I checked my watch, seeing that it was close to four fifteen in the morning. Since ten, I had been trying to figure out where this Tyler Samson's address was, and it seems like my luck just wasn't working for me tonight. Who knew what the Joker was going to do to me when I've never made it to the address? With the tracker in my collar – that I've tried several times to take off but failed – the Joker knew exactly where I was located, and at that moment, I was sitting on a bench in Hyde Park, my chosen starting point since ten o'clock.

I didn't even know what the Joker wanted me to do to the guy when I found him. Kill him? Since it was the Joker, that's what I assumed, but I didn't want to do something wrong. Did the Joker realize the difficulty of this challenge he had given me? Or was it even a challenge?

I sighed and dropped my face into my hands. What was I going to do? I had the address, but I didn't know Gotham City. I had taken an hour to try to find a map, but like my first night in this city, there was no way to access one. If only Raven was out tonight too, then if I could just bump into her like my first night here-.

"Sitting around isn't going to help you find Tyler." I jumped, scared out of my wits, and I had my gun in my hand within a flash. However, he moved faster and had me disarmed with my arm behind my back in a painful hold. "Calm down, Janet, it's just me, Ron."

"Is that your real name?" I demanded with my tone sharp as a defensive mechanism.

"No, but I'll explain the situation, only if you calm down and try not to kill me first." He waited a few moments before I gave a short nod, and he untwisted my arm slowly so that he didn't hurt me.

"First, why are you out here?" I asked. "Surely the boss would know you were out here."

"If he's locked himself in the tech room all night so far, I highly doubt he's thinking of coming out soon. Who knows? He could be sleeping on the cot right now." Ron grinned, but I didn't, only hardening my expression. "C'mon, lighten up, Janet."

"That's not my name," I snapped. "It's Shadow."

"Sorry, Shadow. I thought that was just what the boss called you."

"That's the name I gave him."

"Whoa!" Ron exclaimed, lifting his hands in surrender. "Chill out, Shadow. I'm on your side. Remember, I helped you out of the nightclub."

"Only to get caught by the Joker, your boss," I snapped. I shadowed to him and snatched back my gun before returning to my spot. Ron noticed the gun disappearing, and he was looking down at his hand in surprise until he heard the click from me checking the ammo.

"Hold on, Shadow," Ron said, still holding his hands up. I aimed the gun at his chest, making eye contact. I nudged the gun in the direction of the bench, and Ron obediently sat down.

"Good, you know when you are faced with death," I commented.

"That's one of the many things I've learned working with the Joker," Ron murmured.

"You mean 'for'."

"No, I don't work for him. I work with him." I arched an eyebrow, and Ron sighed. "I've worked for him for a year. I started when he was looking for guys to crash a fundraiser the billionaire of Gotham City, Bruce Wayne was having for the District Attorney, Harvey Dent. He had promoted me to working with him the night before he was caught by the police, returning to Arkham Asylum." He saw my confused look and explained, "Arkham is an asylum for the criminally insane, as well as other criminal masterminds who need special care in order to survive. The Joker is considered criminally insane, which he doesn't argue much. He gets offended if you call him 'crazy'."

"I've called him insane before," I said, "And he threatened me with his little knife friend."

"He likes his little friends," Ron chuckled softly. "For the six months he remained in Arkham, I took care of business for him out on the streets. He trusts me more than Peter – who's been working for him much longer than I have."

"Hypothetically, if the Joker had a friend, would it be you?" I asked.

"Hypothetically, I suppose so. I don't know anything about his identity, not even how he got his scars. I mean, I've heard the different versions he's given people to scare them, but I doubt any of them are true."

This started a flame of anger inside me, but I forced myself to keep control over myself. "What stories did the Joker tell?" If the Joker had lied to me about his scar stories…

"He's told so many, but they had some connection. One was that he had a wife who gambled and fell into debt. The loan sharks came and cut her face, and just to show her that he didn't care about the scars, he used a razor on himself. Another had his parents drinking like crazy, and his mother was upset that he was coming home so late. She decided that she didn't like his behavior so she used a potato peeler on him. All of his stories were family-related. He claimed to have a brother who hated him because he was the favorite of the family, and so his brother decided to kill him, of course the Joker managed to survive with only the scars."

Ron shrugged. "The stories go on and on."

That made me angry. The Joker lied to me about how he got his scars. Not like I felt sorry for him either way, but really, he wasn't ever gaining my trust. It was obvious that he didn't trust me – the collar's proof – but it didn't matter if he trusted me later on in the game. I wasn't ever going to trust him.

"All right, change the subject," I said. "Besides you working for the Joker, who are you?"

"That's a hard question because I really don't know." Ron shifted on the bench, hanging his arms over the back of it, his eyes focused on me. I looked at him confused. "I've been to several doctors, but I have the idea that I have repressed memory from my past. Some doctor even claimed that I had what's called dissociative fugue, where I basically have lost my personal identity."

"That's awful," I said quietly, lowering my gun and hanging it by my side.

"It's frustrating sometimes, but I've learned to deal with it. First thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed, with a middle-aged couple sitting by my side. They asked my name and age, and I only knew that I was thirteen and my first name was Dean. My last name escaped me, but the couple was nice enough to attempt to bring me back to my family. We never found them."

Again, Ron shrugged. "The couple took me in, but I wanted to find someone; I knew I had to find someone. So I ran away to find that somebody."

"How do you know?" I asked.

Ron looked off in the distance for a moment and then looked at me again. "I wake myself up every morning – if the Joker doesn't – finding myself saying, 'I have to find him. I have to tell him I'm sorry.' I don't know who, and I doubt I'll find him, but I'll still look all the same."

I played with my gun, turning it between my hands. "Do you mind if I call you Dean, whenever the Joker's not around, of course?"

"You can call me whatever, just not 'Ron'." Dean grinned. "Shaun told me how he had revealed my other alias to the Joker, and he told Cory not to mention it. To everyone with the Joker, I'm Bleak."

"Must have been some inside joke."

"No, not really. Unless you call it a joke if the Joker happened to walk up to me and commented on the weather. I said that it was really bleak out, but I liked it that way. You'll see, the Joker will bring up the weather, and I'll comment on it. It's a joke that he enjoys bringing back every now and then."

I gave him a curious look. "Almost sounds like you really like him."

Dean chuckled. "He's cool."

"If you think the Joker is 'cool', you have problems."

He tapped his head with a finger. "Amnesia's my problem. There's something about being around the Joker that brings back memories for a time. I don't remember them afterward, but it's nice to have a little less frustration in my life. Who knows? He might bring up the memory of the guy I have to apologize to so I can live my life without feeling the guilt of not having contacted the mystery guy." Dean blinked, seeming to awaken from a thought, and he looked over at me. "Did the Joker give you a time limit?"

"I have until dawn." I checked my watch and groaned. "I don't have long now."

"Hey, how 'bout I bring you to the place, and then we go out for breakfast to celebrate your victory over the Joker?"

"He'll want me to return as soon as possible."

"I overheard what he said to you. You're a rebel, and I'm sure you figured out – if he hadn't told you – that I'm a rebel too. Rebels stick together." Dean stood up, straightening his jacket and brushing back his bangs from his eyes. "How 'bout it, Shadow?"

I touched the collar. "The Joker's got a tracker on me."

"That's fine. He didn't actually give you the order to return after you failed or succeeded, did he?"

"Well, no…"

"Look, if it's a problem, blame it on me," Dean suggested. "I get in trouble with the Joker all the time, and he knows I'm a troublemaker." He grinned. "Surprised that I haven't gotten myself killed yet?"

"Why does he keep you around?"

"As he keeps telling me, I'm 'entertaining' to him. I know how to get on his nerves, but I know the right time to stop. I obey and get the job done. I rarely question him while he's on the job, and I'm not pestering like Peter is, who seems to only care about the Joker and no one else." Dean shrugged. "Peter's a good guy, but he's oblivious to the fact that the Joker is only using him." He reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet, checking how much money he had. "Dawn's usually six here, so let's head to the address and 'deal' with Tyler."

The way he said 'deal' caught my attention. "Is Tyler Samson real?"

"Sure, he's real. How else would I have gotten the black eye?" He gestured to his eye, and I shrugged.

"Maybe you walked into a door," I said, lightheartedly.

Dean laughed. "Or I fell down the stairs." I narrowed my eyes at the reference to my escape attempt. "C'mon, let's go." I fell into step beside him, and we left Hyde Park behind.

A few hours later, around eight if you care, Dean and I wandered Gotham's streets, me following Dean since he seemed to know where he was going. He headed down a narrow street that was crowded with small cafés. He chose one called 'Ruby's' and he held the door open for me, like a gentleman.

There was a fair amount of patrons, people who were grabbing breakfast before heading off to work. It was a rather clean and tidy place with several sets of tables. About half of them were taken so Dean led me to a table and nicely pulled the chair out for me.

"Thank you, Dean," I said.

"Your welcome." He seated himself opposite me and grinned. "Nervous that the boss will find out?"

"I'm positive he'll find out."

"C'mon, he can't expect you to know only him. You have to know your fellows, even if their numbers will run out faster than with any other employer." He leaned back in the chair. "The longest lasting are Peter, Bob, and me. Oh, and there's Dave too, but the boss tends to forget his existence most of the time."

I grinned. "Out of the few of you who have lasted long, who do you think Mister J likes better?"

"Mr…Jay?" I waved my hand dismissively at him. "He…well, I don't know. I mean, he's admitted that he likes having me around. Bob, he's too serious. Peter's annoying, but he does whatever Jay tells him. Dave isn't around enough to gain any of Jay's attention. So I guess that leaves just me."

"You're so modest," I teased him as our waitress arrived.

"Good morning and welcome to Ruby's," the young woman said as she placed two menus in front of us. "Could I get you some drinks?"

"Coffee," I replied.

"The same," Dean answered.

"Two coffees. I'll be back." She moved away.

Dean opened his menu and started looking at the breakfast items, but I chuckled. "What?" he asked, innocently.

"I saw that, Dean."

"Saw what?"

I jerked my head in the direction our waitress had disappeared. "This is a personal question. Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"A few," he replied, casually. "I can almost say that I've dated just about every type of woman."

"I could almost say the same about men." He looked up surprised, but I hid my smile behind my menu. "The egg muffin looks good."

"You don't look like a person who would eat it though."

"I don't really like eggs. I'll eat them if I have to." I flipped a page. "Another personal question, if you can answer it."

"Shoot."

"What's your worst school subject?"

Dean blinked at me in surprise. "Why?" he asked.

"Can you answer it or not?" I challenged.

"I can. English, but why?"

I put my menu flat on the table and leaned on my arms. "In middle school, I knew this boy named Dean Ledger. I guess I didn't really know him too well, but it seemed to me that he wanted to get to know me. He'd come over during lunch and use English as an excuse to talk to me. He never seemed to pay attention to the teacher when the homework was being assigned."

Dean chuckled cheerfully. "I can picture me doing that. What did this Dean Ledger look like?"

"I remember the black hair, but nothing else seemed to pop up."

"Apparently I wasn't that important."

"You don't know it was you." I shifted in my seat, looking up as our waitress appeared with our drinks.

"Two coffees," she said, placing them down before us. "Are you ready to order?" she asked politely, preparing her pad.

"Yes, I would like pancakes and sausages," I said. "Maple syrup and butter."

She wrote it down. "All right, and you?"

"I'll have the French toast with the sausages, and eggs on the side." The waitress took our menus and promised to return again before she moved away to another table she was in charge of. "What should I call you in public?" Dean asked me. "Should it be Janet?"

"Go with Jane," I told him. "That's a new ID I'll have to set up when I can, but with Mister J, I don't think it's really that necessary since I doubt he'll let me out of his sight again after he finds out about this."

Dean grinned. "All right, Jane, mind if I ask you a question?"

"Depends on what it is."

"What if it was a personal question? I mean, I'll ask it, but you have the option not to answer it," he stalled.

"Again, I repeat, 'depends on the question'," I replied sharply.

"What do you think of Mr. Jay? I mean, what do you see in the Jo – in Mr. Jay? He is older than you."

I gave him a sharp look. "How old do you think I am?" I demanded in a dangerously low voice.

"Early twenties?"

"Close enough. What about him?"

"Mid thirties?" he suggested, casually.

"That, Dean, was insulting!" I said in a harsh whisper, very conscious of the other customers.

"I only wanted to see your reaction," he said, innocently though his smile told otherwise. "I would guess him to be thirty, actually. He has the energy of a hyperactive kid though, making him seem younger."

Our waitress returned with our meals, placing them before us as she named them to make sure we received the correct one. She asked politely if we needed anything else, and Dean answered with a 'no'. Then, she left to take care of others.

"How much younger?" I asked nonchalantly as I buttered my pancakes before pouring syrup on them.

"I'd say about…ten years," Dean replied, biting into his sausage.

"So he seems twenty, but he looks thirty," I said, shoving a bit of a pancake into my mouth.

"He hunches his shoulders, Jane. That's what makes him look in his thirties, not his face or unbelievable energy."

I shook my head. "If he ever found out about this conversation, he'd kill you."

Dean swallowed his bit of French toast and laughed softly. "It's bad enough that I've stolen you from him. Besides, this conversation will be between you and me, unless you decide to be completely loyal to him-."

"Never," I murmured, quietly so he couldn't hear. And then, I said, "It's between you and me, unless you tick me off too much."

"Deal," Dean laughed.

The meal was filling, especially after having nothing to eat for a few days. Well, I had some food, but not enough to hold me for very long. The only way I survived was by concentrating on other things. I mean, you can last weeks without food; it's just the thought of it that ends up killing you because you're conscious of your stomach growling.

We finished the meal off, chatting about some personal things, mainly focusing on things that Dean did remember. He was convinced that he was the Dean I had known back in middle school, and I could see that being it but I didn't want to encourage him, only to find out that it wasn't him.

Dean paid our waitress, and we left, me stifling a yawn as we walked out. "Tired, huh?" he commented.

"Mister J's got me on a nighttime schedule," I explained.

"He usually goes for the night too, mainly because his best bud's out at that time." Dean gave me a sidelook, and I grinned.

"The flying rodent," I said, and Dean nodded.

"But he does work during the day too. He doesn't keep to a regular schedule. It doesn't seem to bother him if he doesn't sleep for several days. If he gets going with something, he's not going to stop for sleep; he's going to finish whatever he's doing."

"I guess he recuperates in Arkham when he's caught."

"That what he's told me," Dean remarked. "C'mon, let me bring you back and then we'll face him."

"Actually, maybe I should return alone," I said, slowing down, but Dean stopped with me. "Really, Dean, I don't want to get you in trouble with him."

"Don't worry about me."

"No, I mean it, Dean." I looked around the street. "Thank you very much for the meal, Dean, but I've got to go alone."

"All right," he said, sounding a bit disappointed. "We can do again some time if the boss doesn't know about it yet, right?"

I smiled. "Are you asking me on a date, Dean?"

He rubbed the back of his head, scanning the morning crowd of people, avoiding my gaze. "Just as friends," he said, unconvincingly.

"Sure, some other time." He looked at me and grinned sheepishly. "Doesn't seem like you've dated that many women before, Dean."

"I'm a quiet guy. It's like this for every first time." He shrugged. "Well, I'll see you around, I guess." He waved and wandered across the street, running before a taxi turning the corner almost hit him.

I started walking and waited until I turned a corner before shadowing back to the apartment. Rather than face the Joker, I shadowed to his bedroom, checking to make sure he wasn't there before heading toward the bed. I sprawled on my stomach on the black and purple covered mattress, burying my face into a pillow.

I had barely drifted off into sleep when someone jumped on me, knocking the wind right out of me. I gasped for air and flinched as cold metal touched my neck while a hand grabbed my hair, pulling my head up from the pillow. I didn't resist, hearing his accelerated breathing, afraid that he might hurt me, even though all I had been doing was trying to get some sleep.

"Ah-tut-tut-tut-tah, think you can sleep when you want to?" The Joker yanked me off the bed, and I hit the floor on my back. He straddled me, his face looming into my vision, so close that I could barely see his brown eyes in the black depths. "I told you not-ah to disap-point me, Shadow."

"You told me to find Tyler Samson, and so I did. And I did it before dawn."

"And you went-ah to 'Ruby's' on your way back?"

"I was hungry," I stated, hoping he wasn't going to push it.

He didn't look convinced that I had done the job he had given me. The Joker jumped to his feet and grabbed my arm, pulling me up with him. He darted out of the room, dragging me behind him. I followed him without resistance, knowing he was stronger than I.

The Joker approached the room I usually heard the TV going, and he burst into the room with me directly behind him.

His guys jumped in surprise. All of the Joker's guys – except Dean – were in the room, four of them sprawled out on the two couches, starting uneasily at the Joker and me. Peter sat backwards on his chair, his arms hanging over the back, his eyes wide but focused, like the other guys, on his boss. The TV was on, playing a sports game.

The room was a relatively good size with two couches, the TV, and a pool table near the back that looked like whoever the previous player was had left it mid-game. Food wrappers and empty beer bottles littered the floor, and it smelled of alcohol and smoke. The Joker sniffed the air as he came in, and a disappointing look appeared on his face.

"What-ah did I tell you about smoking, boys?" he asked, his voice dark.

Shaun pointed at Dave who held a cigarette between his fingers as he inhaled from it. Cory, who was sitting next to him, looked uneasy, shifting slightly to the opposite end of the couch. Bob stood, moving toward the window since he was closest.

"Sit down, Bob," the Joker growled. Bob looked at him and then obeyed, deciding not to intimidate him. The Joker looked across the room, locking eyes with Dave. Dave stood, leaving his cigarette in his mouth, and the Joker released my arm, stalking toward the larger man, stepping over the beer bottles as he went.

"Davy, Davy, Davy," the Joker said, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Real-ly, you're not-ah a bad guy, but you have this…tendency to ignore what I say sometimes." He plucked the cigarette out of Dave's mouth and said, "You don't-ah listen to me, you deal with the con-sequences." The Joker grabbed Dave's hand and jabbed it with the lit cigarette.

Dave gasped in pain. The Joker kneed him hard, causing him to double over with twice the amount of agony. With a solid kick to the chest, Dave fell to the ground, winded. Still holding the cigarette, the Joker crouched and dug it into the back of Dave's neck, causing him to choke on his scream. The Joker cracked Dave in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious before standing up and heading over to the window.

With a heave, the Joker opened the window and flicked the cigarette out into the street. He slammed the window shut and then turned back to the room. Everyone was watching him, including me. The Joker grinned, breathing in deeply like he sensed everyone's fear, enjoying the smell of it, but his smile didn't last long.

"Bob, Shaun, get him outta here," the Joker ordered. The two men jumped up and moved over to Dave's unconscious form, and I turned my head, noticing that the Joker was motioning me toward him. I walked around behind the couches to avoid getting in Bob and Shaun's way with Dave.

"What time is it-ah?" he asked me.

I glanced at my watch. "Ninety thirty-seven."

"So we still have time." The Joker looked around and spotted the pool table. "Ever played pool before, Sha-dow?" he asked.

He seemed to have calmed down from the situation with Dave, and Bob and Shaun had barely been able to get the large man out of the room yet. The way the Joker's moods went, you just had to go along with him if you wanted to avoid getting in trouble with him. At least, that's what it seemed like to me.

"I've played it before," I said.

The Joker gave me a look. "Don't use the psy-cho-log-ic-al reply of repeating what-ah I just said." He moved around me and sauntered toward the pool table, gathering the striped and solid colored balls and setting them in the wooden triangle.

"Well, what else am I supposed to say?" I asked. I felt self-conscious with Cory and Peter still in the room, but since the Joker was obviously ignoring their presence, I had to make an effort to forget they existed, though it was hard when Peter was in the corner near the pool table. I headed over to the rack with the cue sticks, picking on out. "I don't brag about my playing talent, if that was what you wanted me to talk about," I said, putting chalk on the end.

The Joker had set up the triangle and grabbed the cue ball. He approached, tossing the white ball to me. "You can break it," he said, picking a random stick and chalking it. "Do you play well?"

I placed the cue ball on the table and lined up my cue stick, placing it between the two fingers of my left hand. I hit the cue ball and with a neat crack, it sent the numbered balls in all directions, two striped balls falling into a side and a corner pocket. As I moved around the table toward the cue ball, I heard the Joker say, "Well, that-ah answers my ques-tion."

I smirked as I lined up for another shot. I hit the cue ball, but I hit the side so that it went and hit a solid ball, knocking it into a pocket. "Gave you a headstart," I said, casually as I stepped to the side.

"Why thank-you," the Joker said, bounding toward the cue ball. I watched him as he bent over, lining up with his eyes focused on the white ball. He used his left hand to position his cue stick, like I had, sliding the stick through his fingers a few times to prepare for the actual shot. Then, he snapped his arm forward, smacking the cue ball into a solid ball. Even as the ball rolled into a pocket, the Joker was positioning himself for a second shot.

Something in the way he did that movement appeared vaguely familiar. It gave me a feeling that I should know where I had seen it before; it reminded me of something in the past, but I couldn't seem to place it. Besides playing card games, pool was another game that I had played during my spare time while working for different Mobsters. I've played almost as many pool games as I have played poker games.

"Take a picture; it lasts longer." I blinked, surprised that the Joker's eyes were on me, yet he seemed frozen in that position, ready for his second shot. I didn't realize that I had continued to stare at him, even though I had wandered off mentally.

"Sorry," I whispered, looking away. And then, I remembered, jerking my head back. "I don't want your picture. I want the one you took from me."

The Joker straightened from his position, his eyes narrowed for a second. "What picture?" he asked, confused.

"Don't pretend you don't know. The picture you pretended to make appear out of thin air and you waved it in my face, taunting me, before you locked me in that room!" My voice had become louder as I grew angrier, and I was vaguely aware of everyone staring at the two of us.

The Joker seemed to remember it a bit. "The one with the, ah, the kid with blond locks and the serious look?" he asked. "The picture of, ah, of the boy who must-ah have been your first boyfriend?"

"He was a boy who was a friend," I growled.

"Was? If he is a 'was', why do you care so much about-ah his pic-ture?"

"Because it's mine, and you have no right to take it from me." The Joker smirked at me, and I felt the urge to jump over the table and strangle him. "You know what picture I'm talking about. It doesn't matter who the picture is of, and it doesn't matter why I keep it. Just give it back."

"What-ah do you say?" the Joker asked, grinning widely at me. He was obviously enjoying this. My eyes turned cold as I glared daggers at him. "That's not-ah going to work, Shadow. C'mon, say it first-ah." He snickered and then stood waiting.

Seeing that he was doing this to anger me so that he could sit back and watch the show, I pushed aside my pride and anger, and took a deep breath to regain my control. "Please, give me back my picture that you took from me."

Disappointment appeared in the Joker's expression as his smile faded. I kept my anger down and returned his stare with all the neutrality that I could muster. The Joker finally gave up and heaved a regretful sigh.

He shifted his hold on his cue stick and lined it up with the white ball, jerking the stick through his fingers before snapping it out, sending the cue ball into the solid red ball, knocking it into a corner pocket. The Joker moved around the table, his eyes scanning the table, looking for a target before he reached the cue ball, setting up his next shot.

I watched him as he mentally calculated how to hit his chosen target, and when he started doing the slide-through-his-fingers jerking movement, I said, "The picture?"

"Lost it," the Joker replied impassively. He cracked the cue ball, sending it into one of my striped balls, which hit his solid blue ball and knocked it into a side pocket.

As he positioned himself for his fourth shot, I leaned heavily against the wall, closing my eyes and breathing deeply from my nose. It was rare that I had a certain attachment to an object, or to a person, but when I had that connection, if I lost the subject of that bond, it seemed like the world was falling in on me. There was too much remorse to release through tears; it wasn't something I could cry about. It didn't matter that I was in a room full of guys whom I had no connection with, besides work. I simply couldn't cry about my loss.

"Your turn," the Joker said, but I barely heard him. I moved toward the table, setting up for my shot, but my heart wasn't in it anymore. It was only my second turn…

That picture was the last thing I had of my dearest friend. Now, he was gone; lost to me forever…

Lordlink13: Harsh, isn't it? Once I lost my MP3 player to the ocean - I had it in my pocket and the waves knocked me over so I wasn't suspecting it - and the salt killed the MP3. Despite how the earphones dried and I am still currently using them (even though this incident was over a year ago now), I thought the world was crashing in on me because I had lost my MP3. I own a few various items that I would have a major panic attack over if I lost them or broke them, namely my MP3, my wristwatch, and my flashdrives that hold all my stories - since I started in third grade (almost ten years ago). I'm not attached to a cell phone, cause I hate talking on the phone in general so...back to my original thought, Shadow's just lost something precious, acting as though the world's come to a complete stop, just I would if I lost my current flashdrive that holds all of this story and many others. Imagine losing your cell phone forever and being unable to replace it. It's tears you apart.

To end on a happier note, I'm glad that people are still reading this story and reviewing. Keep up the reviews; please make sure you leave one before you go. I really enjoy reading them, and they give me something to talk about in my author notes at the end of each chapter. Thank you, dear readers, you're all amazing!