A/N: Note: This chapter includes brief period-typical homophobia.

A/N: Googling British and Irish slang of the 90s tells me that the term "cute hoor" is used to describe someone sneaky and able to turn things to their advantage. (Source: the Irish Roadtrip website). The fact that it sounds like something more offensive is just a bonus. As far as I know, there is no Slifer Street in Westlake. Roger Slifer (1954–2015) was a supervising producer, story editor, and writer on the Jem cartoon.

Chapter 25

"Thanks for meeting me," Emma said and Wendy smiled.

"I'm so glad that you chose this place," she said, looking around admiringly at the kiosks in the mall's food court. "I never saw anything like this in London."

Emma blinked. "You mean, London doesn't have malls? Or food courts?"

"I…" Wendy hesitated. "Well, I suppose it must, but my parents never allowed me to visit one." She sniffed the air. "What is that aroma?" she asked suddenly. "It's coming from over there," she added, rising to her feet and taking Emma's hand.

"Umm…" Emma smiled, as she realized where Wendy was leading her. "That's popcorn shrimp."

"Popcorn?" Wendy repeated blankly. "I-I'm not sure I…"

"They don't have popcorn in London?" Emma asked, frowning. "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry," Wendy felt her face flush. "I'm sure there must be, but I've never had any. Is it a spice for the shrimp, then?"

Emma shook her head, her annoyance and worry over Jerrica's distraction fading away, as she realized that Wendy needed a quick crash course in a few basic food options. "No, it's… the shrimp is fried and," She took a deep breath. "You know what? Let's get some. I've got my allowance. Do you have any money?"

Wendy nodded. "Some, but I don't know if it's enough," she admitted. "I'm used to pounds, shillings, and pence."

"What's a shilling?" Emma asked. Then, almost at once, "actually, forget it. Let's see how much you have. If we've got enough between us, we can have the shrimp now and then?" She smiled. "There's a movie theater in this mall. Maybe we can catch a show and get some real popcorn."

Wendy squeezed her hand. "Oh, yes, please," she beamed. "Let's!"

For a moment, Emma felt a pang. "Yeah," she said. "I just…" If they saw a movie, she was going to miss supper, and she was supposed to tell Jerrica or Mrs. Bailey if she was. But it was Mrs. Bailey's day off and as for Jerrica? Emma winced. Jerrica probably wouldn't even notice that Emma was gone.

"Emma?"

Emma pushed down her hurt feelings and smiled broadly. "Just thinking about the camp trip to Disneyland tomorrow. C'mon. The theater's this way. I hope there's something good playing."

The rehearsal was getting into full swing and Roxy had never felt better. The music was pulsing about her and inside her. She didn't feel like she was playing the song. Rather, she felt as though she'd become an instrument herself and the song was playing her. The good old days were back as though they'd never gone and she was at the top her form. She was—

Something was off. It took her a moment to realize that it was the amp. It took one more for her to notice that she the only one playing, that everyone was staring at her, and that Pizzazz was holding the amp's electrical cord doubled over and tapping it against her free hand. She took her hands off the strings. "Uh… guys? What's up?"

Phyllis took a step forward. "Roxy, where's Deirdre?"

Roxy pasted a smile on her face. "How the hell would I know? That's kids today, for you. No sense of responsibility."

"Roxy," Phyllis repeated, "where's Deirdre?"

"I have no idea," Roxy insisted. Then, "Hey!" she yelped, as Phyllis grabbed hold of her wrist and jerked her hand up and forward.

"Uncross your fingers and answer the damned question," Phyllis snarled. "Where is she?"

Roxy's eyes darted around the room, looking for a friendly face. She was met by a mix of bewilderment, worry, and simmering anger. She swallowed hard. "Westlake."

"What?" Stormer exclaimed.

"I-I just wanted to prove to you guys I still had what it took to be a Misfit, so I locked her in a warehouse down there. I was going to let her out after the rehearsal."

"You're a cute hoor, aint'cha?" Jetta sniffed.

"Did you just call me a whore?" Roxy demanded, rounding on her.

"I called you a tosser!" Jetta retorted. "You ever stop to think about what might happen if someone happens on that kid before you get back to her?"

"Let's go," Phyllis snapped. "Stormer, call Jerrica and tell her what's going on. Roxy, what's the address?"

"Am I back with the band?"

Phyllis hesitated. "Well, I gotta admit you sounded pretty decent. If you can stay sober… why not? But Deirdre stays," she added.

"Hey, no worries," Roxy said with a satisfied grin. "It's at 1988 Slifer Street."

Phyllis gave her a curt nod. "You got that, Stormer?" she asked.

Stormer nodded.

"Great. I'll start over. The rest of you, follow in your cars." She shrugged. "Or don't. Your call. But make sure Jerrica knows what's going down."

Jetta sidled over to her. "Just so you know," she said in an undertone, "if that geebag's back in, you can count me out."

Phyllis sighed. "I get you, but I didn't think she'd give up the address unless I told her what she wanted to hear." She gave her a reluctant smile. "Did you drive here"

"I took a bus," Jetta replied, her eyes narrowing a bit at the change in subject. "I was worried I'd drive on the proper side of the road instead of mixing it up the way you lot do."

"How about riding shotgun with me to Westlake? Let's see what kind of shape Deirdre's in before we do anything drastic."

"This isn't drastic," Jetta retorted.

"I know. But come anyway."

Jetta shook her head. "It won't change my mind," she said, but she followed a half-step behind Phyllis, as Stormer went to make her phone call.

"Uh… Jerrica?" Joellen had been waiting patiently for Jerrica to end her phone call, but something about her foster mother's face checked her. "Maybe it should wait? I mean, she'll probably be home soon."

"I'm sure she will be," Jerrica nodded. "I just hope she's okay."

"Well, yeah," Joellen said. "She's probably just out playing with friends and forgot to check in."

Jerrica blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"Emma!" Joellen exclaimed. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

Joellen shifted uncomfortably. Then she sighed. "She wasn't at supper tonight and nobody's seen her since about an hour after everyone got back from camp. I know she's made at least one friend there and, the other day, they went to hang out together, only she cleared it with Mrs. B that time. I… take it that she didn't ask you today?"

"No," Jerrica said a bit tightly. "She didn't."

"Wait. Then, who did you think I was talking about?"

Jerrica shook her head. "It's okay, Joellen. Do me a favor? When Emma comes back, ask her to see me, no matter how late it is."

Joellen winced. "I didn't mean to get her in trouble," she said.

"I know. But Starlight House has rules, and if Emma's broken one, I need to understand the reasons why." She took a breath. "Meanwhile," she said, a bit too briskly, as she changed the subject, "what activities have you got planned for your girls for the coming week?"

After calling Jerrica, Stormer made one more phone call. This one was also to Starlight Mansion, but not to the main line. After a moment, Kimber answered. "Hey," Stormer said in response to Kimber's greeting. "Just letting you know I might be a bit later."

"Rehearsal running long?"

Stormer hesitated. "Actually, it just wrapped, but Deirdre never showed and Roxy… did." It took her another minute to divulge the particulars. "I'm just headed to Westlake now," she finished. "I have no problem bringing Deirdre here afterwards, I mean, I'm sure she's okay. I mean, I hope…"

"Hey," Kimber said. "I get it. It's okay. I don't think the Palms is going anywhere anyway, but the important thing is to find Deirdre and make sure she's all right." She heaved a sigh. "Roxy's really… I mean, back in the day, I guess…"

"Yeah," Stormer said. "I know. We—all of us Misfits—pulled crap like this. But we're not spoiled kids anymore. We grew up. At least," she added, "the rest of us did."

"I know," Kimber said. "If anything happens to Deirdre…"

"I'll call you as soon as I know anything. Love you."

Kimber hesitated only a moment, before replying softly, "Love you, too."

With her bedroom door closed, it was safe to say it.

Eyes closed, Deirdre whimpered softly. She felt cold; whatever her leg had plunged into was damp, and straining to haul herself out had only succeeded in dislodging her shoe. Her stockinged foot had gone numb, while her other leg felt like it was laced with bands of fire.

At least, she didn't hear the skittering noises anymore.

She wondered how long it would be before anyone came. The warehouse had looked like it was condemned. Maybe they were just going to bulldoze it without checking if there was anyone inside.

A harsh grating noise opened her eyes instantly. A dim shaft of light fell before her, followed almost at once by a painfully bright beam and she cried out and flung a hand in front of her face as she squeezed her eyes shut once more.

"She's here!" a voice exclaimed. "Baxter, hang on. We're getting you out of this."

She gulped in fresh air and, as someone knelt beside her, she gasped, "I'm stuck. I c-can't move."

"Yeah, luv," another voice said with a London accent, "sorta guessed from the look of things. You hurt or just trapped?"

"I… don't know," Deirdre admitted. "I was cramping before, but I don't feel anything now."

"Pizzazz?" the voice called.

"Chill, Jetta," the first voice answered. "I heard." Deirdre felt a hand on her shoulder, as Pizzazz continued talking.

"Okay, kid. Looks like you put your foot down on a storm drain, and it was so rusty it disintegrated under you."

Deirdre took a breath. "Can you get me out?"

"Yeah, kid. That's the plan. Gotta warn you, though, if your plans for the evening didn't include a visit to the ER, they do now."

Deirdre exhaled. "Roxy… said she wanted to teach me some of your old arrangements," she said. "I feel so stupid."

"Nah," Pizzazz said. "Stupid would be if you trust her again after this. Do you know if you're bleeding?"

Deirdre shook her head. "I don't think so, but I don't know."

"The metal's pretty corroded," a new voice said. "Bet it'd break apart completely with a good kick."

"Yeah?" Jetta said. "Cor, let's see that. Uh, Baxter, I'd tell you t'hold still, but I guess you're doing that already. Stormer, you want to grab hold of her, in case she drops all the way down?"

"One sec," the new voice said, and Deirdre felt two hands lock around her upper arm. "Okay. Go for it."

There was a dull crack and Deirdre started to plummet, but Stormer had a strong grip and another pair of hands seized hold of her other arm, tearing it from her eyes, but holding her steady. "You're okay, kid," Pizzazz told her. "We got you."

Gasping, Deirdre nodded, even as they pulled her away from the hole in the floor. By the time her gasps gave way to sobs, she was already wrapped in a blanket, there was a makeshift bandage (Jetta's scarf) wrapped around her leg, and she was almost outside.

"Uh, hey," a brash voice she remembered all too well said breathlessly. "Sorry my little joke got out of hand, but I was going to come get you later and now that I'm back with the Misfits—"

"You're what?"

Deirdre did a double-take. She and Phyllis had spoken in near unison.

"We had a deal," Roxy sputtered, now looking disbelievingly at Pizzazz.

"You lied to the kid," Pizzazz said tightly. "I lied to you. You're not going onstage with us, Roxy. Not this time. Get some help, get your act together, and down the road? We can talk about it. But not now."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Roxy snapped. "After everything we've been through together! And it's not like you didn't pull stuff like this back in our heyday!"

"Yeah, I did," Phyllis agreed. "The thing is, Roxy? Me and the rest of us grew up. Stormer," she said, "Get Baxter to the hospital. I'll be right behind you," she added, projecting to be heard over Roxy's furious protests. "Oh, and someone call Jerrica."

"Shouldn't someone call the coppers?" Jetta asked.

Pizzazz flinched. "Yeah," she said, shaking her head slightly. "Someone should."

"Wait what?" Roxy said. "No way! This was… it was just a joke, for crying out loud!"

"Look around, you blighter," Jetta snapped. "Nobody's laughing."

"You wouldn't," Roxy said, looking around at a sea of cold, unfriendly eyes. "You…" She spun on her heel and ran into the night.

Phyllis watched her go and took a deep breath. "Let's get Baxter to the hospital," she said. "We can worry about Roxy later."

Deirdre said nothing, as Stormer and Jetta helped her into the back seat of Pizzazz's BMW 325i. Once that was done, Stormer got into the front seat and Jetta took the back on the opposite side. It wasn't until Pizzazz started driving that she glanced in her rearview mirror at the white-faced girl and asked, "So, further to what Jetta was asking about before, are you going to press charges?"

Deirdre blinked. "Charges?" she repeated.

"Not a lawyer, kid, but I got a feeling that if locking a kid in a closet gets you brought up on false imprisonment charges, locking you in a condemned building does, too. It's worse if you do it to a minor, but that doesn't make it any less illegal when you do it to an adult."

"I-I don't know," Deirdre stammered. "I just want to go home." She winced. "We had a rehearsal, right? I missed it. I…"

"Oh, for crying out loud, nobody expects you to start jamming now!" Phyllis snapped. "You don't look like you're too badly hurt. The cut on your leg looks nasty; you might need stitches and a tetanus shot, if you're not up to date with one, but they'll probably let you go home tonight. Assuming they do, my advice to you is to take a good hot bath, listen to your favorite music, and eat something chocolaty."

"I'm… sorta more into butterscotch ripple," Deirdre said.

"Hey, I'm flexible." She smiled. "Get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow to let you know when the next rehearsal is. You don't have to decide about Roxy tonight either," she added, "but I'd write down everything I remembered about what happened while it's still fresh in your mind."

Deirdre hesitated. "What would you do? If you were me?"

Phyllis frowned. "When I was your age? How much did Jerrica tell you about the dirty tricks we Misfits used to pull?"

"Uh… didn't you call social services on her when me, Ba Nee, and Krissy ran off?"

"Guilty," Phyllis admitted with a sigh. "Guess I sort of leaned hard into the whole 'bad girl rebel' image back then, and to tell you the truth, I'm kind of grateful that Jerrica never called the cops on us in those days." She shook her head. "I don't know why she didn't, but she could have. But back then, I was kind of wild, damned reckless, and I still thought that if things got really intense, Eric Raymond's lawyers and Daddy's money would get me out of stuff. I didn't wise up until a few years later."

"And now?"

"Now that I am social services, I guess I know how many people I would have screwed if Jerrica hadn't been able to pass their inquiry. And considering how overworked the department is, well, sometimes I want to dig up that old file, find out who was assigned to look into it and apologize, but then I decide to leave well enough alone." A thin smile came and went. "And okay, I still hate apologizing and getting caught. But enough true confessions. When I was your age, I wouldn't have called the cops. I'd have tried to handle it myself—or with the rest of the band and Eric's goons backing me up. You know how they say, 'Don't get mad; get even'?" Her smile was back and it was vicious. "My answer to that back then was, 'Why not both?'" She exhaled. "But that was back then, when I thought everything was one big joke and the only thing that mattered was winning the next battle of the bands."

"So, you're saying…?"

"I'm saying that it's a choice you need to make for yourself. I'm not telling you to press charges. Despite everything that's happened tonight, Roxy's still one of my oldest friends. If what happened tonight had happened to me instead of to you, I'd probably tell her I wanted her out of my life, but I wouldn't call the police on her. But it didn't happen to me, she's not one of your oldest friends, and you're not one of the kids whose… fates I have to decide for their own good. So, I'm not gonna tell you not to press charges either. You're an adult, and you get to make up your own mind. You can ask anyone you want for advice, but at the end of the day, it's going to be your decision."

Deirdre swallowed. "I… I need to think."

"You do that, kid," Phyllis said with rough gentleness, "but write down what happened tonight."

The rest of the trip to the hospital passed in silence.

Kimber's face had grown paler by the time Stormer was finished talking. "And Deirdre…?"

Stormer waved her hand in the general direction of the stairs that the younger woman had ascended a few minutes earlier. "She's okay," Stormer reassured her. "The hospital wanted to be sure she had a lift back, and since I was coming here anyway, that wasn't a problem. She was pretty shaken up when we found her, and besides that gash on her leg, she's got some bumps and bruises, but nothing serious."

"I'll go up and look in on her before we go," Kimber said.

Stormer nodded. "Uh… Kimber?"

"Hmm?"

"Something Phyllis said a little while ago got me thinking. How come you guys never called the police on us back in the day?" She winced. "All those stunts we pulled… We could've really hurt you—o-or worse—so many times, so…?"

Kimber sighed. "Sometimes I wanted to," she admitted, "but Jerrica never did. Maybe she thought it would have played into the Misfits' 'bad girl' image and made you guys more popular, or maybe she thought we'd come out on top if we took everything you were dishing out and still won…" Or maybe she was worried that, in order to swear out any kind of complaint, she'd have to give her real name. Even if Jerrica handled the paperwork, if Jem had had to take the stand in court, she would've had to state her true name for the record.

Stormer shook her head. "Well, tell Jerrica I said 'Thanks', I guess," she said. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry about the trouble I put you through."

"Eh," Stormer shrugged, "it's all in the past. Let me just check on Deirdre, and then we can get out of here."

Roxy was still fuming as she drove through West Hollywood. What the hell had happened to her friends? When had they gotten so… boring? And goody-good? Didn't anyone but her remember what being a Misfit was supposed to be all about?

"Winning is supposed to be everything!" Roxy snarled under her breath. "I was there! I proved I still had what it took and Pizzazz yanked it all away from me! How could she?"

She ran a red light and flinched, startled, when a horn honked behind her. She raised her middle finger and screamed a profanity that didn't travel outside the confines of her car. Then she hastily checked her rearview to make sure that there was no police car behind her and, reassured that there wasn't, kept driving.

She turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard, her anger still simmering, as she drove past the many bars and nightclubs. People were sure having a good time tonight, she thought bitterly. She oughta be too! If not for stupid Pizzazz and stupid Deirdre and stupid Jetta and stupid—wait. Was that Stormer? With Kimber? Heading into what was only the most famous lesbian bar in LA? A slow smile spread Roxy's lips. Oh, she could use this! She just had to figure out how!

Emma hadn't realized how late it would be when they got out of the movies. Well, she'd had some idea that it might be after lights out, but not that it would be nearly eleven by the time she got back to Starlight House! She probably could have just squeaked in under the wire, but Wendy had pleaded with her to help her get home.

"I should be terrified," Wendy had protested. "All these streets. All these people! And if I were to take a wrong turn, I might be miles out of my way before I ever realized it. Please, Emma, you simply must see me home! It shan't take long."

"I don't really know LA that well, myself," Emma protested feebly, but she was having a great time, she didn't want to go back to Starlight House and leave Wendy quite yet, and, well, either she was already in trouble for not telling anyone where she was going and missing dinner and staying out longer wasn't going to change that, or she wasn't, because nobody had even noticed she was gone, just like most of the other places she'd lived in. Sure, Mrs. Bailey had caught her the other time, but Mrs. Bailey wasn't there, and it wasn't like anyone else would miss her.

Apart from Casey, Stephanie, maybe Joellen…

She hadn't been spending much time with them lately, she thought to herself. They'd probably forgotten her by now. Or they were ticked off because she hadn't been spending as much time with them. Or they thought she was in her room writing the song. It would be fine.

Except that by the time Emma had walked Wendy to her building and then made her way back to Starlight House, it was five to eleven.

She turned her key in the lock and the door opened noiselessly. She hoped that the burglar alarm wasn't on; she had no clue how to turn it off. After two tense minutes, she breathed a sigh of relief and crept upstairs.

She eased her bedroom door open carefully, flicked the light and stifled a scream of alarm. Jerrica was sitting on her bed waiting.

"Did you eat dinner?" Jerrica asked, her tone neutral.

Emma nodded.

"Are you all right?"

Emma nodded again.

Jerrica's lips thinned into a firm line. "It's late. Go to bed. We'll talk in the morning. Nine-thirty in my office."

Emma started to nod, before she remembered. "B-but tomorrow's the camp trip to Disneyland. The bus leaves at eight!"

"I know," Jerrica said. "And there'll be other opportunities to go. There's a trip planned for August, too. Right now, if I can't trust you to come home when you're expected, I can't trust you on a camp trip either. I'll tell Joellen to let you sleep in tomorrow."

"But—"

Jerrica shook her head. "I'm sorry, Emma. Good night."

She left, closing the door behind her. Emma stared after her.

"Not anymore, it's not," she muttered miserably.

Stormer left her apartment at ten the next day. It was a beautiful morning, and she decided to go for a walk. She was just passing a park, when she heard someone call her name. As she whirled in the direction of the speaker, she felt her smile freeze on her face.

"What's the matter?" Roxy said, rushing up. "No hello for an old friend."

"Hello, Roxy," Stormer said carefully. "What do you want?"

"Just wanted to know if the kid can take a joke, or if I need to head for Mexico."

Stormer put her hands on her hips. "Why ask me?" she asked. "Deirdre's the one you should be talking to."

"Actually," Roxy said, "Deirdre's the one that you should be talking to."

Stormer blinked. "Come again?"

Roxy smirked. "Kaleidoscope Haze doing well?" she asked. "Climbing the charts, building a brand…"

"Get to the point," Stormer sighed.

"The point is that I saw you and Kimber heading into the Palms last night and," she reached into her purse and pulled out a Polaroid, "even if I was too slow to catch you on film going in, it was worth the wait to catch you coming out." She raised her eyebrows. "Then again, you haven't exactly done that, right? Come out?" She smiled. "I got four pics last night; this is just one of them. The other two are… safe. And they'll all stay that way. As long as Baxter keeps her mouth shut. If she doesn't, then Jerrica Benton and Rory Llewellyn each get a special delivery. Think you'll still fit Starlight Records' image once these come out? Or have a place in the benefit?" Her smile broadened. "And think about the effect on poor, sweet, Kimber? She tell her big sis yet?" Roxy sniffed. "Didn't think so. Get Baxter to back off and this goes away. Otherwise," she smirked, "your careers will!"