Disclaimer: I do not own the Jurassic Park franchise or any of it's characters; I only own the characters and plots of my own mind.

Foreword: As a note, Gwyn would probably be around 15 in 1997.

11. The San Diego Incident––1997

The tip of Gwyn Grant's pencil skritched against the lined paper of a college ruled notebook, the graphite lines precise and forming a distinct image. The gargantuan form of a brachiosaurus had been shrunk down to fit in the margin of the paper. She was working on little details like the creases of its skin, the shade difference between its back and stomach, and the kindness in its glassy eyes. It was the eyes she paid special attention to. In those eyes, there was nothing but innocence and gentleness. There was no malice. No anger. No blood thirsty intent to chomp her arm off. Brachiosauruses had been her favorite dinosaur prior to the events of Jurassic Park, but now they were even more so after the fact. Getting up close and personal with the gentle giant was, perhaps, one of the only fond memories she had of that horrendous park. Such was why Gwyn wanted the eyes to be just right.

"How's that homework coming along, kiddo?" Alan asked, ruffling Gwyn's hair. He had stepped in from the kitchen, drying his hands with a dish towel. That towel was flicked over his shoulder as he peered over the top of her head at the work she'd been doing. She grunted and sank her cheek onto her fist, glowering at the papers in front of her.

"It's the devil's work," she muttered. Behind her, her father chuckled and dropped his hands to her shoulders, which he squeezed lovingly.

"And what exactly would the devil's work be?" Gwyn dropped her pencil, snatched up the paper, and lifted it for Alan to see. He took it from her and laughed a second time as his eyes scanned the paper. "Ah. Math."

"Yeah, math…"

"Well, I can tell you that drawing isn't helping you move this along," he drawled, eyeing the doodles on both her scrap paper and the handout itself.

Gwyn flopped back in her seat, darkening a couple of the creases on the brachiosaurus' neck. "Well, it's a lot more fun than multiplying fractions. Why do I need to know how to multiply fractions, anyway? It's not like I'm gonna have to multiply negative-two-fifths of a t-rex skeleton with eight-fifths of a stegosaurus skeleton…"

Alan chuckled and set her paperback down on the table.

"It's just what school has you do, unfortunately; just think of it this way––you finish this, and then you can spend this weekend drawing at the museum with me." Alan tapped the page of her notebook, which was littered with scratched out equations and little sketches. "That's a good brachiosaurus, by the way."

Gwyn smiled at the compliment, confidence swelling. Her drawing skills were getting better, she had to admit; more and more of her sketches were looking more realistic, and less childlike. Which was a good thing, seeing as she wasn't really a kid anymore. Alan swept her now empty water glass from the table and went back into the kitchen to deposit it in the sink. There was a faint squeal as one of the cabinets opened, and the clinking of glass as he sorted through its contents. Gwyn twisted around in her seat suddenly, propping an arm up on the back of it.

"Ellie called earlier, before you got home. She says 'hi,'" Gwyn mentioned. She watched Alan freeze, his hand halfway to the faucet. Then, as he cleared his throat, he turned the tap on and filled up a glass.

He cleared his throat. "Is she, uh… she mention how she was?"

"She said that she's doing well, and that we should come over for dinner some time soon," Gwyn relayed. There was a quiet hopefulness in her tone upon mentioning the invitation. She wanted to see Ellie again; it was strange not to see her regularly anymore.

About a year prior, Ellie and Alan separated. It had been quiet and undramatic. Gwyn suspected that if there had been any drama to it, it was purposefully out of her notice. Ellie was like a mother to her, and Gwyn suspected the last thing that she and Alan didn't want their break-up to affect her. It did, however, as it was like to. There was a period of time where she didn't see Ellie at all, as both she and Alan sorted through the aftermath of the separation. But Gwyn would talk to her over the phone, and she also eventually started to visit Ellie after school or on weekends. Alan and Ellie were amiable, they still spoke and worked together, but they had needed some time to redefine their relationship; to figure out how to go from romance to pure friendship. It was like having divorced parents that had never been married in the first place.

Alan hummed as he considered the invitation. He sipped water from his glass, eyes distant as they stared through the window over the sink. Gwyn pursed her lips and started to tap her her bare toes against the floor. "Dad?" she asked almost sheepishly. His brows jumped upwards in silent acknowledgement, prompting her to continue. "You and Ellie didn't break up because of… me, did you?"

There was a sputtering sound as Alan coughed into his water glass, the liquid bubbling suddenly. He was quick to set the glass aside, swiping a hand over his mouth to mop it clean. He turned to face her through the kitchen door, expression blatantly shocked. Father and daughter simply stared at each other for a long moment, the Grant resolve not letting either of them speak up first. Slowly, Alan exited the kitchen, shaking his head at Gwyn's quiet, worried question.

"No. No, sweetheart, you weren't. Why on earth would you think that?" Alan sat himself down beside his daughter, forehead creased in heavy confusion. Gwyn shrugged and started to scribble squiggly lines on the bottom of her math homework.

"I dunno. I guess… a lot of people get married and then have kids. So…" She shrugged again, not able to bring herself to meet her father's eyes. Because Alan had never given her a straight answer about the break up, she'd always quietly figured she had something to do with it. There was a steeling exhale from where Alan sat, and from her periphery, Gwyn saw one of his hands tighten into a fist.

"The fact that I had a daughter had nothing to do with why Ellie and I separated. That never mattered to her, and you know that; she loves you like you're her own daughter. She lets you call her 'mom,' has given you permission to tell people that she is your mother. Ellie would I anything for you, just as I would. You're as much her Dirt Fairy as you are mine." Alan's hand found her knee, which he pat and then squeezed lovingly. "Hey. Look at me," he implored gently. Gwyn slowly turned her attention to him, eyes still gently wary. He leaned forward to catch her gave and fixed her with a serious look. "We both love you very much. Don't you ever blame yourself, okay?" When she didn't respond, he arched his eyebrows. "Okay?"

Gwyn nodded and then, after a beat, she gathered up the courage to ask a question. "Why, then?"

Alan cleared his throat and glanced away. The situation was inescapable now. "Well…" He cleared his throat again and shifted around in his seat. "Ellie and I… we separated because she wanted to get married, settle down… and… I didn't."

"But you love her."

Love. Not loved––love.

"Yeah… but I've never really been the marrying type." He seemed to force a smile there. "Too much work to do. And if she wants to get married and have that sort of life… then I'm not gonna stop her from doing that. Besides. You're my girl––you'll always be my girl." Alan braced a hand on the back of her head and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. She smiled softly at the sentiment, and when Alan sat back in his chair, the smile was returned.

That was one good thing that had happened as a result of Jurassic Park––he had started to smile more. Alan seemed to take into account just how special being a father was, and had started to feel a little more rooted in the role. He had found his traction and was enjoying it. He had also started to say 'I love you' to Gwyn a little more. Something in Alan had softened a bit, though he hadn't lost the typical Grant bluntness, the wry sense of humor, or his infamous deadpan; but Gwyn wouldn't have it any other way. They had gotten closer as a family, and that was the best thing that had happened as a result of their nightmare vacation.

"If you finish this up we can watch the Temple of Doom; I rented it from the video store," Alan prompted while he rose from his seat.

Gwyn rolled her eyes at the clear bribe, but smirked a smirk that was growing remarkably similar to her father's. Along with Jaws, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was a favorite childhood movie of hers. One that she had probably been far too young to watch when she'd first seen it, but one that she loved nonetheless. But she turned back to the sheet of math problems, sighed, and started to work on multiplying the dastardly fractions. But with the promise of watching a whip-wielding Harrison Ford kick some serious ass looming over her head, the work seemed a little more bearable.

OOOO

"I've got you, sweetheart, I've got you," Alan muttered, cradling Gwyn closer to his chest. There was a faint furrow between her brows, one of discomfort and confusion. Alan swept a shaking, bloody hand over her pale, blood smattered face, smoothing her hair back. One of her hands had tightly clenched the front of her shirt, bloody fingers twisting at the blue fabric.

"She–she alright? That's… that's a lot of blood," Ian asked from the back seat. There was concern in his voice, the same genuine concern that he'd had when questioning the kids' safety earlier that day. Alan didn't answer, the only words coming from his mouth ones of a gentle comfort for the injured girl in his arms.

"One of the dinosaurs got her…" Ellie answered. "Alan, how is she doing?"

"Gwyn, sweetheart, can you open your eyes?" Alan asked. Gwyn did nothing to respond and it was then that Alan noticed, with mounting horror, that all tension in her face had disappeared. The furrow between her brows was gone and her lips were gently parted. The hand that had gripped at his shirt had gone slack, her fingers limply hooked around one of his buttons. "Gwyn?" Panic sharply cut through Alan's chest and his hand flew to grab the hand limply splayed against his chest. "She's not responding. Ellie, she's not responding."

"What do you mean she's not responding, Alan!?" Ellie exclaimed, voice breaking in a panic.

"I mean that she's not responding!" If Ellie's voice had broken, his had shattered. It was thick with tears and pitched high with wear––it didn't sound like his voice.

"John, you've gotta drive faster," Ian commanded.

"Is Gwyn gonna be okay?" asked Lex, her voice small and scared.

"She has to be okay!" chimed in Tim.

"I'm going as fast as I can on this road!" Hammond assured as he navigated the jeep along the winding road.

"Go faster!" Alan nearly shouted.

In his arms, Gwyn's skin had gone deathly pale in contrast to the vivid spattering and smearing of her own blood. It was a horrific image, one that would haunt Alan till the day that he died. He tightened his hold around Gwyn and clasped her head to his shoulder. Tears started to roll down his cheeks, a sob wracking his body. It was very rare that Alan Grant should cry. But crying was all that he could do in that moment; all he could do was cry and reassure Gwyn that he loved her, he loved her, he loved her. Because she deserved to know how much her father loved her… especially if she didn't make it out alive.

Alan awoke from his nightmare to the sound of a terrified scream. Nearly immediately, he sat bolt upright in bed, tossed and kicked the blankets aside, and tore towards the door to his bedroom. It was thrown open violently, the handle cracking into the wall with a sharp thud, but Alan was through it before it even made a sound. His bare feet scraped across the hall carpet so fast he was sure he'd gotten rug burn––but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he needed to comfort his daughter, who was screaming and crying at two o'clock in the morning. Any tiredness that he may have felt waking up at two any other morning was absent, his pulse thrumming in his ears, pulsing in his fingertips, and pounding in his chest.

Since returning from Isla Nublar, it was not uncommon for either of the Grants to be plagued by nightmares. Alan would sometimes wake in a cold sweat, heart pounding as his mind broke free from images of battered cars and bloody teeth. The nightmares were often vivid and painted what had been his worst case scenario––that Gwyn didn't make it out alive. Sometimes they just replayed his worst memories of that day. These were images that disturbed him greatly and only discussed with Ellie. Gwyn knew that he suffered from nightmares, too. Alan had assured her that she wasn't the only one that was haunted by the island, and that having the nightmares didn't make her weak. But she knew nothing of the horrifying images that plagued Alan's subconscious in the realm of sleep, and he prayed to god that she never would.

Gwyn's nightmares, on the other hand, tended more towards the violent side of things. It wasn't long after returning from Isla Nublar that she'd had her first night terror. They disturbed her sleep occasionally, but with less frequency as time passed. But when they struck, they were never pretty. She would scream and thrash and cry, cheeks red, chest heaving, and hair wild. She'd punched Alan square in the jaw once and kicked him in the chest another time. Sometimes she woke up easily and sobbed in relief that it had just been a dream. Other nights, her eyes would open and it would take her a minute to realize she was back home in Montana, safe in her bed. It was always a toss-up to which kind of night it would be whenever the night terrors struck. Without fail, the nightmares exhausted her, and more often than not she would not go to school the next day due to fatigue. It was one of the worst souvenirs that Jurassic Park had sent her home with.

When Alan pushed Gwyn's door open, it was hard to miss her thrashing under her blankets, kicking and pulling at the comforter like it was attacking her. Alan swept in, sat himself on the edge of the mattress, and gently shook her shoulder.

"Gwyn, sweetheart, it's me," Alan said, voice tired but firm. One of her hands grabbed at his shirt, fisting it tightly; then, as he shook her shoulder a second time, Gwyn's eyes shot open. She stared up at him, frightened, eyes caught in a terrified daze. Alan shifted his hand to her forehead, brushing hair out of her face with a comforting touch. "You're safe, sweetheart. You're home."

With exhaustion and frustration crinkling her features, Gwyn sat up and flung herself into her father's arms. She sniffled into his chest, crying quietly. Alan gently shushed her, arms curled around her trembling form. Tears started to soak through his shirt, turning the heather grey fabric charcoal colored instead. He placed a hand on the back of her head and let the other run a trail up and down her back. She said nothing. He said nothing––he simply rocked her from side-to-side, as he always did. They had some vague sort of routine for nights like that, and it was a routine that they fell into easily every time they had to.

Alan's eyes fell shut as he pressed a kiss to her temple. Being a father had always been difficult for him, but there was no denying how much love he felt for his daughter. There was no denying how heart-wrenching it was to watch Gwyn suffer, to know that there was no easy or quick fix to what she was going through. If he could take her pain away, he would. If he could take her nightmares away, he would. If he could go back in time and take her place in that goddamn kitchen, he would. Because the image of Gwyn, nearly catatonic, smeared in her own blood haunted him. The memory of watching her slip from consciousness in his arms as they trundled towards their escaped choked him up every time he thought of it. He had been so sure, so sure that Gwyn had been dying in his arms. It was the single most terrifying moment of his entire life, and he counted himself lucky that she had survived. He was lucky to be able to hold her in his arms. To see her agonize over math homework. To watch her grow.

"I've got you, sweetheart… I've got you… I always will."

OOOO

Gwyn was thankful that it was the weekend when she awoke the next day––at noon. She had tiredly declined the idea of going to the museum that evening, deciding that it would probably just be best to have a quiet night in. The nightmare had drained her significantly and she had been in a daze for the first bit of the afternoon. Sometimes it was harder for her to shake off the fear and paranoia the nightmares brought. Or rather the nightmare brought. It was recurring and awful and it was wracked with images of snarling velociraptors, swaying jungle foliage, and the haunting sound of hunting calls. It was so vivid it felt like a memory. But it wasn't a memory because the only time Gwyn had been hunted by velociraptors, she had been in a kitchen. But the images still haunted the forefront of her mind every time she woke up from the nightmare. Some nights she screamed and cried because she wanted the damn dream to go away. Other nights, she would silently curl up on her side and stare at the wall, trying not to fall asleep.

The events of Jurassic Park had matured Gwyn quickly. One didn't walk away from believing that they were about to die without feeling like they'd lost some innocence. There had been two times on that fateful day that she had tried to force her eleven year-old self to come to terms that she might be about to die. She had already been mature for her age, but her experiences on the island had hardened her in a way that she wouldn't have had they never visited. In the time that had passed since she'd recovered, Gwyn had become more cautious, more paranoid. Loud, screeching sounds––like the breaks of an old car or bus––sent her heart racing. But Gwyn had also become little more in-awe of the world around her. She marveled at the sunsets for a little longer, taking in their vibrant colors while trying to name every shade that striped the sky.

There was sharp shattering noise from the kitchen, which started Gwyn out of her haze of thoughts, a hand instinctively flying to sit in the middle of her chest.

"Sorry, sorry! Dropped a glass," Alan called. There was a gentle tinkling noise as he swore under his breath, likely toeing the shattered glass into a pile.

"It's okay," Gwyn called back. Her fingers ran a gentle path over the smooth ribbon of pink flesh that cut diagonally across her chest.

It had become a habit to gently run her fingers over her scar when she was nervous or scared; it had started out as her trying to hide the jagged, irregular mark from view. The scar was easily visible whenever she wore tank tops, which were a stable in her wardrobe, and left it perfectly on display to those around her. People tended to gawp at the severity of the scar, eyes darting between the bright pink strip of silky flesh and her young face. What angered her more than the prying eyes were the looks that they would sometimes shoot Alan. Looks that quietly accused him of being a bad father, of one who would let his child get so severely injured. Because if they only knew what had happened and how he had taken care of her, they wouldn't be so judgemental. Gwyn had been growing into more of her father's mannerisms, which meant that she shot a lot of people some exquisite deadpan looks; and most of those people were the ones who glared at Alan with silent accusation.

The phone started to ring and Gwyn heard Alan sigh heavily.

"First the glass… now the phone…" he grumbled. Gwyn smirked a little and leaned over the back of the couch to watch Alan scoop up the small kitchen rug––in which laid a pile of shattered glass––and toss it into the garbage. She snorted, a little too loudly, and earned a warning look from over his shoulder. Gwyn quickly returned to her normal seated position and snickered a little to herself. The ringing of the phone cut off suddenly. "Hello? Oh. Hello, Ellie." Gwyn perked up again at the mention of Ellie's name. "Slow down, slow down! What do you mean by 'it's happened again'? … Closer to home? What does that––no, I don't have the news on… okay, I'll put it on and call you back."

Alan strode into the living room with a troubled look, blatantly ignoring the fact that Gwyn was half leaned over the arm of the couch, having been listening in on his conversation. He snagged the remote off the coffee table and flicked through the channel before he settled on a news station.

" … there are reports coming in this evening that there is a tyrannosaurus-rex on the loose in San Diego," the news anchor was saying. He had a peculiar look upon his face, clearly stunned that he was having to report on such news. One of his hands rose to fiddle with the knot of his tie, loosening it just a little. "The… dinosaur… arrived on the mainland to be the featured exhibit at the 'Jurassic Park: San Diego,' which was due to be announced at the end of the month. It has been reported that the creature got loose after a containment anomaly on the freighter it was being transported in."

Gwyn gaped at the screen with horror clearly written on her face. Her hand flapped out to the side, desperately searching for Alan. Eventually it found purchase on his forearm, where the tips of her fingers bit into his skin. There was a dinosaur on the mainland. A vast mainland filled with the perfect food source for the carnivore. It was a nightmare come true.

"It… it can't get to us, can it?" Gwyn managed to get out, eyes glued to the screen as it cut to shaky news footage from the chaos ridden streets of San Diego.

"It will probably stick to an immediate food source, so… it should stay… in the San Diego area…" Alan muttered.

"Is it the same one?"

"I… don't know."

Gwyn shifted closer to him and curled her arms around his middle, clinging to him tightly. Alan wrapped an arm over her shoulders and held her flush to his side, the two sitting back to watch the news unfold. All information appeared to be trickling in slowly. As the disastrous event was still happening, the news became available once it actually happened. This led to a lot of info getting reiterated, along with the repeated warning that anyone in the San Diego area needed to either take shelter or evacuate.

"It has been reported that a survivor of the Isla Nublar incident has been seen chasing after the creature. One Dr. Ian Malcolm––"

"Ian is there!?" Gwyn exclaimed, almost rocketting out of her father's arms. Beside her, Alan sighed and shook her head.

"Of course he is," he muttered.

The minute that Alan and Ian had met, it was clear that Alan was not going to get along with him. Their personalities just glanced off of each other a little too much for him to have an overwhelmingly positive view of the man. Though he had offered words of comfort and advice, one father to another, while Gwyn was in the hospital, so that had won him some points. Despite the fact that Alan only called Ian an acquaintance––while Ian adored stating that he and Alan were friends––they did keep in touch. It wasn't regular contact, but he did ring to check in every now and again, and Gwyn always got a kick out of getting to talk with him. So to hear that their family friend was in the middle of the mess in San Diego was more than a little harrowing.

Gwyn and Alan sat on the couch for hours as the news rolled in. It was eventually reported that the tyrannosaurus rex had come from Isla Sorna, InGen's 'Site B' for Jurassic Park, where a number of other dinosaurs had also been re-created. They reached out for comment from both InGen and John Hammond, and only the latter agreed to do so. It was a tense hour and a half before an official report came in announcing that the tyrannosaurus rex had been captured and was being shipped back to Isla Sorna. But in the wake of the dinosaur's rampage, a number of structures had either been damaged or destroyed, and there was a small number of reported deaths, with a new suspected victim popping up every now and again. When the news report cut to eye-witness reports accompanied by footage of the incident, Alan switched the television off.

"But we don't know if Ian––"

"You don't need to see any of that," Alan grumbled, voice low. Gwyn pushed away from her father with an incredulous look, her brows heavily furrowed and her mouth falling open.

"But they haven't said anything about Ian! We don't know i-if he's alive or not! With these kinds of reports, don't they, like, let us know if someone they reported on earlier is alive? He's our friend, we need to know!" Gwyn contested. She grabbed for the remote, lunging over Alan's lap with a hand outstretched. He whipped the remote away and held it over his head.

Alan rose to his feet and pointed down at her sternly. "And what good will seeing footage of a tyrannosaurus rex tromping through a city do you? Huh? What good is it gonna do you to hear eye-witness accounts of people who saw others get devoured by a dinosaur? It's gonna fuel the nightmares and cause them to flare up more than they have been, that's what it's gonna do. It's gonna open up a whole new world of fear. We've already had to change all the lever handles in the house, I don't want you to have to fear going into town because of a goddamn news report!" Alan exclaimed, tossing the remote onto the coffee table.

If any of the people who eyed Alan critically as a father had heard what he had just said, they would not have been pleased. But Gwyn reacted the way any child who had been scolded did; she slumped back against the couch cushions and averted her eyes. She looked over at the closet in the corner of the room, eyes intently focused on the handle. Four years prior, it had been a sleek wrought iron lever handle. All closet doors in the house had the same handles, but upon returning from Isla Nublar, Alan had replaced them all with twist knobs. This was because the lever handles had started to make Gwyn anxious––she was constantly expecting them to twitch and rattle as something tried to get through. With a sigh, Gwyn looked up at Alan, who was pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand while the other remained braced against his hip.

"Sorry…" she muttered, hand rising to massage her scar. "You're right, I just… I wanna know if Ian's okay."

Alan sighed and sat back down, elbows braced atop his knees. He dropped his head into his hands, fingers rubbing at his brow bone tiredly. They then skimmed upwards to both smooth back and ruffle his hair, leaving the sandy colored strands a little rumpled, but they were no longer falling against his forehead. "I'm sure he's fine… the bastard's always fine. We'll watch the news in the morning, get the whole story. I'm sure someone will call for us to comment anyway…" he grumbled.

With a quiet, small smile, Gwy shifted onto her knees and shuffled closer to her father, reaching out to wind her arms around his neck in an awkwardly positioned hug. She felt Alan chuckle fondly. One of his hands rose to pat her forearm before it rested there comfortably. Gwyn let her head tilt to rest against his contentedly.

"I love you, dad," she murmured, eyes slipping shut. Alan's fingers squeezed her arm a little, before patting the spot again.

"Love you too, sweetheart."

Afterword: There wasn't much I could do with the actual movie events of Lost World, so I did what I could. But this chapter (and the next two) are kinda just little updates on how Gwyn grew up after the park incident. Next one will be fun, though, because she's got to endure Alan and Billy heading off to Isla Sorna.

Review Reply!

Evaline101: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter!

NicoleR85: I hope that you enjoyed this little glimpse into Gwyn's life after the fact. Thanks again!

BaDWolF89: Thank you! I'm glad that you enjoyed the previous chapter and hope that you enjoyed the new one just as much!
PhAnToM 1212: I was looking forward to writing the kitchen scene the moment I decided to start writing the prequel. I'm glad that it lived up to the expectation! I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter; thanks again!

supboyyyyy93: Yeah, the making of that scar was a nasty bit of business. It's what gives her such a negative outlook on velociraptors because after that, who wouldn't feel that way? I give the kids props too because I would have been dead in the first five minutes of the t-rex getting loose. I'm enjoying getting to write these bonus chapters, 'cause it gives me even more insight on what Gwyn was like as she grew up, and how different she is at eleven than at fifteen or nineteen. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

nette0602: I included a bit of Alan's pov on the last chapter in his nightmare, because I think that is what will haunt him for the rest of his life. And I did ponder writing the last sequence of the movie from Alan's point of view, but it ended up flowing a bit better just keeping it with Gwyn. Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

Gyromice89: Alan definitely retired his in-depth velociraptor story after the incident. I don't think he'd ever be able to tell it again without thinking of Gwyn bleeding out in his arms. I'm hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

JularaVon: I had to include the jello moment, it's too iconic to leave out; that and it's just a wonderful transition moment from calm and relieved to utter terror. I'm glad to hear that the story flowed well! I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

monkeybaby: Thanks again! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

katmar1994: I am doing all the movies (technically). Obviously, Gwyn was not directly involved with Lost World, but she obviously was around when it hit the news, so I included that. The next chapter will take place around and during the events of JP III, and then the chapter after that will be a little bonus prequel chap to my Jurassic World story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!

ObsessedFangirl96: Thank you! We've got Billy coming up next chapter, and boy to I have a couple of surprises, too. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!

And thank you to those that added this to their follows/favorites; it means a lot!

That's that for now! Up next we get to JP III and we'll finally get to meet Billy! I'm very excited to write the next chapter. Thanks again for reading!

~Mary