . . . guess I'm fast running out of friends."

He ignored that. "Are you sure it was Viagra?" He asked, instead. "I mean . . ."

"Well I'VE NEVER USED VIAGRA, MYSELF," I retorted, "so, NO, I'm not ONE HUNDRED PERCENT SURE."

He nodded. "It's so . . . calculated. So unlike the Keith you've described to me."

"Well just add delusional to my list of vice's then, shall we?"

He just looked at me, and I mumbled, "Sorry."

"It was brilliant." He said flatly. "And yet came from the same guy who drove a BMW into a tree. Do you--?"

"Thinking what I'm thinking B1?" I said in a deep voice. "I think I am B2." I rolled my eyes.

He just looked me in the eyes and saw straight through. "Melinda." he said, not taking his eyes off mine. "Come here."

"What? All of three steps?" I tried to keep the sarcasm up, but the look on his face told me he wasn't buying it. He reached forward and pulled me off the bureau and towards him, momentum threw me on top of him . . . But it was something else that kept me there.

"I'm sorry." He said, his voice muffled by my hair.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him. Held him like I never wanted to let go. And I didn't. Ever, want to.

XXX

Thanks for reading! Just so you know . . . I'm building up to one HELL of a climax for you soon.

If you're confused about this chapter's title? OFFENDED by this chapter's title? (That's not so crazy. I would be, if I weren't the one responsible for it.)

Let me explain. Don Juan is the most famous manwhore of all time. The story of Don Juan (pronounced like 'Don one') is legendary, as he cared about no one or nothing as long as he got some sacktime with the hot girl.

. . . So naturally, I love it. To quote Boston Legal—"Repugnant, disgusting—" "Everything I stand for!"

Anyway. Keith (oh he of many delusions) thinks he is quite the Don Juan. More appropriate was what I WANTED to call the chapter: "Gregory Rasputin (man of many orgies) in his reincarnated-yet dead-form."

But it wouldn't fit. And I'm guessing I would be in a lot of trouble with a lot of people.

ANYWAY.

One last thing. My Beta, xtotallyatpeacex is brilliant. Don't blame her for my bad grammar, etc. I just haven't been able to use her yet. (Hee!! Kinky.)

So, now, AVOID MY (long and annoying) DIVA-WORTHY TANTRUMS.

REVIEW ME.