A/N: I AM SO SORRY. I promised to update by May, and then I had this chapter 70% complete and it was going fine…..and then I hit a wall. Multiple times a week, I'd pull this story up and stare at it, unable to write. I have an outline created all the way to the end...the words just wouldn't come. But yay! I finally updated! Thank you to all the reviewers who made sure to remind me and motivate me to continue my story!

Chapter #31: Escape

::She's the most troublesome,:: the Agent staring her down thinks.

::She's kind-of creepy,:: the other thinks, ::It's like she's staring into my soul…::

She sends him a smile at that moment, enjoying the burst of unease that flows through his mind.

"Do you know this man?" the first one finally asks, placing a photo in front of her. It's a guy about her age, in a white uniform.

"Why ask me about one of your guys?" she questions.

"It's a yes-or-no question," he frowns, but she can see flashes of something lurking in his mind.

"He's one of yours, right?"

:: "You know I've been expendable from the beginning." :: It's not the voice of the Agent she hears, but that of someone else. The man in the photo?

"...or not," she sighs, leaning back in her chair, "...expendable, huh? What's with that?"

The tension in the room spikes, and she smirks, knowing that she's hit the nail on the head.

"What's his deal? Isn't he your buddy? You'd think he'd turn to you guys if there was trouble," she presses.

:: "His vitals have dropped again," A scientist clucks at a screen, "Well, he's lasted longer than any of the others. Wonder what's different about him. Does he process the ectoplasm more efficiently? We'll have to dissect him if he makes it to the end. If we can find out what allows him to handle the exposure, we'll be one step closer to the perfect anti-ghost weapons." ::

She shakes her head, "People aren't weapons, nor are they lab rats," she leans closer, trying to pin down Agent F's eyes behind his mirrored shades, "You knew that, Agent F. You know it isn't right. He was your friend, not some experiment."

He'd met Darren two years ago, shortly after being assigned to assist Professor D in his top-secret research. The young man had impressed him with his bright smile and cheerful attitude. There was always a slight wall there, though, even when they would go out to drink as a group. Unlike the other agents, searching for love, Darren had remained aloof. He would only drink one glass, and never participated in their rare moments of unfettered fun. He was like-

"-a mature younger brother, right? So why doesn't he trust you?"

::How does she know?:: Agent F swallows thickly, ::Did Darren really tell her so much? How? When?::

::I've never met Darren,:: she whispers into his mind, ::But you know him. That's all I need, Tyson Fennel.::

His fear is electric, racing to his fingertips.

"H-how…?"

::Careful, your pal's gonna think you're going crazy. He's already wondering what's got you rattled. We're just having a staring contest, but you're beginning to shiver and sweat. Poor thing...is this what happens when you run into something you can't explain?::

She spreads her hands as far as she can in her handcuffs and smiles.

"Welcome to Amity Park, land of the unexplainable."

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His preparations finally made, Ghost Writer seats himself at his computer. He runs a hand over the keys, their inscriptions long since faded from use. With a deep breath, he begins to type the story both Realms need.

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::So, are you going to tell me what's going on, Tyson?::

::Agent F, please,:: he swallows thickly, shifting nervously beside his comrades. After her interview, Professor D had decided to break protocol and bring the families together, gathering them in the living room. It had been a sudden and unexplained choice, and even the Agents seemed puzzled, on top of being uncomfortable with the break in protocol.

All attempts to speak to one another has been halted - not that it matters much to her.

::He looks terrified, Sam.::

::Hey, I'm done with this. I'm ready to just blow out of here.::

::Anything from Val or Tucker?::

::Nope. Based on what I got from Agent F, Val ran decoy while Darren and Dani broke in and hopped through the portal. They supposedly shot her down, but she vanished. They can't find any trace of her. I hope she just went to wherever Tuck and Burgess are camping and is laying low.::

::It's nice of the agents to gather like this.::

::Yeah...wait, isn't there some sort of security system here?::

::Yeah…:: Jazz winces, ::But we were made to disable it when they moved in.::

Sam turns her attention to Maddie, ::...You disabled the system?::

::The one they knew about,:: she resists a smile, ::But the switch is kind of hard to reach. I didn't want it easy to find...or accidentally set off.::

::So where…?::

::In the bottom of the trash can by the TV.::

::...how is that difficult to find, or accidentally set off?::

::Do you think Jack takes the trash out?::

::Point made,:: even now, it's full of random bits of machinery and fudge wrappers.

"It was time to make a break for it, while everyone was together."

::That voice…:: Jazz bites her lip to hide a smile.

"Pamela stood up to cause a fuss, and the Agents near the trash can moved to subdue her."

Exactly on cue, though she was unaware of the voice, an agonized wail burst from Pamela's lips.

"I didn't manage to call the florist to cancel! We're going to get charged for missing the delivery! All those flowers...wasted! No, no! We're going to go and explain the situation-" She stands, and the two agents who had been standing by the trash can move towards her. She stomps on a foot, "Oh, for goodness' sakes, let a woman at least call to cancel her appointments! Do you think I'm going to pass some sort of secret code to the neighborhood florist?!"

"Ma'am, I need you to sit down," an agent takes her arm.

"Hands off my wife, please," Jeremy growls, using a shoulder to move the agent out of the way, "Pamela, darling, it'll be alright. I'm sure Mrs. Marigold hasn't even delivered them, with these circumstances."

"She hasn't…?! Jeremy!" she weeps, "Our social standing is ruined! This is why I wanted nothing to do with the Fentons! They're nothing but trouble! We're being snubbed by a florist!"

"I need you two to sit down and be silent-"

"-Excuse me, this is important!" Pam snaps.

::Maddie, can you flip the switch?::

::Maybe. Tell Jack to cover me.::

::Roger that,:: she relays the plan to Jack, who, with unusual soberness, nods.

::I'm done with people who would hurt my family,:: he growls, ::I need to save my son, and I'm not letting these white-suited paper-pushers stop me.::

"Just give me my phone!" Pamela demands, shaking an agent by his lapels.

"Pam-Pam, please don't use violence against a federal agent-"

"My rights as a citizen are being violated! Where's my lawyer? I haven't had my rights read, either! This is a gross violation of the law, and so help me-!"

Maddie leaps for the garbage can, immediately drawing attention from the agents. However, Jack tackles the nearest one, sending the hapless agent through the air and into a wall.

"Stop. Hurting. My. Family!" he roars.

"Maddie felt the switch beneath her fingertips and pressed it, dyeing the room red-"

"Intruders detected-"

"Exclude Manson family!" Maddie shouts into the air, holding up her cuffed hands.

"...Manson family excluded," the house buzzes, "Restraints detected. Removing."

A laser bursts from the corner of the room, slicing easily through the chain of Maddie's handcuffs. A spidery robot - then a dozen of them - crawl out of the fake fern in the corner.

"Samantha ducked."

She's moving before she can even register his voice, a ray of light flashing over her head.

The spider-bots scatter away from the blast, their tiny red eyes focusing on the source. The agent swallows nervously, his grip tightening on the blaster in his hand.

"The normal settings won't work against them!" the Professor shouts, "Initiate Protocol D!"

"Don't think that's wise with living combatants in the room-" Agent F begins to protest, only to be silenced by a glare from the professor, who turns a dial on his blaster, the blue light changing to a wicked crimson.

He aims at a bot and pulls the trigger. At first, there seems to be no reaction, until one of its legs begins to slowly disintegrate, soon followed by the rest of its tiny body.

The other agents follow suit, save for the hesitant Agent F. Waves of discomfort radiate from him, and he instead chooses to take cover behind a couch.

"Using deadly force?" Maddie challenges.

"If you aren't with us," the professor hisses, "You're with them!"

"You're awfully narrow-minded for a scholar."

The source of the voice is a green portal swirling into existence in the Fenton living room.

"Incoming ghost detected…"

"Authorize echo-signature!" Jazz shouts hurriedly.

"Authorized. Name of authorized entity?"

"Ghost Writer," she smiles as he strides through the portal, a Fenton Porta-Portal in one hand and a keyboard at another. With a few lazy keystrokes, a few of the agents' eyes grow distant.

The professor's watch beeps, and a sneer curls his lips, "Mental and physical manipulation, hm? That won't work on me!" He taps a pin on his lapel, "I learned from the reality gauntlet before Freakshow took off with it!"

"I'm aware," he smiles softly, handing the ports-portal to Jazz. Both hands cleared, a larger keyboard surrounds him, and a devilish grin curls his lips.

"Too bad you didn't share your discovery with your co-workers."

One of the zombie-eyed agents turns his gaze on the professor, raising a blaster - one now returned to its previous, non-lethal blue setting. The professor dodges the blast, which instead hits another agent, blowing him back against the wall.

"The coordinates are set to my library," Ghost Writer whispers to Jazz, "Hurry up and get everyone out. Danielle and the agent are waiting for you. I'll distract them."

"I'll help-"

"Miss Fenton, I once ruined your brother's life for a day. I think I can handle a few government goons. Just go."

There's something he's not telling her, but it's clear that he doesn't have the leeway to argue as he shoves her out of the way of a red blast of light, narrowly dodging it himself. His fingers flash across the keys, and the little spider-bots also focus their attention on the Professor, who sweeps his gun across the floor in front of him. The floor begins to dissolve, slowly spreading like an infection.

Jazz double-checks the coordinates and creates a portal. The first ones through are the Mansons, followed by her own parents.

"We're good!" she shouts, turning to look at him before she departs through the portal herself.

Red fills her vision, and she can hear Ghost Writer scream her name. The professor grins in twisted triumph.

Then it all goes dark.

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It was the only story that would let itself be written. A story with a sacrifice. He'd tried to re-write it countless times, ways to save her, ways to save another.

There was only one.

A spot on his back, dangerously close to his core, burns like fire.

"Let's go!" he whispers to the girl clutched to his chest, shuffling both of them through the portal. It snaps shut behind them, and he nods to the others.

"Let's get into the library," he groans, flying unsteadily to his doors.

The heat is spreading throughout his body. Something in his core sounds almost like it's screaming. All around him, the shelves seem to tremble, nearly sending their precious contents to the floor.

"...Cecil?" Jazz whispers, her eyes locked on the spot where the professor's blast had hit. A black crater is slowly expanding, black particles dissipating into the air like smoke.

He exhales, collapsing to the floor.

"Cecil!" she screams, rushing to his side. It hurts to see the tears forming in her crystalline eyes. He forces a smile.

"It's okay," he croaks, "I still have so many things to write...I'll just be...on hiatus for a while…"

"Mom! Dad! He's...he's…!"

"There's nothing to be done," he reaches with a shaking hand to brush her hair from her eyes.

"Cecil, you can't…"

"It was the only way," he answers. It's almost reached his core. Once that happens, he'll only have a few precious seconds left.

He lifts a hand to point to the pile of books on the table, "You might...find those helpful. The agent needs your help or he won't last much longer, either."

"Thank you," Maddie whispers, her eyes filled with sorrow.

"Cecil, you can't die here…"

"That would be a little tough for a dead man," he chuckles, wincing in pain. He only has moments left, he knows, precious seconds that he has to use as wisely as he can.

Precious seconds to use.

Precious words to say.

"I love you."

But she beats him to them.

The warmth in his chest beats out the pain, and he smiles back.

"And I, you...Jazz."

With those final words, the Ghost Writer disappears, leaving behind a small book.

In Loving Memory of Cecil Crawford

November 13, 1937 – December 23, 1965