Name: Camilla Violet St. John
Age / Date of Birth: 22 / November 9th
Birthplace: Lafayette, New Orleans
Family: Harris & Analee St. John ( Samuel, brother - deceased )
Occupation: (jazz, blues) Singer

Once upon a time in a land far away, there lived an enchanted princess .. That's how most faerie tales start off. Kind of sets you up for major disappointment once you hit the 'real life' stage. When you're a kid, all that lovey dovey happily ever after stuff seems kind of nice. Reality likes to slap you in the face and yell, "Hey stupid, this isn't true."

Alcoholics for parents, a house in the middle of the bayou that had more cracks in it than floor.. the nice stuff in life, you know? My first real memory was repeated over and over again until I left that rathole. Harris and Analee fighting over a bottle of rotgut while me and Sammy huddled beneath the kitchen table, holding each other. I guess when you hear someone talking about dysfunctional families, and mental abuse on kids .. yeah.. that could've been us. We didn't know any better.

Even when we started knowing better, it didn't matter. That's how life was. I use that word a lot. Life. I guess I'm just glad I have one, instead of being worm food. You never know.

--------------------

`` And now the end is near, and so I face the final curtain. ``

The sound of a glass bottle breaking on the wall signaled the beginning of the evening. For the next hour and forty-five minutes, the sounds of yelling, screaming, curses, and more broken bottles would litter the house. One could almost set their watch by the arguments. Glancing up from the notebook in front of her, Camilla sighed heavily and reached over to give Sammy a shake.

"Wha-- leave me 'lone, s'late."

"No shit. They're startin' again."

Slowly, her brother's eyes opened and a scowl appeared on his face. "Jesus friggin' Christ, they spent all day Christmas fightin'. Why can't they give it a rest?" Rubbing hands down his features, he rolled over to his back. "'Cause they're still breathin', that's why. Window?" The question was asked with a head tilt towards said window. It was a little cold outside, but it sure beat sitting there and listening to Harris and Analee bitch about how much they hated each other. "Way ahead of ya," mumbled as he got to his feet and tugged on his jacket.

Following suit after Sammy, she got up to her feet and pulled on her own jacket, both sliding their shoes on before heading for the window. Giving it a little wiggle, Sam opened the structure enough to allow him out first so that he could help her out when she slung a leg over. "Got any cigarettes?" asked quietly once they were both outside and heading up the dirt path heading away from their house, hands shoved into their respective pockets. "Yer too young to smoke, Camster," said as a half crumpled pack was produced and handed over. "Bite me, smart ass, yer only two years older than me anyhow." Flashing a grin up his way, the filter was clamped between her teeth as she waited for the lighter.From the house, the sounds of more glass breaking could be heard, followed by shouts of:

"I NEVER SHOULDA MARRIED YA NO HOW, HARRIS ST. JOHN! YAR WORTHLESS!"

"TH'PAST SEVENTEEN YEARS AIN'T BEEN NO PICNIC FER ME EITHER, ANALEE! ONLY REASON I MARRIED YA IS BECAUSE OF DAT KID. PROBABLY AIN'T MINE!"

The sound of a hand hitting flesh followed the two teens out towards the road, and Cam slid an arm around her brother's waist reassuringly. "Don't pay them no mind, Sammy. Ya know how Papa gets..." She knew how much it hurt him to hear his own father say that. Samuel Michael St. John was the spitting image of Harris, back before the liquor ravaged the man. Shrugging, his head tilted towards her sister for a moment before he grinned. "Hell, if I wasn't his, that'd make m'year. Gonna smoke that thing or hold it in yer mouth like a decoration?"

Flashing her own grin up his way, two fingers situated around the filter as it was pulled from her mouth, smoke rings blown up his way. Samuel had about seven inches in height on his younger sister, and used it to his advantage for the most part. Summer time was pure hell; he liked throwing her over his shoulder and then pitching her into the lake like he was skipping rocks. "Sammy..." The words came out quiet, thoughtful as another look was slanted his way, her expression somber. "I been thinkin' 'bout leavin'.." Her chin lifted back towards the small house that was growing smaller as they walked. "Stayin' there ain't doin' nothin'. School and me don't get along. Thought maybe I'd head to N'awlins.."

Coming to a dead stop in the middle of the dirt road, he wheeled around to face her. "Cam, you ain't but fifteen. Whatcha gonna do off by yerself, huh?" His own expression had fallen dangerously somber, concern and fear glinting in those evergreens as he stared down at his sister. For as long as he could remember, they'd only had each other. What was he going to do if she took off and left him? He was seventeen, had a decent job down at the local garage, but he didn't have enough money to just pack up and take off. For that matter, "You ain't got no money, nothin'...."

Blue-violet gaze dropping to her feet, weight shifted from the right to the left as she thought about how to answer. He didn't know that on the weekends when she said she was going down to Sue Anne's to spend the night, that she'd actually been down at the local zydeco, singing. "Well I.. I mean... aw hell, Sammy. I gotta gig down at Burlle's. Fridays and Saturdays. He gives me 20 bucks a show.." During the revelation, her eyes never met his directly. Not until he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. "Camilla Violet St. John, have ya lost yer ever lovin' mind? Goin' down there by yerself? God!" Backing away from her, fingers were shoved angrily through his hair. "Somebody coulda done raped ya or somethin', and I wouldn't have been ta do anythin'..."

"Don't worry none 'bout it. I can take care of m'self." Cigarette thrown to the ground, it was crushed out underfoot as she began walking again. On the way by, her arm threaded through his and tugged him along. "Now listen ta me 'fore ya go off again. I got some money saved up. Enough ta get me ta N'awlins, and hopefully get me somewhere ta sleep until I can find a decent place to sing.." Offering up a token of resistance at being tugged along, Sam grudgingly fell along in step with her, muttering his objections. "I'm good enough ta make it, ain't I, Sammy? Ya said so yerself..." Her voice was starting to get its first tinges of self-doubt, and it was all she could to keep the quaver from her voice.

"Ya know yer good 'nough, Cam, but N'awlins? Tha's where everybody goes ta get famous, and half of 'em stay nobodies" He sighed suddenly, looking older than his mere seventeen years as a serious look was turned down her way. "But I also know that if anybody can make it, it's m'sister. Just .. write me?" It was her turn to look up to him, though her expression was one of shock. "Yer not goin' with me..? I mean, s'what we talked about... Sam.. I can't do this alone.."

Pulling back enough to give her a hair ruffle, he flashed his most charming smile before wrapping both arms around her shoulders. "Sure ya can. Yer stronger than me, Cam. Always have been. I'll be there for ya when ya need me most." Rubbing her nose against his shirt, her forehead dropped to his chest, shoulders lifting in a shuddering sigh. "Ya promise?" asked a bit unsteadily, being that she was fighting against bursting into tears. "I swear on m'life. If ya need me, I'll be right there. By yer side."

Promises were made to be broken.

( to be continued )

One day. Two days. A week. A month. Time bled by with startling speed, and in the end, she was still in the same place. No where. Fifteen years old in a city where age didn't really matter, and things just didn't come as easy as she thought they would. Sammy had been right; she had talent, but so did about every other person in the whole damn city. Club after club visited, no after no given. Camilla was at her wits end and just about ready to pack it in, when an act of divination occured.

The Pocket Watch. Not exactly the classiest of joints, but it had a stage, a band, and was giving her the chance to get up and do her thing in front of a crowd. Best part? They were actually going to pay her for it. Real duckets, not the peanut stuff she'd been doing back in Lafayette. Lying to the owner, Cam stated that her age was nineteen and thankfully enough, had the body to back it up. It was do or die time, and when the spotlight flickered on to shine directly on her form behind the mic, she was all lazy smiles and bedroom eyes.

"Never know how much I love you. Never know how much I care. When you put your arms around me, I get a fever that's so hard to bear. You give me fever. When you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight. Fever.. in the mornin'. Fever all through the night.."

One hand skimming up the mic stand, the other hung loosely at her side, fingers snapping in time with the sultry rhythm. Heels clicked a steady, slow beat to the edge of the stage, the sequins on the dress they'd loaned her shimmering softly around her form. Crouching down carefully, her hand ran along the nearest guy's jawline, lashes of her left eye dropping to her cheek as she winked at him. "Sun lights up the day time. Moon lights up the night. I light up when you call my name, and you know I'm gonna treat you right. You give me fever.."

Blowing him a kiss, her posture straightened back up before she descended the steps of the stage, circling around a few of the tables nearest to her-- thankful for the slack in the mic cord. "When you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight. Fever in the mornin', fever all through the night." Stopping at a particular table, the gentleman sitting there by his lonesome suddenly became the focus of the song. A trick Cam had learned; when singing these types of songs, it was best to single someone out and put them into your performance. That way, if anything messed up, the focus wasn't entirely on her.

Draping herself carefully across his lap, one foot resting squarely on the floor as the other lifted slightly, one arm snaked around his shoulders. With the mic at her mouth, she leaned towards him just enough to where he was almost kissing the other side of the equipment. "Everybody's got the fever, that is somethin' you all know. Fever isn't such a new scene, fever started long ago." The words were breathily sung his way, head tilting so that their eyes met squarely. At first, he had a sort of deer in the headlights expression on his face. He'd come to have a few drinks, listen to some music, and then go home. Suddenly becoming the focal point of a singer so new, it almost seemed she had a price tag still attached, his cheeks suffused with color.

"Romeo loved Juliet, Juliet she felt the same. When he put his arms around her, he said `Julie baby, you're my flame.` Thou giv-est fever when we kisseth. Fever with the flaming youth. Fever I’m afire. Fever yea I burn forsooth."

Fingers running through his hair, by the time the end of the song approached, he was looking at her with a mixture of adoration and confusion. Dames were a silly bunch, he knew, but this one.. When Cam removed herself from his lap and headed back for the stage, he just stared after her. The evening came to a close quickly enough, and she ducked out to head to the two bedroom apartment she was currently residing in. Her mystery admirer took it upon himself to go have a little chat with the owner of the joint.

"Yo, Bobby. C'mere, I got somethin' to talk to ya about."

The owner -- Bobby -- pulled himself away from the cigarette girl, tossing her a smirk over his shoulder before heading towards the other guy. "What's up, Gavin?" asked amiably, the toe of his scruffed shoe scraping against the bottom of the nearest chair. "Your new bird, what's her name?" Ignoring the knowing chuckle from Bobby, Gavin's arms crossed over his chest, trying to still his hands from going for his cigarettes. "Cork the manly humor, and just tell me the bird's name." Patience, he had not so much of at the moment, and Bobby choked back his amusement, realizing this.

"Camilla. She lives over on Vine. Want the address?"

"... yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

Sammy,

Things are so crazy out here. Everybody runs around like they have to get to where they're going in fifteen seconds, or the world's gonna crash. I know it's been awhile, and I promised I'd write every day, but .. it's been rough. It took about two weeks to find a place that didn't want me to "dance" instead of sing, but the impossible has been accomplished! It's not the greatest place in the world, but I'm singing. That's what counts.

Got a small apartment, not too far from the club as well. It ain't much bigger than our old bedroom, but it's clean, there aren't any rats, and there's a john that I don't have to share with other people. How's the garage? Last I heard from you, they made you general manager. Still going good with that?

I guess I should ask about Harris and Analee, but honestly .. I don't care. They ain't dead, or I would've read it in the papers anyway. That's good enough for me. You should come visit soon, it's lonely here with no one to talk to that understands. There's this guy .. you wouldn't believe him, Sammy. He goes to the club I sing at, a lot. Boss says he's a regular, but I dunno.

He found out where I lived and showed up on my doorstep with flowers one night. They all think I'm nineteen, so it's probably not that big of a deal. To them. Dunno how to tell them I won't be nineteen for four more years. He's nice. Went out with him a few times, and he hasn't tried anything funny, so I guess that's good.

Told me the other night he wants to take me out of that apartment and situate me somewhere real nice. I laughed it off as best I could, but he keeps persisting. He's about six years older than me. The gifts are freaking outrageous. Clothes, jewelry.. What should I do, Sam? In reality, I'm just a kid, but they don't seem to think so, he doesn't seem to think so, and I am playing in the big kid's park.

I might be coming home in about another month or two, to visit you. It all depends on how the schedule works out. Right now, they got me singing five nights a week, and the other two days, I'm having to learn how to play the piano. Boss said it'd be good to be "musically ambidextrous". You ask me, he can't even spell that but the lessons are free. Can't hurt nothing, right?

If you get the chance, hop a train over to New Orleans. I miss you like crazy, and I can show you a night on the town. I can almost see you shaking your head already, so I'll take this time to say, if you don't at least consider it, you're gonna have a headache when I see you next.

Ah well, it's about time to head in. Being late is a major faux paus to these people, and Gavin ( that's the guy's name trying to be my sugar daddy ) is stopping by to pick me up. I love you and miss you, and hope to see you soon.

Cam,

Sorry this is gonna be short, but I don't got much time to write. I quit the garage, Mere and Papa are the same as they usually are, and I can't get to New Orleans no time soon. Fact of the matter, I won't be in Lafayette if you decide to visit within the next three months. I got something lined up and it'll be taking me out of town off and on until April.

Don't ask me what it is, and if you write back anytime soon, I won't be getting your letters. When the time comes, I'll find out where you are and either drop by or give you a call. As for that Gavin guy, all I can say is be careful, Cam. Guys are usually only after one thing, and I think I know what I'm talking about.

I'll talk to you soon, sis, and I love you too.

"I... am tired ..of this SHIT, Gavin."

Pushing back from the vanity she was seated in front of, the hairbrush in hand was thrown to the glass top. A flash of blue-violet lifted to meet his all too serene gaze in the mirror. Arms crossing over his chest, his chin lifted just a slight as he regarded her. "I don't see what you're complainin' about, really, Camilla. You don't have to worry about anythin' at all." Clothes, jewelry, living arrangements, cars-- he had that all under control, and at her disposal when she got the whim. "The point you're missin', sweetheart, is that the while the material stuff is nice, I won't sit here and turn a blind eye to you out there fuckin' any broad that'll spread her legs."

By this point in the conversation, she had wheeled around to face him fully, hands going to the curves of her hips in a defensive stance. Two years had passed at this juncture. After Sam's brief, to the point letter, Cam had done what she needed to do in order to survive. The gig at the Pocket Watch hadn't lasted more than a month after, and then she was right back to square one. Broke. Gavin had taken her in, helped her get on at another club, and supported her all the while.

"Well, it's not as if I can get what I need here, is it?" shot right back to her in face of her current attack. The facade of serenity exploded abruptly, and a finger was aimed her way. "If you'd get that stick out of your ass, and maybe act like a woman's supposed to, then we wouldn't have this problem. Jesus, you're the most infuriatin' skirt I've ever known." Hands were shoved roughly through his hair then.

Eyes rolled briefly to the ceiling before Cam looked back to him, hands never leaving her hips, though her stance shifted enough so that her weight was on the left foot. "And you, mon couer, can't keep your dick in your pants. Don't blame this shit on me, I told you the deal." About a year ago, she'd come clean about her age, explaining that was why she was skittish of a lot of physical contact. He'd taken it amiably, and had even said he understood. Apparently he thought that meant he was able to go stick it into anyone he deemed worthy because of that fact.

"The deal, yeah, yeah, fuckin' yeah. You're seventeen, Camilla. Most broads your age are married with a coupla kids under their belt. What the fuck is the problem? You want to be with me, but you don't. You say you love me, but all I can get outta you anymore is a kiss. I'm understandin', but I'm not fuckin' dead." Making an aggrivated sound in the back of his throat, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, grabbing his coat and hat along the way. "Stupid skirts," muttered under his breath, "Give 'em a diamond ring, and they want the whole goddamn jewelry store for nothin'."

Something that resembled a growl broke free from her once he left the room, but the only sound he could hear was a glass vase hitting the door he had just exited. "We'll see how much he likes it when he comes home and finds this place empty. The sunnuvabitch. I ain't like most broads, that's what he keeps forgettin'." Mumbling to herself, a suitcase was tugged from the closet, and she began throwing her things into it. That's right, her things. Putting up with him for this long deserved some kind of reward.

After the case was filled and zipped shut, the robe she was wearing was shrugged off, as was the gown beneath it. Lace and silk dropped to the floor, and was kicked aside carelessly. A skirt was tugged on, along with an over-the-head shirt before the phone was located. Spinning out a few numbers, the receiver was jammed to her ear. "Yeah, I need a cab in about ten minutes." The address was rattled off before the phone was slammed down. Instead of grabbing the suitcase immediately, though, she headed over to a picture hanging on the wall.

Shoving it out of the way to reveal the small safe behind it, the combination lock was undone in a matter of moments. Gavin-- smart man, but not that smart. He'd given her the combination to the thing during a moment of frustration, trying to get her into bed by offering to pay. Needless to say, he'd spent the night in that big old bed alone. Don't get the story wrong, Camilla had slept with him. The total count was up to .. three times, but for the most part, that wasn't what interested her. Music was her focus and to hell with everything else.

Bundles of money were extracted and shoved into her make-up case, the whole thing taking less than five minutes to accomplish. Safe shut, picture placed back over it carefully, Gavin wouldn't be able to tell she had been in there. That is, until he went to count his duckets. By then, she'd be far enough away not to hear the explosion rocking the city when he blew up. A honking horn outside caught her attention, and without a second thought, the small and large case were lugged along.

"Have a nice fuckin' life," said to the house standing vacant behind her as she slid into the back of the cab. Tipping a salute to the building, her eyes turned straight ahead. "Train station. Be snappy about it."

( to be continued )

After leaving Gavin that day, she never heard from him again. He must've just been happy that she was gone, nevermind that she'd taken about twenty grand from him. Leaving New Orleans seemed like the best course of action, and she gathered her things and headed for Baton Rouge. Shreveport. St. Francisville. Palmetto. Iberia. Anywhere she could find a dive to sing at, that's what she went. It didn't matter if she was famous, or well known. Being on stage, with her microphone and piano .. that's all that mattered in the world. Heading back to Lafayette never crossed her mind. All the letters she sent to Sammy started coming back labeled 'return to sender'.

In four years, she'd heard from her brother a grand total of eight times. He'd find a way to call her on her birthday, and on his birthday. Always vague as to what he was doing, or where he was, it got to the point where Camilla felt like she didn't even know Samuel anymore. Nevermind that they'd spent the first fifteen years of her life, completely co-pendent on each other. The money she'd taken from Gavin that day had been placed in an obscure bank, left to draw interest. Her fall back stash, so to speak, just in case things got really bad. By the time she headed back to New Orleans, there were few things that she could complain about.

Hired on as the lone act at a club called B.G.I., five out of seven days were spent up on stage. The joint was one of the classier ones in the Quarter, and the broad that owned it was as tough as nails. An ex-whore that had somehow come into her own. Cam didn't ask question, and Arianna didn't offer excess information. Life was leveling out, and for the first time in a long time, Cam felt .. at ease. There was a roof over her head, a stage just downstairs, and her free time was her own. No admirers beating on her door in the middle of the night, no scrummaging around for what she needed.

Of course, things like that never lasted. A phone call in the middle of the night, on October 9th sent her entire world into a tailspin that hadn't stopped yet. It was one of her days off, and she was taking the time to go through her clothes and try to get everything organized. It seemed she wasn't going to be leaving her any time soon, so she might as well get comfortable.

( post taken from message board )

The call came around five - thirty that afternoon. Camilla had been upstairs in her room, rearranging her closet in a fit of boredom, when the phone rang. Clamping the cigarette she had been smoking between her teeth, the phone was jerked off of its cradle and placed to her ear. "Yep?" asked in place of a Hello as she studied a dress she was holding. What to get rid of and what to keep; it was a tough decision. The voice on the other end of the line made both the cigarette and the dress drop to the floor as a hand lifted to cover her mouth.

There's nothing we could've done to save him. Sammy was a hard person to save. Or rather, he had been a hard person to save. Nobody knew what had went wrong. Growing up, Cam had been the rebellious one whereas Sammy had been the quiet child. The one that all the grown ups liked. When his big sister left home, apparently he felt it was up to him to give their parents heart failure with all his wrong deeds. He wanted to be a gangster. Be in a circle of power and money; influence and prestige. The only thing that life had given him was an end to his own.

The funeral is tomorrow at three. Numbly, the phone was placed back on the cradle as she turned to look around the room, the hand still at her mouth tightening slightly as she tried to hold back tears. When they were small, at their parents were fighting drunkenly in the kitchen, it had been her and Sam. She'd hold him -- sitting on the floor in the bedroom they shared -- while running her fingers through his hair comfortingly, telling him it'd get better one day. She was going to be a famous singer, making lots of money, and he was going to be her manager, keeping all the bad people at bay. Having ran away at fifteen, Sammy had thought that she abandoned him, and didn't even bother returning her phone calls anymore.

"Sammy, you stupid ass... I could've helped you..." Whispered words were directed to the ceiling before she stumbled blindly towards the door. She had to go to Lafayette. The thought of having to spend the night under her parents' roof wasn't appealing, though. She could leave in the morning, and get there in time for the funeral. Problem was, she didn't have a car. Moving down the hall, Cam paused in front of Ari's door, knuckles rapping against the wood several times before a voice answered. "Come in." Sitting behind the desk was the owner and proprietor of B.G.I., the club Camilla sung at. Teary eyes found the woman, and it took a moment to clear her throat.

"I.. I need to take off tomorrow. Was wonderin' if I could use yer car.." Words poured forth with really no thought behind them, and she walked forward enough to settle in the chair across from the other. "What happened?" Mouth worked, but no words came out. Everything just didn't feel real anymore. "My brother.. he..he's..." Blinking slowly, eyes lifted to meet Arianna's levelly, the reply left at that as tears streamed down her cheeks in rapid succession.

Nothing else had been asked. Understanding without further explanation, car keys had been handed over. Returning to her room to pack a bag, Cam resembled a puppet without strings. All movement was wooden; even the look in her eyes was distant and unlife-like. Tomorrow, she'd have to say goodbye to the only family she'd ever cared about... and her heart felt like it had been ripped into a thousand pieces.

"For I am already being poured out like a libation, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith." The voice of Father Callaughn rose above the sounds of wails and cries, keeping a steady, strong rhythm as he imparted the words of God, hoping to offer solace in face of the grief they were feeling. One hand curled around the Bible, and the other holding the edge of the pulpit tightly, his eyes were kept focused straight ahead, instead of down on the casket in front of him. "From now on the crown of righteousness awaits me, which the Lord, the just judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me, but to all who have longed for his appearance."

The words were filled with anguish as well with remorse; sympathy for the ones left behind to carry on without the young man in front of him, in their lives. He went through the Scripture, his voice melodious, almost touchable as it reached down to the flock gathered for their departed. "But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the proclamation might be completed and all the Gentiles might hear it. And I was rescued from the lion's mouth." Inhaling a deep breath, the Bible was lowered as he took a step back, tear filled eyes lifted to the roof of the church as he quieted. "The Lord will rescue me from every evil threat and will bring me safe to his heavenly kingdom. To him be glory forever and ever. Amen."

A chorus of 'Amens' followed the Word, the sound of rosaries clinking together as the sign of the Cross was made by almost everyone in the congregation. Smoothing a hand down the front of his robe, weathered eyes finally dropped from the roof as he pinpointed a person in particular, and he extended his hand her way. Without a word, the woman pushed the black veil back from her face, allowing it to drape over her shoulders, her own rosary tucked into the pocket of her skirt as she stood. Camilla didn't know how she was supposed to get through the song she was to sing without breaking down, but it was expected of her. Analee and Harris had been adamant about her singing Amazing Grace, as a parting gesture to Samuel.

A parting gesture. As she climbed up the altar to stand near the pastor's pulpit, the only thought that was really running through her head; none of this is real. Eyes drifted to the lid of the casket, and she swallowed thickly to clear the lump from her throat. Her brother was inside of that box .. inside and cold. A shuddering breath was taken as she reached for the microphone, inclining her head slightly to Father Callaughn as a gesture of thanks. The organ started up behind her, playing the beginning strains of a song that had been sung at countless funerals before and would be played at countless more.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see." Thanks to a sedative the doctor had given her before the service, her voice was only a little quavery; the tone was clear and level. "'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved. How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed."

As the song continued, the family began standing as the pall bearers walked to the front of the church, each grabbing the appropriate handle on the casket in ready of carrying it out to the graveyard. The roller was still beneath it and would stay there until they cleared out of the church. Two of the pall bearers had been Sammy's friend since childhood; they had both grown up with the brother and sister, their faces almost as white as the button up shirts beneath their suit jackets.

"Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come, 'Tis gra--" As they began walking forward, the song was ended abruptly as Cam dropped the microphone, heels causing her to stumble as she scurried down from the altar and began moving towards them. The people still inside looked back in silent horror, to see the woman drop to her knees in front of the casket, both hands clasped in front of her as if she were begging someone. "Sammy, you said you'd be there for always... this isn't always.." Tears were coming fast and steady, making the eyeliner she'd applied earlier stream in rivulets down her face. "This isn't ALWAYS. YOU SAID YOU'D STAY..."

Mickey -- one of the two childhood friends -- released his handle quickly and went to her side, an arm going around her waist to help her upright. "Cam, he's gone. Ain't nothin' we can do about it." An imploring look was sent to David -- the other friend -- to help him with the hysterical woman. David quickly dropped his handle as well and skirted over, wrapping his arm around the other side of her waist and helping Mickey carry her to the front of the church. "No, no, no, no Mick.. He said he'd stay..." The words were starting to get indecipherable as she began sobbing, and they both escorted her out to the waiting car.

There was no way she'd be able to stay for the burial. The medication the doctor had given her was starting to kick in hard, and once she was in the back of the car, she slumped over in the seat, knuckles pressing to her mouth. Harris and Analee didn't go over to make sure she was alright. They merely stood in place at the mouth of the grave, eyes averted down. As if they were ashamed. Mickey glanced up to the driver once she was situated and held up a finger, indicating he should wait a moment. "David, get John to take my place. I'm goin' back to the hotel with 'er and make sure she doesn't try nothin' on herself." David merely nodded and turned to head back in the church as Mickey climbed into the car beside her, an arm draping around her shoulders as he tugged Cam to him.

"S'gonna be okay, I promise." A glance was flicked up to the driver then. "Head into town. I'll show ya which street to turn on when we get there." Falling silent, the only sound in the car was the sound of the two men breathing, and the anguished sobs coming from the woman in the back seat.

( to be continued )

Journal Entry
October 28th

I've been seeing this whacked out shrink that thinks me writing all my feelings down is good therapy. Says it'll help clear my mind of everything that's running through there. Frankly, I think he needs a shrink, but if I'm paying the money to see the guy, the least I can do is give this a go. So here it is.

Sammy's been dead for about three weeks now. I still don't know what to think about it. Everything just seems smudged together, like ink on a wet newspaper. Except for that brief thing on the phone the night before everything happened, I hadn't even talked to him in over a year. How do you go from having someone as your whole world, to putting them into the dirt? Even if he wasn't around, that didn't mean he wasn't with me. Above all, I always had faith in him. The whole business he had tangled himself up in, it was crazy. Pure and simple insanity. Then again, the flaunt of wealth and power is blinding to someone.

He got engaged. I nearly flipped my lid when he told me, but after meeting his broad, things mellowed out. Bren's a nice woman. A little spacey, but I can see what Sam saw in her. After he died, we both just sort of clung to each other, even though I moved to this weird ass place. I keep trying to talk her into moving out here, but she's been iffy so far. Something about staying close to where he is. Where he is, is a hole in the dirt. I wish I could find the son of a bitch that put him there. The guy's still out there, walking, enjoying life, after he took away my brother's. Justice ain't worth a shit, I guess, unless you hand it out yourself.

Speaking of this place that I moved to, it's beyond weird. They've got so many things that I've never seen before. The people ( for the most part ) are great. My whole life, I've only had one person that cared for me. Here, I've been adopted into a whole new family. Fae took me under her wing, appointed me sister, and now it seems that there are all these others that care, just because of that. It's trippy. I try to distance myself a little from them. 1- I don't know them that well. 2- I've never been an outwardly affectionate person. Never even been in love.

I guess... well, I know that's my own fault. Music's been number one in my life for so long, that's all I know. Sure, there were boyfriends sporadically through the years, but they were only with me because that's how it was. Certain people were put with the bird of the week, and that happened to be me. Love's just something I don't understand. You put your entire life into their hands. Your trust, your patience, your time .. and in the end, you're usually screwed. And not in a way that is appeasing to both parties. That's something I can do without completely.

Aside from all of that, I've been doing pretty good. The breakdowns are few and far between, and I can usually keep them in until I get home. Except for this one night, I had a total spaz out moment at the tavern. Bursting into tears, the whole nine yards. There's this cat out there, Des. The few times I've met him, he's always been real quiet. Sitting in the background, speaking when spoken to. Pretty odd for a guy, in my opinion, but maybe things work different here. I danced with him one night-- Fae and I were cutting up and he got mixed up in it somehow, poor kid. After that, though, he just seemed to .. stick. He had some problems, I talked him through them. Then I go and break down and he's the one that's there to hold me up.

He reminds me of Sammy a little. Not to much with the outward appearance, but the way he acts. The compassion and caring. It makes me miss Sam that much more, but then again, I'm grateful that this kid's around to help. He got upped to brother status that night, when he helped me. Nobody's ever held me while I cried before. Nobody's even cared if I was crying, so it was new. Hopefully it won't happen again, God knows bawling in public is humiliating enough.

Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, and I dreading both. Going home doesn't seem like an option. Analee and Harris, I could care less what they're doing or how they're feeling. They picked a hell of a time to decide that Sam was their son. After he's dead. Nice timing there, Ma and Pa. Fucking assholes. It might be wrong to think of your parents like that, but when they act like that, what can you do? I call 'em like I see 'em.

Anyway, enough of this shit. I've written out my feelings, yippee skippee, maybe that quack'll get off my back and write a prescription for anti-depressants like a normal shrink would.

Tape Transcript
Session 08
January 18th -- 2:37 p.m.

"Session 8, recording started. State your name for the record, please."

"You got Alzheimers or somethin', Doc?" You could hear the grin in her voice.

"Please, Ms. St. John. It's just for the records."

"Jesus, Doc. Get a sense of humor. Camilla Violet St. John, reporting for duty, sir."

A pause from the doctor. "... thank you. Our last visit, we were starting to break through to the trauma relating to your brother and his death. Shall we go from there?"

"I'm payin' you to tell me. But sure, let's go from there."

"Ms. St. John.." A faint warning lacing his tone.

"Dr. Barthlomew," returned easily.

A sigh. "You mentioned that Samuel was involved with some gang related activities, and that's what led up to his death. Care to elaborate more on that?"

"Not really, mainly because I don't know too much. Just recently found out there's a reason some of the guys are here after me and Bren. Somethin' about a chemical called ricin--"

"--Ricin? Ms. St. Jo--"

They were taking turns interrupting each other. "Just call me Cam. The Ms. thing is gettin' on my nerves."

".... fine. Cam. Do you know how dangerous ricin is? You should turn it into the authorities as fast as you're able.."

"Listen Doc Bart..." Annoyed noise from across the room. "I know the shit's dangerous, alright? Hence why three guys burst into Bren's place like they owned the fucker. HENCE why all three guys are now dead. Get me?"

"... I'll pretend like I didn't hear most of that."

"If it makes ya happy, go for it."

".. yes. Anyway. Have you turned it over to the proper authorities?"

"I gave it to somebody better than the authorities. Don't sweat it, just move on to the next topic. I've got forty minutes left, and this shit ain't cheap."

"Please refrain from foul langua--"

"As much as I'm payin' you, I should be able to climb the rafters and sing a Fuck You song at the top of my lungs while topless. We gonna move on, or do I hafta leave?"

"Fine. You mentioned the gentlemen being dead, but yet you seem to not feel any remorse or regret towards their... demise."

"Didn't know 'em, don't care. Should I?"

"Do you dream, Ms. St. J-- Cam?"

"Sometimes. Why?"

"With your ability to sever yourself emotionally from certain situations, I was beginning to worry you might be sociopathic."

"Sociopathic? Doc, it ain't like I'm out there slaughterin' innocent virgins and kidnappin' kids. What the hell are you insinuatin'?"

"Have you ever been in love, Cam?"

A long pause.

"What kinda fucked up question is that?"

Another sigh, this one exasperated. "It pertains to your emotional state. As you said, you're paying me for this, so let me do my job."

"My, aren't we gettin' testy. No, I have never been in love."

"Why is that?"

"Never had time."

"You don't make time for love, Camilla.."

"Oooh, the extended version of the name. Am I in trouble or somethin' because I haven't spent most of my time fawnin' after some guy that only wants one thing?"

"I'm not your father, so no. You're not in trouble. You seem jaded about love."

"No, if you were my father, you'd be drunk in a corner somewhere. And I don't know about jaded, I'm just basin' this off of the one and only experience I ever had, and love had nothin' to do with it."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really, but this is my dime. I already told you about leavin' home at fifteen and all that. There was this guy Gavin at one of the joints I sang at. Sweet words, gifts, devotion.. came at me with all that, but when I decided that maybe I wanted to be with him, he decides to go out and fuck everythin' in the world because I didn't satisfy him enough. So I seem jaded? Maybe because I am."

"There seems to be a little bitterness as well. Why, do you think, you were unable to satisfy him, as you said, the way he needed?"

"My music came first. Everythin' else was just background noise."

"Music came before love, that's what you're saying?"

"In those exact words. Love comes and goes, music's with you until you lose the ability to hear a tune or duplicate it. Music comes from the soul. It's real, it's true, it's a part of you."

"I think you lied to me, Cam."

"Eh?"

"You've been in love. You're in love right now. With your music. Do you think there'll ever be anyone good enough to move up to the top of the list and put the music second?"

Another long pause.

"... maybe."

"What does 'maybe' mean?"

"It means just that. Maybe."

A pause, this time from the doctor.

"What's his name?"

The sound of leather squeaking could be heard as she shifted position.

".. Oliver McHale."

"What does Mr. McHale do for a livin'?"

"No clue. But he plays the guitar and sings sometimes."

"So he's a fellow music lover then."

"Yep."

"How doe--"

"Time's up, Doc. See ya in about two weeks."

Session 09
( untaped )
January 23rd -- 3:14 p.m.

"This won't be a normal session today, Ms. St. John. All I want for you to do is to take this sheet of paper and fill it out accordingly."

"... I thought I paid you to listen while I rattled on about my feelings or lack thereof."

"Just take the paper -- here's a pen -- and fill the sheet out."

With that, he left her sitting on the opposite side of his desk while he went out to grab a coffee. Picking up the sheet of paper, she eyed it for a moment, before reaching into her pocket and bringing out her glasses.

"... this is bullshit," muttered under her breath. Picking up the pen, the paper was placed to the desk so that she could proceed.

----

List five things that are true about yourself.

List five things that people think about you, that is a lie.

List five negative things about yourself.

List five positive things about yourself.

In five words, describe yourself.

----

List five things that are true about yourself.
- 1. I'm a natural brunette.
- 2. I sing.
- 3. I don't eat meat.
- 4. I think most doctors are full of shit.
- 5. I'm keeping this pen.

List five things that people think about you, that is a lie.
- 1. I'm strong.
- 2. I don't let things get to me.
- 3. I'm easy.
- 4. I give good advice.
- 5. I know what I'm doing.

List five negative things about yourself.
- 1. I can't deny shoes.
- 2. I can't commit.
- 3. I can't tap dance. Damnit.
- 4. I don't take things seriously.
- 5. I let my mouth override my brain.

List five positive things about yourself.
- 1. My fashion sense is unparallel.
- 2. I play the piano, quite well.
- 3. I can drink any guy under a table.
- 4. I try to keep a good attitude, for the most part.
- 5. I look good in this skirt.

In five words, describe yourself.
(1)Tired (2)of (3)taking (4)people's (5)shit.

----

Tape Transcript
Session 10
January 24th -- 4:32 p.m.

"Session ten recording started. Ms. St. John, would you care to explain why you barged into my office when we don't have a session scheduled until next week?"

Eyes shifted to the woman sitting across the desk from him, noting the way her fingers were clasped together tightly in her lap.

"I can't do it anymore. I can't take sittin' and waitin' for these people.. it's drivin' me crazy.."

"Slow down, Ms. St. John. Let's start from the beginning. What people are you speaking of?"

"Remember the ricin? Me tellin' you about it? The people that ordered it... they want it, and they're threatenin' to hurt everybody..."

"Everybody as in? Are you grouped into this as well?"

"Everybody! Bren mainly, and yeah, I'm grouped in but that ain't the point.."

"Why isn't it?"

"I can take it, for the most part. I don't want her hurt.."

Without asking, a cigarette was produced and lit, the smoke blown ( thoughtfully ) to the side so as not to waft in full force towards the Doc. Instead of telling her this was a no smoking area, he simply let her go.

"She's a grown woman, just as you ar--"

"You're not understandin', Doc. It don't matter how old she is. How old any of my friends are, if they're gonna be hurt, I take it fuckin' personally.."

"You can't save the world, Camilla."

"Good thing I ain't worried about the world. Just them. Mainly her."

"It sounds like the two of you have a good, strong friendship."

"Somethin' like that.."

"Continue on with what you were saying, please."

"I was out the other night at this place we usually all hang out at.. Got a phone call, tellin' me to 'sleep well' then they hung up. They're fuckin' watchin' and waitin'..."

The tip of the cigarette shook faintly as it was lifted for another draw. Her eyes were having a hard time staying fixated on one thing.

Doctor Bartholomew watched her carefully, lips pressed into a thin line. She was different. Their other sessions, she rarely exhibited any sort of emotion, other than sarcasm, and now she seemed ready to break down. He leaned forward, elbows settling to the top of his desk.

"Your best bet is to either go to the authorities, or-- please don't interrupt. Let me finish speaking." A pause. "Or, go to someone you trust inexplicably and do your best to stay safe. And to keep Ms. McCullogh safe."

A short nod was given to his advice.

"Y-yeah.. I know. I just.." Deep breath taken as the cigarette was tossed into his coffee cup. "It's gettin' hard keepin' it together in front of everybody. They expect me to be in control, but... I can't anymore."

Hands lifted in a gesture of defeat. He nodded briefly before jotting something down into the notebook in front of him. Tearing the piece of paper out, it was handed to her.

"This is my home phone number. If you feel the need to talk, give me a ring at any time."

Nodding again, the paper was tucked into her pocket before she stood and walked out of the door. Clicking the tape recorder off, a neutral gaze was kept on her until she disappeared. Once the door shut, he reached over to grab the phone, a few numbers punched in.

"She's running scared. It's almost time. Just make sure once this is over, my way out of here is clear."

It was the first time she'd been back to her apartment in two weeks or better. Pushing open the door, it felt a little surreal to come back to the place. Keys shoved into her pocket, an anxious step was taken inside, eyes shifting from left to right, then back left. The morning sunlight was playing hell with her eyes, but she couldn't help but look at the window. When no bullet crashed through, nerve was strengthened.

Shoulders squaring, the door was kicked shut behind her as a path was cut towards the phone, eyes slanting to the answering machine and it's blinking light. For some reason, she didn't want to know who had called and left a message. Gut instinct was telling her it wasn't a social call.

Deep breath taken, a finger pressed the play back button, and she stared down to the black contraption, as if seeing through it. The sudden sound of her voice saying leave a message made her jump, but what played next made her blood run cold.

"You think runnin' off and tryin' to hide is gonna stop anything, you stupid bitch? All yer doin' is pissin' me off more, and that's just gonna make it worse for you. S'been floatin' around the grapevine that somebody else has my shit. You know what? Either you come up with a way to get it back, or I'll use yer fuckin' body as a wall coverin' in my den. Two weeks. That's all ya got. Two. Fuckin'. Weeks. After that, Mario's gonna come have a chat with ya, just like he did with your two timin' brother. You ain't nothin' but some silly, empty skirt that's gonna end up with a breathin' impairment. Two weeks, chickie. Hell, I might even come down for a personal visit. Keep that in mind."

The line died suddenly and all that could be heard was the tape stopping and rewinding itself. It all faded to a dull roar in her ears, the only thing permeating through was the sound of the man's voice "Just like he did with your two timin' brother..." That repeated over and over again until it felt like she was about to start screaming.

Jarring back to reality with a start, the flat of her palm was used to wipe over her eyes, ridding tears she didn't even know she shed. "Alright, mother fucker," empty words, flat in tone, given to the room, "you wanna play, we'll play."

Tape Transcript
Session 11
January 26th -- 6:14 p.m.

"Recording has begun. Please state your name for the record, please."

"Camilla St. John."

The flat tone of her voice caught him offguard and eyed her over the rim of his glases.

"Alright, Camilla. You called yet another emergency session and judging from the way you sound, things haven't gotten any better. Over the past few weeks, we've made some progress on your emotional state. What's causing this, for lack of a better word, relapse?"

The sound of leather creaking was the only answer for a long moment.

"They're callin' me all the time now. Watchin'. Waitin'... I can't.. It's.. I just can't...."

The sob caught him offguard, yet again, and a handkerchief was extended her way.

"Why don't you go to the police, Camilla. Tell them what's going on, that someone is stalking you-- harassing yo--"

"I can't go to the police with this. What am I gonna tell 'em? 'Scuse me officer, but I have access to a narcotic that can wipe out a city block and oh yeah. The mob's after me. They'll laugh me out of the buildin', if not lock me up and throw away the fuckin' key."

"If your life is in dang--"

"It's not just MY life. How many fuckin' times do I have to say that? Does it look like I give a good goddamn if my life is in danger? Some fruit cake is out there, pretty much endangering my goddamn friends and family..."

The sound of something heavy being hit jolted the doctor.

"Ms. St. John, please refrain from trying to damage my desk. Why is it that you think telling me is going to help?"

Flat silence.

"Ms. St. John, did you hear the question?"

.......

"Yeah, I heard the question. It ain't 'cause I think you can help, I just don't have anyone else to talk to. I try talkin' about it to the others, and they start feelin' sorry for me, or wantin' to protect me..."

"And you don't want anyone to worry about or protect you?"

"No."

"Why not, exactly?"

"Because. I've spent the past eight years fendin' for m'self, and now everybody and their mama wants to hide me away and make sure nothin' bad happens. Fuck that."

"They just don't want to see you hurt. Most people like having someone concerned about their welfare."

"I don't want people to get attatched to me if I might die."

"Do you think you're going to die?"

More flat silence.

"Well? Do you?"

.......

"Yeah, yeah I do expect to die."

It was the doctor's turn to go silent.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not too much."

"Why not? Do you want to die?"

"Fuck no, I don't want to die, but if it happens, it happens. Bein' scared of it does no good."

"That's a pretty morbid outlook."

"Doc. The fuckin' mob is after me. Does it look like I have a choice of bein' happy or sad about bein' offed? It's the mob. As in Mafia."

"But you ca--"

"Look, I'm sorry for wastin' your time. Thanks for listenin'. Bill me."

With that, the sound of a chair being pushed back was heard, and then the door slamming shut as she exited. With a sigh, he leaned forward and pushed the stop button on the tape recorder.

After a moment of silent contemplation, he reached for the phone, punching in the now familiar number. After the third ring, the other line was picked up with something resembling a grunt-- their version of hello.

"She just showed again."

"Yeah?"

"It's almost time. You gave her two weeks, but I think by next week."

"Y'sure?"

"Yes. Remember the deal."

With that, the line was disconnected.

The moment her phone started ringing, Cam began to shake. Running off of three hours of sleep, dealing with the message she got this morning, and then almost having a mental collapse after leaving the shrink's office, the last she wanted was to answer that fucking phone and have someone else tell her that she was in trouble.

By now, she had figured that part out.

Three rings. Four rings. Five rings. Six rin--

"Hello?"

"Cam, Cam, tell me it ain't real. It's not real, is it? He's dead, he's gone.."

"Bren? What the hell are you sayin'? What's goin' on?"

Panic. Phones were the messengers of evil.

"He called me. He's dead, but he called me and said you were gonna die and I had to let you or bad stuff was gonna happen, and I don't want you to die or me to die or anybody to die..."

"Brenna, what in the fuck are you talkin' about? Sam did not call you. Sam is in Lafayette, in a tomb. They don't get good long distance in those things..."

"He did! Listen.."

Reality shifted as she listened to the recording from Bren's machine. Like being sucked into a downward spiral, and knowing that if you fight it, it'll only make you sink faster.

"Cut it off, that's not him."

Her tone was firm.

"He said it was him. Wha--"

"Bren, don't answer anythin' but your cell phone, and that's only if you recognize the number on the caller ID. Don't answer your house phone, don't check your messages. For that fact, move out of your apartmen-- don't argue with me on this, please?"

It wasn't often that Cam said please, and the single word was borderline begging.

"K," was the only answer she got before Bren disconnected.

Glancing down to the dead phone in her hand, knuckles whitened as her grip tightened. Not only were these bastards threatening people, now they had taken it upon themselves to send death threats to her, via Bren, via a fake Sam. This had gone above cruel and unusual punishment.

"... fine. Fuckin'... fine. They want me dead, let 'em come..."

Dear You,

I don't care about you.

I don't know you.

I don't like you.

If I ever see you, I will probably try to shoot you.

If you want me, come find me.

I think you are a coward.

The thought of you makes me want to vomit.

I hope you rot in hell.

Before you rot in hell, I hope you are tortured.

Preferably with sharp weapons.

Then I hope you live in pain before you die.

Then, after you die, I hope maggots infest your body.

I want you to leave me alone.

I want you to leave my friends alone.

I wish you didn't exist.

I wish you hadn't killed my brother.

I wish my brother would have killed you.

I hope you trip on your shoelaces and shoot yourself in the face.

I hope you get pasta laced with arsenic.

Oh, and I hope to see you soon.

Very soon.