Me: OH! What is UP people? I'm back, and I've decided this is going to be a full-blown fanfic. Remember that blue BMW back in chapter 2? Well, I've decided that I want to explain more about it, so the rest of my story is going to revolve around it, and why the heck it's following Sam. Sorry for you people who just wanted a little three-shot, but sometimes, I really can't help myself. :)

Chapter 4

(Normal POV)

When Flint was knocked out, Sam immediately got angry.

"What was that for?! Why'd ya knock him out?! He was doing great!" she yelled at them. Gerome put a hand on her shoulder. She slapped it away.

"Miss...?"

"Sam," she growled viciously. Gerome nodded.

"Miss Sam, we had to knock out Mr. Lockwood because we need to run some painful tests on him before we can get him into the ER."

Sam shook her head stubbornly. "Why can't you just put him in the ER right away?! You can see with your own eyes that he's hurt! For God's sake, he broke his LEG! And he's gushing blood like a waterfall!" She thought the whole thing was prodigious. Doctors nowadays, she thought furiously to herself. She just couldn't assimilate why the heck they needed to run tests on Flint to see if he was really hurt.

"Well, ma'am, if we could just explain-"

"Just shut up. If Flint doesn't wake up, I'll sue you for everything you're worth!" She cuddled Steve closer and grumbled incoherently. She would try to stay tractable, for Flint. As she settled down while the pilot took off, her mind wondered to everything that had happened to her recently. On the way here, the blue BMW that had followed her to work had almost crashed into her car, and she was just having a bad day after it. Flint could be dying, Steve could be dying, she had spilled coffee on her carpet, and Manny was in the hospital for pneumonia. She sighed inwardly. Curse her bad luck. Curse it.

8-0-8-0-8-0-8-0-8-0-8-0-8-0-8-0

Two hours later, she was sitting in the waiting room of a Manhattan hospital (she was too exhausted to bother trying to find out the name), waiting to hear word of Flint and Steve. Steve was in the veterinarian's office, and both of them were in critical condition. Steve had less of a chance of surviving than Flint did, because the men had beaten him harder than they'd thought.

Her life was horrible.

She sat somberly, holding a Styrofoam cup full of relinquished French Vanilla coffee. An overly-cheery blonde nurse had offered her a sandwich, but she declined with a wraithlike shake of the head. She didn't have an appetite for anything.

And if her life couldn't get any better (NOT), Sandra walked through the door with an evil smirk on her face. Sam glanced down at her cold cup of coffee then glanced at Sandra's shirt. Hmm. Pink and brown went together, didn't they? Sandra flipped her strawberry-blond hair and flounced up to Sam.

"What's up, loser? I heard that your little boyfriend was in the hospital," she sneered, pouring lemon juice into Sam's wounds. Sam sighed.

"Jeez Sandra, why do you keep tabs on me like that? I'm starting to get the wrong feeling," she said, sounding antagonistic without even trying. Sandra huffed.

"Gosh Sammy, I just thought it would be nice to talk about your almost-dead boyfriend!" she said with mock sadness, grinding salt in with the lemon juice. Might as well go ahead and add hot sauce, Sam thought wearily, ya know, to finish the dish. Sam's Life Wounds: Spicy and burning!

"Just shut up Sandra, and, I don't know, go find a hobo to date in the alley," Sam growled icily and stood up. Her coffee seemed to have a sign over it saying: Dump me on her shirt! Sandra pouted and chucked a piece of paper at Sam, who caught it with ease. As she read it, her eyes widened and her jaw cracked open with a loud pop! and Sandra smiled evilly.

Werty's Funeral Homes

First month is free along with catering,

bring lawyer and certificate of death.

759-2094 (212)

Sam dumped her entire cup of coffee on Sandra's head, and Sandra started screaming. People stared at them while Sam crumpled the piece of paper into a tiny ball and shoved it into Sandra's mouth.

"What the hell did I ever do to you? God, you've been wearing me down since high school! Why can't you get a life and leave me alone?!" Sam shouted and Sandra opened her mouth to say something, but she looked as if she had thought if something. Suddenly, she started bawling like a little three-year old and ran out the door. People glared and shook their heads sadly at Sam while they walked out to comfort Sandra. Sam slumped back down in her chair and put her hands on her face.

Her life was horrible, as she had said before.

Me: Ok, I know, really short chappy. But I just wanted to get out this before zombies come to my house and kill me in the middle of the night (I'm going to see Zombieland). Sorry if you readers get insanely mad at me, but if you do decide to kill me, bury me next to my great-great-grandpa at Arlington Cemetery (he was a soldier). Peace out home dawgs!!