So hopefully I didn't take too long with this chapter. Not much to say, thanks to Antikreativ and AmaryllisBloom for your feedback.

At the end of the day
Some you win, some you don't
So I'm glad that I'm here
With some friends that I know
Always there with a smile
Saying you're not alone
Singing la la la la
Que sera

Yesterday is history
You gotta get through it
Tomorrow is a mystery
So let's just do it

And even when the rain falls
You and I will stand tall
No matter what you go through
I'll never leave you

So you gotta be strong
Live by the words of the song
Together is where we belong
Never stop dreaming
Keep holding on.

'Que Sera'- Justice Crew.

I ended up sending the email.

It contained everything I had been told or found out about what happened at 14 Notre-Dame Court, and Quasi's plea for me not to tell anyone for fear it would get worse. I then begged her not to report it yet and asked for her help to think up an alternative.

Now I had an anxious wait. Would she freak out and call the police as soon as she read the first line? Or would she watch and wait like me? Had I done the right thing in telling a stranger? Would I regret it?

And the anxiety continued into week two when I found out Quasi was away again. By now I was sure that he only stayed home to nurse his wounds. Bruises were suspicious. If that was the case, his monster of a father had struck again.

I hated that man.

On Tuesday afternoon, after another no-show day and a lonely wait after school, I asked dad to drive me over. I had the usual homework delivery, but I just wanted to see what the damage was this time.

"Don't freak out when you see me go around the side; the door is jammed so I usually knock on the window," I told him as I got out. He nodded, and I headed over to the house.

I picked my way over the lumpy ground and ducked around spider webs, making my way to the window and peering in. I saw him right away, sitting slumped on the bed and gloomily strumming his guitar with no particular tune.

"Quasi?" I whispered, tapping on the cracked-open window. He turned from his place on the bed and my heart skipped a beat. No, not because of any sudden beauty, but because of the large purple bruise that surrounded his good eye.

"Hello, Mich," he greeted me, brightening up a little at the sound of my voice. Usually that would make me smile, but not this time.

I pursed my lips and pointed to his eye, trying not to grit my teeth. "That looks nasty."

"What, th-this?" He raised a hand to his face and covered his eye uneasily. "It's not as p-painful as it looks."

I raised an eyebrow unbelievingly. "Really?"

"OK, it is pretty painful," he admitted, slumping down again.

"I'm so gonna kill that man."

He sighed. "Mich..."

"OK, fine, whatever. Homework for you." I pushed it through the window where it landed on the bed and turned to go.

"Mich, d-don't be upset!" His voice was soft and pleading, begging me to come back. Poor thing, he's so lonely...

I sighed and turned around. "I'm sorry. I just don't like seeing you like this. It's not fair. I want to do something about it. I want-"

Footsteps outside the door and a voice calling his name. I gasped and ducked as the door opened and Frollo walked in. I hope he didn't see me, god I hope he didn't see me...

"Get dressed," I heard him growl. He was sober, thank god, so hopefully there would be no violence. Yet. "Wear something black. We're going out again." A pause, and then, "You better get her this time."

Quasi stammered out a response, and the door closed. I popped up, eyes wide, swiftly making the connections. "Holy cow."

He avoided my eyes. "I-I'm sorry. Y-you should go."

My jaw dropped. "But he's gonna... But you're gonna... But why?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Its c-complicated."

"You're not really going to do this, are you?'?

"I have to."

Of course he did. That asshat of a father would beat him black and blue if he didn't.

"I d-don't want to," he continued, reaching down and pulling out a black hoodie from under the bed, "But I have to. S-so anything you c-can do, please do."

What the hell could I do? "But I don't understand. Why is he doing this?"

He shrugged again, frustrated. "She's Asian."

"And he's yellow-eye." My eyes widened again. "He's really so prejudiced that he'd go that far?"

Silence as he pulled the hoodie over his head and went searching for something, probably black pants or a beanie. He wouldn't want to be recognized again.

"But what is he going to do with her?" Even as I asked the question I was running over the possible answers in my mind. And there weren't a lot. Let's face it, there are only so many things you can do to someone you kidnap, and none of them are very nice. I definitely had to do something.

Just then I remembered that dad was waiting for me in the car. How long had I spent at the window? I turned away. "I have to go, dad's waiting for me."

"Mich." I looked back to see him staring at me with pleading eyes. "Please, if you c-can do anything... I don't want to do this."

"I really wish I could, but..." I shook my head. I had to be positive. "I can try." With that I left, sprinting back to the car before dad could beep the horn.

"Sorry, I got caught up talking," I told dad as he put the car in gear. He nodded but said nothing, instead focusing on getting us out of Boronia Heights and onto the main road. I think he was too distracted by problems at work to worry too much about it anyway. I was grateful for his silence, for it meant that I could try to think of a plan.

My first idea was simple: wait till we got home and call the police. But then there was Frollo to think about. To his knowledge, Quasi was the only one who knew what they were going to do. So if the police went there because of a tip-off, wouldn't the logical conclusion be that Quasi was the one doing the tipping off? And that would just result in more pain for Quasi and more guilt for me. So no tip-offs.

What, then? I couldn't tell dad, he would just call the police. Maybe I could tell Esme herself? Warn her to stay in a group or out of the car park? That could possibly work- if she listened. Hopefully her previous scare would lend her some common sense to look past her hatred of me and listen for once. It was a stretch, but it was the only thing I could think of.

"Hey dad, could we stop by the Tavern for bit before we go home?" I asked hesitantly. "I... um... have to give a message to someone. Who works there. A friend. It's for school." I had to stop myself from giving a detailed description of the situation and instead hoped that I sounded convincing enough.

Dad sighed but nodded, looking tired. "Be quick."

"I will." I tried not to dance in my seat as we took the exit towards the Tavern and pulled into the carpark. He stopped in front of the door and I leaped out. "Back in a minute."

It was awfully crowded for a Tuesday night. I weaved my way through the many people looking for tables and getting drinks, wondering if she would even be out here. I couldn't see anyone who looked remotely like her. Maybe she wouldn't even come out here. Shows weren't put on in the public eating area. There were function rooms for that. And she was probably in a back room getting ready. I didn't have time for this, but I couldn't leave without at least trying to help.

I was standing on my toes, trying to see above everyone's heads and starting to panic, when the guy ran into me. I lost balance and tumbled into a few people at the bar, thankfully not spilling any drinks; after apologizing profusely and straightening myself up, I glared at the waiter, ready to rip into him for not watching where he was going - don't judge me, I was under a lot of stress at the time- before realizing that he was of the ground trying to collect all the cutlery he had spilled off his tray. So, begrudgingly, I crouched down to help.

He was pretty good-looking, this boy. A bit nervous, a bit nerdy, but cute. He stammered out an apology and told me I didn't need to help, but I helped anyway, wondering if I could use him to save Esme. I was desperate enough at this time to consider seeking help from strangers.

"Do you know Esme Azarola?" I asked abruptly, placing the last fork on his tray.

He stopped to think, unaware that I was extremely pressed for time. "Esme Az-"

"Azarola. Works here. Dancer. Very pretty, about 16, big hair, European. Nearly got abducted a few months ago. Know her?"

"Yes." The boy smiled, showing perfect teeth. "I saved her. She hasn't been around for a while, but I think she'll be here tonight. Why?"

I immediately made my decision. "OK, I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully..."

I hoped the danger was averted that night. I worried all night about Quasi and the boy and Esme and Frollo. What if the boy couldn't help after all? What if he got hurt? I didn't even know his name. I had put a complete stranger in possible danger. If anything happened to him I would feel so bad...

And then what if Frollo succeeded in abducting Esme? What would he do to her? Would it be my fault for not trying to help more than I did? Where would Quasi be in the picture? What if they were arrested? What would I do without Quasi to help me pass lunchtime? Never mind about that- what would happen to him?

I didn't sleep well that night. My life had become frightening and full of secrets and I didn't know how to cope with it. How much longer could I keep this up? It was hard to say.

I was pretty jittery at school the next morning. The girls and I talked about trivial stuff like fandoms and shopping and future holiday activities, but inside I was impatiently waiting to see Quasi again and learn the outcome of the night before.

I kind of missed the days when the trivial stuff was all I cared about. How things had changed...

But thankfully I didn't have to wait too long. Not only was art the first subject of the day, but Quasimodo was actually there. We were right into our painting unit now and we were starting our 'practice' canvases, which were basically self-portraits while we tried to find a style that we would use in our final works. I just had to make sure my easel was next to his- not hard to do, since everyone was still mostly avoiding him. The bullying thing was working out really well apart from a few little issues, but people were still pretty cold when it came to the outcasts of the school. Which now seemed to include me, 'the weird girl who hung around the ugly dude'. No, seriously, that was my nickname now. Thank goodness it hadn't spread to the girls yet. They were still viewed pretty much the same- not important enough to notice. Lucky them.

But anyway, I set up my easel close to Quasi's and got into painting. He must have been waiting for me to speak, for he looked up expectantly as soon as I leaned towards him.

"So what happened last night?" I whispered, noticing that his bruise had gone down and his hand was bandaged.

"We d-didn't get her," he whispered back, mixing his paints slowly. "Th-there was a boy with her and he d-defended her w-with a knife."

"Wow, go kid!" I tried not to seem too pleased, instead looking at his injured hand. "Is that how you got that?"

"Yes. It's not too bad, th-though. It just stings." He paused and looked over at me. "W-was that you? Did you t-tell him about it?"

I bit my lip. "Yeah. I was going to tell Esme, but I couldn't find her. So I told the first person I saw what was going to happen and asked him to keep an eye on her. I didn't know if he would, but he carried out his responsibilities quite well. Sorry about the hand."

"It's fine." He sighed. "Thank you, for helping. I really didn't want to do it."

"I didn't want you to do it, either. I'm glad it worked out."

He nodded and started to paint, and I glanced down at my sketches, wondering where to start.

There was an email waiting for me when I got home.

I had known it was there all day, but I had wanted to open it alone, which I hadn't been. We had had a very good music lesson that lunchtime, and I hadn't been able to open my computer. So now I was impatient to read it, but anxious too.

There was no point in delaying further. I opened up the browser and clicked on the email, twiddling my thumbs nervously. Then I started to read.

"Dear Michigan;

I was pleased to receive your prompt email, and I have given much thought to my reply. Since you already know much about the current situation, I see no point in concealing further information from you.

That fact is that nothing you have told me is a surprise. I have known about Claude's abuse of Quasimodo for a while now. The reason that nothing has been done is that there has never been any proof.

On at least 3 separate occasions, Claude Frollo has been taken in for questioning because of a complaint or accusation made by a concerned party, only for an investigation to be done that turns up... nothing. No proof, and neither would admit anything. Any injuries were explained away as clumsiness. Quasimodo showed some classic signs of abuse, but with no proof to back them up they were dismissed as shyness and reservation because of his looks and bullying at school. Claude's drinking was never observed as a great enough problem to take the boy off him and he was let off with light warnings only.

This has been going on for a long time and even after repeated visits I have nothing solid to back up any claim I may make. I am now looked upon as somewhat of a nuisance.

I understand the boy's fears in regard to your telling about the incident, but an eyewitness account could be just what we need to be believed. I ask that you consider testifying against Claude if it comes to that in the future. You don't need to make a decision now, but please think about it.

I thank you again for your email and I looked forward to your reply.

Regards,

Johanna du Moulin

I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, letting the I formation sink in. I didn't quite know how to react to what I had just read, but I did know one thing: testifying was out of the question. I mean, of course I wanted to help Quasi, but what if I didn't work out? What if I was dismissed as a liar or a nuisance, like Johanna? For all they knew, she could've been coaching me what to say.

Proof, on the other hand... Whoever did the investigating the last 3 times may not have seen anything incriminating, but then they weren't a determined teenage girl used to sneaking around and ready to fight for her friend.

Proof? Hell yeah, I could get that...

I feel like I'm getting Mich to do all the work and making her into a hero or something. That wasn't what I was aiming for when I started, but the story kind of gets away from me sometimes. Oh well. It's fiction, it doesn't have to be realistic. Tel me what you think!

Also, tell me whether you think I should make another chapter from Pierre's POV. And also, what I should do with him in the future.

Leave a review, as usual. I love to hear your opinions.