Chapter Nine

(Hey, y'all!

I'm back!

I'm sorry that I couldn't upload this chapter on Friday or Saturday. I would've uploaded it if I had Internet access while I was out of town.

Shout-out to AnonymousZGirl: Your PM that you wrote to me while I was out of town gave me some ideas and I thought that they might work out in Greasy and Beatrice's interactions. I might have to make at least one or a few changes on your idea if that's all right with you. Thanks for the idea and take your time on your stories!

Shout-out to mchap1154: As I already said in our PM time, take your time on your story and there's no rush at all! Keep up the good work and if you have any ideas, my suggestion is buy one or two notebooks and write down any ideas that come to you. Those notebooks will help you stay organized with your ideas and you can even write down the next chapter with those ideas that come to you.

So, anyway, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, users, visitors, readers, and reviewers, here is…*drumroll*…the ninth chapter!

Enjoy the story and life as it goes!

-imaginarytoon1)

Beatrice:

After the Doom look-alike came closer to me, the light that was on by the front door, I got a better look at him. Almost like Judge Doom, he was dressed in black with some green. His baggy harem pants were secured with a green belt and on his black shirt and hat…or turban…were green written papers, pencil, and cell phone patches. Those three things represented the typical things that are a part of a teenager's life, homework and free time with electronic devices.

"WHO the heck ARE YOU and WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!" I exclaimed at the Doom look-alike, angrily.

"Don't you know it's not nice to shout at your guest, Beatrice?" He asked in a mocking tone and with an evil toothy grin (I'm probably guessing that Mom or Angie's dad told him my name.). "If you really want to know who I am, I would like to introduce myself as Diomedes…or 'Mr. D'."

Mr. D's voice sounds a lot like Judge Doom before he revealed himself as the Toon who bumped off Eddie's brother.

"Your name begins with 'D' and it means 'evil'. You like you look like Judge Doom." I said without letting the

Then, Mr. D began to laugh evilly.

"I have nothing in common with Judge Doom! What makes you think that I'm that villain from the ridiculous movie, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" He asked.

"The roundness of your head, the restricted limit of blinking your eyes, and your evil toothy grin are the same physical characteristics that you have in common with Judge Doom." I said with my fists up. "Now, get out of my house right now. This is your first and only warning."

"What are you going to do if I don't?"

"If you don't get out of my house in ten seconds, I'm going to call the police."

That wasn't very smart of me to say that to an intruder but sometimes, things slip out of my mouth if I get scared or angry.

"I wouldn't call the police if I were you, Beatrice." Mr. D said to me with an evil smile and low and sinister voice. "All of your phone lines are disconnected and there's access of communicating with the police. You're going to the Houston Juvenile Institute right now and the police won't be able to get you out. They won't believe you, a girl who abused her childhood bully and talks to imaginary people. The only people that the police would listen to are the victim of the patient and the man who runs and takes the crazy patient away from the victim and their family. You're staying in the Houston Juvenile Institute until you're in good condition and when you no longer see those invisible people."

I gasped in horror as Mr. D laughed. He laughed so hard and so evilly that my heart was beginning to feel like it was going to burst out of chest.

Then, Mom came over to me and Mr. D with her hands on her hips and a look of irritation. The look on my mom's face tells me that I don't have a choice. I either go to the Houston Juvenile Institute or lose my home forever and live in a house for homeless people. I was about to choose the idea of going to an insane asylum but I realized that the address on the brochure was actually fifteen minutes away from my house and an hour away from Fauntleroy Birchwood's (my grandfather) house. I formulated a plan in my head as I said with both real and fake sadness in my voice,

"Mr. D, you have my permission to take me to your stupid institute but I would like to have the time to say my goodbyes to my family."

"You have ten minutes, Beatrice." Mr. D said.

I walked away from Mr. D and I said to Mom,

"Where's Tommy and Daddy (Call me a sissy if you want but I'm going to remind you that if you live in the South and have country in your blood, it is typically stated that you call your fathers 'Daddy' and your mothers 'Momma' or 'Mom'.)? I want to say goodbye to them."

"They're in my room and you better not think about trying to escape because if you do escape, then I'm not allowing you to come back and live with us." She replied in a bitter tone.

I narrowed my eyes and frowned.

"May all your blithe and carefree thoughts, activities, and times transmogrify into careworn and haggard beliefs." I said and walked to my parents' bedroom.

Without showing an inkling of my plan, I walked calmly and I made sniffling noises, as if I was crying. I really am sad. I don't like how things are going now because of my mom making me go to a place where I'm not supposed to go intentionally but I'm really going to escape and stay at Grandpa Fauntleroy's house until things settle down or until Mom changes her mind completely. I don't know how to explain that but the only thing that I can say is that I'm pretending and not pretending that I'm sad. That's it.

Now, we're going back to the story.

When I arrived at the bedroom, I walked in without knocking. Tommy and Daddy looked up from the television with sad looks.

"Beatrice, are you leaving?" Daddy asked.

"Yes, Daddy." I replied. "I have to…for you, Momma, and Tommy. I don't want you to live in a poor house. Y'all deserve better lives."

"Beatrice, I don't care if we live in a poor house. As long as you're a part of our family, I'm happy, regardless of where we live."

"Once I leave, I want you to tell Momma that I hope that she's proud of herself and I hope that she's happy."

"I'll tell her that, Beatrice." Tommy said.

I walked over to him and I hugged him.

While hugging Tommy, I saw Daddy look at the door for a second and then, he got off of the bed and closed it. Then, he walks back to the bed and grabs something from underneath it.

It was a journal. The partially torn cover was brown and the pages looked like they were soaked in tea for a few minutes and they were crinkled up like a candy bar wrapper getting tossed in a trash can.

I stopped hugging Tommy and in sign language, Dad said to me,

This is my journal. I want you to keep it hidden and read it as you go to sleep at the Houston Juvenile Institute. The journal talks about you and Tommy and you'll find more information about yourselves as soon as you read it. I should've explained something to you and Tommy a long time ago but there's no time and it's not a topic that your mom wants to talk about.

Dad reaches something from underneath bed. It was a cloth book cover titled Fahrenheit 451 and Dad covers his journal with it.

Reading at the HJI, Houston Juvenile Institute, is allowed and there's no way that the staff there will take this journal away from you. Don't let anyone know that it's actually my journal or they'll think that you're nuts and toss it away. Keep this close, Beatrice. It's your only hope of knowing your destiny and Tommy's destiny, as well. This book will reveal some your future.

I hugged Dad and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thanks, Daddy." I said with a real teardrop running down from my eyes. "I'll remember."

"Bye, Beatrice." Tommy said.

"I'll see y'all."

I left the bedroom with the journal in my hands. I wasn't sure what Dad meant by the destinies that will happen in the future. Whatever it meant, I wasn't really sure if the future was going to be something that I look forward to or not to look forward at all.

"Beatrice, are you ready to go?" Mom called.

"Yes, Momma, I'm ready." I replied.

"You brought a book to take to the HJI." Mr. D said. "How delightful."

"Is Beatrice allowed to bring a book with her?" Mom asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Birchwood. That's one of the only two things that are okay to do in HJI."

"I'm READY…to go." I said with a strong sense of enunciating every word boldly.

"Let's go, Beatrice." Mr. D said with sadistic pleasure.

…..

Greasy:

"Greasy, what took you so long? Was everything all right with you and Birchwood?" Sleazy asked as he and Psycho walked into my office. I was supposed to sign a few papers and write something down but right now, all I can do is tap my pen on my desk and think about the muchacha.

"Muchacha is all right," I replied, "but she tells me that she believes herself as a…what was it…a, uh, 'bad luck penny'."

"What's that?" Psycho asked.

"I believe it's a person who causes bad luck wherever they go." I said.

"Greasy, I want you to be careful whenever you're around Birchwood." Sleazy said to me in a fearful tone. "Yen Sid just sent you a book about Toons and Humans. Pages fifty-five and fifty-seven talk about Toons loving humans and Yen Sid that those pages are really important."

"Bring in the book and come back in here. I want to show you and Psycho a couple of things."

Sleazy walked out of my office and in five seconds, at least, he came back with a book as thick as that Anne Frank book. For the muchacha, I'm planning to read the whole book and I'm sure that she'll be happy if she heard that I read a really thick book.

"Okay, Greasy." Sleazy said. "Here's the book and what was it that you wanted to show me and Psycho?"

"Before we officially left the muchacha's mind, I learned three songs that the muchacha liked and disliked." I said. "The first two songs that I tried to make her impressed weren't really any good and I didn't know that she didn't like those two. I forgot about the third one until about an hour ago. I listened to it and I think that it was the muchacha's favorite song to listen to…or so I read from the label on this disc."

"What's the song called?" Psycho asked.

I grabbed the disc from one of my desk drawers and I read the label.

"It's called I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing but I can't pronounce the name of the person or band who wrote this." I said.

"Let's hear it, Greasy. I like to hear new songs." Sleazy said.

We walked over to the record player and I put the disc on the spinning turntable. I flipped the switch on the player and Psycho, Sleazy, and I listened to what the muchacha had to say about the song:

"Before my dad left to do his three jobs, he left me with this song that he played whenever I would go to sleep and when celebrating one of his anniversaries with Momma. On days whenever I want to talk to him or when I want to have time to myself, I would play the song over and over until…ha, ha…Momma would tell me to play another song. This is my song along with Smooth Criminal. I can listen to those two songs all day."

Then, I Don't Want To Miss A Thing began to play with an orchestral introduction.