Fuck you. Do you like that? Fuck you, fuck your people, fuck your vendetta, fuck your cause, fuck your poison, fuck your job, fuck your city, fuck your everything.

Just fuck you. You can take this whole goddamn thing and shove it up your ass crossways, because you know what? I'm fucking tired of you. If I ever see you, or catch you alone, I'm going to rip your goddamn head off and shove it up your goddamn ass.

How's that? Is that good? Fuck you and everything you've ever mother fucking stood for, and every mother fucking thing you're ever going to stand for.

Just. Fuck. You.

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

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

Life was starting to feel like a figment of her own imagination; nothing real, everything insubstantial and ready to fly away like so much ash in the wind. The news was playing on the television-- muted background noise in a world of white static and distortion.

"Body found earlier today.. office... throat slit... no details.... receptionist locked in..."

The fragments didn't seem to want to make sense. A broken faerie tale with no beginning, middle, or end. Random verbiage slapped on a white sheet, stated in a monotone voice. That's all someone's life was anymore. Tragedy, switch cameras, good news.

The television screen exploded into a million tiny fragments. Smoke from the end of a barrel -- ears ringing -- hand tingling -- eyes unfocused.

What sort of life were people living? Were they really living or simply waiting -- year after year -- to die? Rumpled clothes and coffee mugs, the cacophony of non-sound littering her living room.

The radio was playing.

".. a chance to think am I drinkin' too much? Should I keep goin' or lose the life that I love.."

It ended abruptly with the force of ceramic shattering the silicone and plastic. More white static to fill the overflowing, empty room. A hitching sob was the only real music here; nothing more left to show, nothing more left to give.

Another crashing sound. More ceramic, this time hitting glass and causing prized pictures to fall vacantly to the floor-- stoic faces gazing up to a ceiling that wasn't there for them, and wasn't visible to the dead eyes.

Destroyed, like everything else. Useless, like she was becoming. Unimportant, like everything outside her world was. Sheet music turned to razor edged snow in a physical avalanche. Flurry of movement leaving nothing untouched-- nothing except for one thing.

The centerpiece of the room tucked away in the corner. It was silence, but the presence was well-known and always there. A foot lifted just enough to send it, in all it's silent glory, to the floor on its side.

With its partial destruction came her downfall, a muted cry as knees gave out-- forehead pressing to cool, bare wood. Nails digging in towards palms, the blood starkly trailing against the floor. A price paid.

In the midst of the new wreckage, there sat a woman alone. No ties to the world, no thought in her head, and no care in her eyes. A self inflicted disaster in a crime scene that held no crime.

.. all her fault, all her fault, all her fault ..

The phone had been plugged back up, but when it rang, the hollow noise filled the room-- given no notice. The answering machine had about fifty messages on it, all the same thing.

.. time running out.. coming soon .. bitch .. killed doctor ..

Arms wrapped around her knees. Chin dropped to her arms. Eyes leveled on the bottom of the phone cord. Incomplete thoughts for an incomplete woman. The voice just kept coming over the line-- over and over again.

The blood was still on the floor.

The piano was still dying.

The television was still shattered.

The radio only played static.

She wasn't real anymore.

fendin' for a light that i know ain't there
got sparkles in my eyes and dewdrops in my hair
stretch out my hand only to keep reachin'
all those lessons learned that i wish that you weren't teachin'

all my words don't mean nothin'
kinda like breathin' in a room full of dust
you speak to me like magic
but it's those spells you weave that i can't trust

"Deal."

----

The phone was ringing again. It was always ringing. Glancing around the destroyed room, she crawled over towards the phone and lifted the mouthpiece from the cradle. A long moment of silence followed before her raspy voice decided to make an appearance.

"Hello?"

"Camilla.. I've been tryin' ta call ya for the past two weeks, why haven't ya been pickin' up?"

"Phone was unplugged, Mama.."

The first time their relationship had been made verbal in eight years. It caused a period of silence from the other end of the line.

"... I didn't mean for them ta find ya, like they did yer brother, Camilla.."

"They found him and killed him, Mama.. They killed him.."

A strangled sob reverberated like an echo.

"I know, bébé..."

After all these years, when presented with the chance, Analee didn't know how to comfort her only child. Her own daughter.

"Maman, je ne peux pas prendre ceci..."

"Oui, vous pouvez. Just tell me where ya are. I'll come t'ya."

A noise caused the tearful woman to pause, eyes narrowing on the mouthpiece.

"What was that?"

A pause.

"That was just yer Papa, cher. He's sleepin' in th'chair.."

"That didn't sound like Pere. Mama, what.."

The phone was slammed down onto the cradle with enough force to crack the plastic. One had to wonder just how bad you fucked up in life for karma to come back around in the form of your own parent betraying you.

The phone was unplugged again, with only one difference.

The whole set was thrown through the window, sending a shower of glass and technology to the pavement below.

The man with the cigarette was still watching her.

Any time of the night, she could go to the window and look out to see the smoldering end of a cigarette glowing against the inky blackness of the building next door. She tried talking to him a few times via yelling through the broken window, but he wasn't much of a conversationalist.

The bracelets were taken off.

----

Walking along and minding her own business as usual, eyes were cast down and mind was distanced to far and away -- the hand that crept over her shoulder was surprising -- there wasn't time for a struggle as she was dragged from the sidewalk and into the alley. Darkness consumed, pulling Bren inside along with the other bodies present, only they seemed to be controlling the ebony waves.

----

Washing the congealed blood from her hands, a jacket was tugged over the rumpled, two day old clothing as she headed for the door. The ward was engraved on the wall-- nothing short of sandblasting it would get rid of it. She didn't have a sander handy.

Time was running out.

Out the door, out the building, to next door she went. The Browning was in its shoulder holster, but it was clipped into place. She wouldn't be needing it tonight, hopefully. Just a chat, a small conversation to see how things were going.

He knew she was coming.

----

"Not talking now, huh bitch?" Another kick, this time to the side of Bren's head, had her screaming with pain and rage. Something inside shifted -- she growled low from somewhere in her throat -- mouthful of blood was spat angrily, landing on the unknown's shoe tip.

----

By the time she pushed through the unlocked door of the room he was in, he was sitting in a chair. Languidly smoking a cigarette in the dim lighting that had appeared via lamp. A hat was tipped low over his brow, only exposing the chiseled line of his jaw, and the curve of his mouth to her.

"Been expectin' ya, doll."

He sounded like he had a three pack a day habit, and as he pushed up to his feet, it was shown exactly how much taller he was. Just a foot or so, nothing major. Really.

"Sorry if I'm late."

Her voice didn't sound like her own. Not the melodious alto that people drove for miles and miles to hear. It was an empty flat sound, holding no tone, no inflection. He shoved the hat back from his face as she shut the door, hands going out at her sides to show she wasn't holding a weapon.

"I ain't got nothin' but time. How're you doin'?"

Sarcasm. He'd seen her go crazy on her place. Had a good laugh about it. His eyes smoldered like two blackouts, holding no glint of light, save from the sadistic streak that couldn't help but bleed through. Her own blue-violets were dimmed to a lackluster shine.

"Just peachy. Got one problem though, mind hearin' about it?"

Southern hospitality. It didn't matter if violence was about to happen, there was always time to be cordial.

"Sure toots, I don't mind hearin'. Wanna sit down?"

The Southern belle and the Gentlemen. The facade might work if they were in public, and knew that the other didn't want to kill them.

"Nah, standin's good. My problem is .. I'm tired of you. I'm tired of your fuckin' boss, I'm tired of your fuckin' friends, and I'm tired of this whole goddamn situation. Thanks for listenin'."

"No problem."

He even tipped his hat while taking a step forward.

"Ya know, all this would go away if ya just turned over the goddamn ricin. Poof, we're gone."

[i]"I'm not as stupid as ya'll think I am. Even if I gave you the stuff, you'd still kill me."

He took a moment to consider this, lips twisting with agreement as he nodded.

"Well, true. But think of it like this, it'd be over."

Optimism. It was a wonderful thing.

"How 'bout I just blow your fuckin' head off and see where that gets me."

"You can try, baby, but I don't think you can outdraw me."

"Wanna find out?"

He was standing directly in front of her now. She wasn't backing away.

"How 'bout we just be friendly to each other. You can sit on my lap, tell me about yer day."

"How about you go fuck yourself."

Fingers were suddenly in her hair, wrenching her head back enough to expose the line of her throat.

"I could finish you off right now like you finished off that shrink and nobody would care if you were gone or not. Cause you ain't really got nobody that cares for ya. That crazy bitch that was with your brother, she don't care for ya none anymore. That tall bitch that comes over sometimes, she's just bein' nice to you 'cause you're pathe--"

"Sh--"

The backhand stopped the interruption.

----

Feet dug into the pavement, as did fingers which bled from nails cracking and pulling free. She launched herself forward, using the wall for support as she moved and shoulder was sent into the midsection of the one nearest. He flew back taking her right along with him, only she was stopped in flight as her hair was grabbed from behind. Ganked back and away, arms were held tightly even as she continued to struggle.

----

"Don't talk while I'm talkin'. You broads these days, I swear to God. Back home, you'd know your place. Like I was sayin'. That kid that follows ya around sometime, he's just like a lost puppy. Don't really care for ya either. Hell, even that mush mouthed guitarist don't even come 'round no more. Seems to me like you're just floatin' around, waitin' to die."

Silence from her.

He leaned in close, his mouth brushing against her ear-- breath purling like a summer breeze, sliding across her cheek.

"Ya keep fuckin' with me, I'll throw you outta yer own window. With the way your place looks, and the way you look, they'll just think it was suicide. Got me?"

More silence.

Another backhand to prompt a reply.

"Got you."

This was spat his way, along with the saliva on his shoe, before he shoved her away roughly. Reaching forward, he patted her on the cheek-- a reassuring gesture if he wasn't doing it hard enough to rock her head to the side.

"Go on back ta that empty apartment now. Be alone until m'buddies come for ya, after they get done with that other bitch, then we'll help ya. It's better that way, anyway."

----

Two moved forward, setting on Bren with such an angry hatred that she was positive this time she wouldn't pull through with the not so subtle warning. A series of blows hit her body, one of them was using..a piece of wood. Skin was splintered, cracked open to enable exposed flesh to have a little feel. Sharing was good.

----

The only reply was the door slamming shut, and then her form racing across the road back to her building. No lights flickered on to announce her return. Because she didn't return. While he was busy wiping the spit from his shoe, the brief moment his head was down, she ducked to the side of the building and headed down the street, towards where Bren was staying.

Please don't let me be too late.

The words the man had said, about her being alone, she couldn't take them at face value right now. If Bren didn't care for her, that was alright-- Cam wasn't going to let the woman be killed regardless. Ducking through the alleyways, eyes swept over the area, trying to see if there was any sign..

"BREN?! BREN ARE YOU AROUND HERE?!"

Hoarse whisper turned frantic scream, the pace picked up from a stride to a jog as she searched.

"BREN!!! WHERE..."

Steps slowing. Voice lowering.

"...are... "

Hands going up so that fingers could tangle in her hair. A whisper now.

".. you..? ..."

----

Cell phone rang, one answered, and the news delivered would be alarming. Wasn't the broad who killed the good doctor after all...

"Leave her for now. I'll see her in a couple of days when she shows up for the next appointment," came the throaty voice, so familiar.

She couldn't move and could barely breathe, but her ears weren't yet destroyed.

"Why? Where're we goin' next?" Third stepped toward the girl and shoved his foot against her hip, sending her rolling onto her back. Even now he wouldn't mind having a little feel of her.

"The astronomer, we'll need to visit. Maybe share a beer and exchange some stories," he laughed, the sound sour and stale.

"Works for me, Doctor Co--"

----

Voices. She could hear them on the other side of the wall where she was, talking about--

The astronomer, we'll need to visit...

Bren was over there. She knew it, and something was horribly wrong. Cam could hear her broken breathing underneath the sinister voices of the others. Hands still in her hair, she crouched down, head dropping between her knees.

She couldn't stop them.

She couldn't save Bren.

She couldn--

Had to get Bren somewhere safe. Somewhere they couldn't find her. Had to warn Des. Nobody was.. it was...

Goddamnit.

----

The cold was overwhelming. One leg had somehow managed its way under the large dumpster, the other was bent back, causing the prickle of tingles to start ebbing through her hip. Cheek was pressed against the pavement as were chest and stomach -- eyes stared forward, unblinking.

----

"Come on doll, we're goin' somewhere private."

No answer. Cam slid an arm up under Bren's and hoisted her up to her feet. They were going to have to limp it along, but Bren would be safe. She would. If nothing else in this world-- if the whole planet exploded into flame at this very moment, at the very least, Bren would be safe.

"..sorry they did this.. wanted to stop it.. wanted to help.."

The words were disjointed, making no real sense. None of it mattered, she was taking care of Bren. Like she should've done months ago. Sticking to the back alleys so they wouldn't get any unwanted attention. They already had enough, thank you.

After leaving Bren with Max -- not exchanging the first word with him -- Cam abruptly left. She had two stops to make and it was better if she was just .. alone.

The cigarette was still glowing when she got back home.

The window was still broken and it was still dark outside.

For the first time in a while, a winsome smile appeared, curving her mouth upwards.

Into the closet, up to the top shelf, a small box tucked in the back.

A small bag was taken out and shoved into her pocket, along with her cigarettes, a lighter, and a mini bottle of Everclear.

The cigarette finally stopped glowing across the street, though you couldn't tell through the boarded up window. Both apartments were empty and cold, left to their own devices as their occupants left in one form or another. Either by being led away or carried out in a body bag.

It was nice to have a couple of guys handy, sometimes.

There wasn't much to gather up. Just a few clothes and some pictures. Everything else would have to stay there until she actually had a place to move them. The rent was paid up through the month, so there wasn't really a problem.

Eight years of freedom and now she was dependant on someone else. Poetic irony.

It wouldn't do much good to argue. The little-brother type astronomer had persuasive means via injected drugs, and he was liberal with the dosage. Where her day went, she'd never know. Most of it was spent asleep. Waking up took a lot of effort, cobwebs obscuring her brain tightly until she found coffee.

On top of all that, she was more than likely jobless.

Maybe she should put a call in to Charlie and explain what happened.

The conversation / debate with Mr. Olives aka Nathan last night had struck a chord. Not that anyone would know it from her outward appearance. No, that sort of troubling was kept locked away in her heart of hearts. Had she been hurt a few times, romantically? Not a few times, no, just once. Once had been enough to dissuade her from all of the hearts-and-flowers bullshit. With Valentine's day fast approaching, along with everything going on, sometimes she wondered why she even got out of bed.

Oh yeah. Food and beer. Cigarettes.

A walking shadow without the embodiment of an actual shadow-- black wrapped from head to toe. Slash of blood red at the mouth, eyes hidden beneath an ever present brim. Wraith-like and drifting, standing among the wreckage of a place once called home. It was as if everything was being viewed through plastic. Slightly distorted, not quite real, but within grasp. The board over the window was what set off the 'abandoned' appearance.

Nobody home, nobody lived here.

People would be shocked to realize that even she had believed in Love. Once upon a time, that is. When you're a small girl believing in faerie tales, of course you believed in Love. It's only when you grow older and experience the pain that comes with it, first hand, that the illusion starts to fade. People came into your life, and you loved them. Loved them with everything you had, but then, they disappeared. Over and over again.

If anyone could prove her wrong about the emotion, she was up for the challenge, but it was hard to change her mind once things had been emblazoned into it. Prove her wrong-- a feat she wasn't sure could happen. Sociopathic, unfeeling, emotionless. Three words she heard an awful lot during the therapy sessions. If it's in print, of course it must be true, right? Right.

Giving a final look over her shoulder to the room, her head turned-- chin tucking down towards her chest as the door was pulled shut. The click of the door latch reverberated throughout the enclosed hallway, and without another thought, she headed down the stairs.

Life was a swirl of color and noise-- everything distinguishable and different, but yet melded together to form one cohesive unit. Pieces taken apart and put back together, only to have something missing, or the final product turned out not quite the same as before. What did you do when the missing piece was found, and just didn't fit anymore? Throw it away or force it to fit?

Nobody tries.

Time was a mismatched mistress, flying by all too fast, and not allowing you to do what you needed to do. On time. Biological clocks had nothing on the mortality clocks. Hands swirling, seconds ticking by while you're standing in one place with your hands over your eyes and an empty scream echoing in your own head.

Nobody hears.

A flickering television screen that played nothing but static, with the ocassional glimpse of something tangible. A vague outline against the salt and pepper pixels projected from a million miles away. You see them, but they can't see you. Kind of like looking through a peephole while someone has their finger over the glass.

Nobody sees.

"This was supposed to be fuckin' EASY! You tell me how two of my top men are dead. You fuckin' tell me how they're fuckin' dead.."

John Marceau, overseer and kingpin of this motley crew, was pacing back and forth in front of his desk, a finger jabbing towards the man standing just to the side. Mario had an expression of utter calm on his face throughout the brief yelling, hands splaying at his sides helplessly in answer. Marceau mimicked the action. "This.." The action mimicked again. "This is all I get as an answer? You're lucky I don't put a hole in your head right now!" Things were slipping out of his control. If there was one thing he could not stand, it was being powerless.

"What do ya want me to say, John? That I know exactly what's goin' on and why Barthlomew and Randy are dead? I don't fuckin' know! Those twats are a little trickier than we though, especially with those fuckers they have helpin'." He was the only one allowed to talk to Marceau that way, mainly because he'd saved the man's ass more times than once. One didn't forget that sort of thing.

John paused in front of his desk abruptly, fingers raking back through salt and pepper strands, before he slanted a look towards Mario. "Find 'em. Find 'em, do what you have to to them, and bring them back here to me..." They were driving him insane, that's what they were doing. "And you make sure that Camilla bitch has that ricin or I swear to Jesus, I'll find it somehow, and shove a handful of those pills down her throat."

Mario had his orders and he turned for the door. Exchanging a few words with the two guards at the door, he donned his hat and swept out of the building quickly, taking along four men of his own. The two guards understood their new orders and positioned themselves back in front of the door. If anyone suspicious came along, they were to shoot without question.

The penthouse was guarded well enough. Two guards at the door, two at the elevator, two downstairs to monitor any activity around the building, and there were security cameras everywhere. He was a rather wanted man amongst the unscrupulous characters in this town and his own home town. Being powerful and wealthy had it's downfalls. Once this was over with though, and the ricin was back in his hands — and those two bitches along with their little friends were dead — everything would be just fine. Just .. fine.

About a block away, in one of the underground access tunels, two women were playing with wires. "They should probably flicker first, rarely do lights just ever blink out all at once." So flicker they did. The lights for everything on that block, which was probably just that one apartment building, and one small maintinance building, flickered on and off a several times. "Now we'll overload it so we have to go in and check the fuses in the basement." We was said figuratively, it would be Zane going in there, and it was Gisa playing with the hardware. But, ZZrrt! A few electrical sockets might spark a little, a few light bulbs will burst, and the building will go dark.

If there was one thing that could cause panic among the masses in that building, it was the lights going Rainman. All of their surveillance was hooked up to the mainframe in the basement. Without the cameras operational, it was fair game for anyone to waltz in. That is, if they could get through the sudden influx of guards that suddenly appeared at every entry/exit of the building-- guns in hand. Glancing up towards the ceiling as the bulb over his desk shattered, an undecipherable curse was loosed. "Find out what the fuck's going on, and hurry the hell up." Without asking twice, three lackeys hurried towards the door running into it a couple of times before one got the idea to flick a lighter.

Nothing will work, all the fuses were shot to hell, they'll have to be replaced. Now, to wait five minutes... And a tan van with "RhyDin, We Light Your Style" on the side, came rolling to a halt in front of the building.

When the van appeared, two of the guards walked outside towards it, guns held loosely at their sides. Nobody got in without clearance.

The tall woman in the bulky bomber jacket, with a bright yellow bulb embroidered on one breast, pushed the passanger door open, with a billow of cigarette smoke, and she stepped out. Didn't men always like leggy woman in uniforms? Hers was a little snug. She flicked the cig away, and adjuted the utility belt. Tan uniforn, work boots, short hair in spiky pigtails, and
round glasses. Cig gone, she stuck a tooth pick in her mouth, and pushed the door of the van shut. "Fellas. Didjyer lights jes go out?" She tipped her head back a little to peer at them through magnifying lenses.

Oh. My. God. Somebody please take pictures! Goon One stepped forward to the van-- the other guy staying near the door. Hat was tipped back from his face when the broad stepped out, and he whistled low. Good Jesus, legs up to eternity. "Yeah, they did, dame. I think ya just shorted me out too." Flashing her a brilliant smile, he stepped to the side and held
his hand out, showing the way. It's amazing; legs made ones not even check credentials. He chanson perdue: just wanted to walk behind her. The other guy was busy having a choking/laughing fit.

She beamed a smile around the toothpick. "Les hope I c'n help ya out wit dat." Chewed on the little piece of wood as she went past him to head for the door. He'll like walking behind her. She's always been proud of her ass, it was the squats. And the tan uniform pants were snug.

He was using his hat to fan his face. They didn't get many broads around here-- go figure. "Mainframe's in the basement, but if ya need help, I can give ya a guided tour down there." Genteel smile, playing the part of the Southern gentleman. The other guy was just chuckling to himself and returning to his position with the other guards. Catcalls galore, when she walked through the lobby.

Wait till the bomber jacket comes off. She was unzipping it as she went inside. The shirt was snug too, and unbuttoned enough to show cleavage. nother light bulb was emblazoned on one breast. "Ye jest show me da way, though f'it's as bad s'I think iddiz, it may take awhile ta fix."

A sudden outburst of "Man I wanna be a lightbulb," filtered through the room, followed by the eruption of manly laughter. These were the kinds of guys that turned chicks lesbian. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, we'll call him Jimmy, Jimmy placed a hand to the small of her back and ushered her towards the basement door. "Right through there, doll. If ya
need a hand, just call up."

Inside she was laughing, outside she was just all smiles and nods. Short spiky pigtails bobbing with the head movement. "Thanks fella." She didn't pay much mind to the hand at her back. Just went for the basement door.:: Will do!

He even held the door open for her-- such a gentleman. The hand was removed from her back so that he could lean to the side, following her procession on by him. Ouch, that was some kinda nice. "They grow 'em right 'round here," was all he had to say.

She pulled the jacket off as she went down the steps into the basement, head tipping back to look around theough the magnifying lenses, in case he was watching from the doorway. She took a small flashlight off her belt, flicked and shone it around at shoulder height. Only when she heard the door close, or when she was well out of visual range, would she remove the glasses.

Journal Entry
February 13th

No time to be sick. My eyes are burning, my throat is scratchy-- just great considering what tomorrow is, and what's planned. Valentine's Day weekend is one of the biggest ones considering what I do for a living, and last night just totally .. not good. The voice was a little huskier than usual, turning the songs into something they weren't supposed to be. I guess the audience pretty much didn't care. They danced, they applauded.

And I got paid, so apparently, it was alright.

The plan for right now is to just .. curl up in bed, force feed myself some Vitamin C and keep hydrated. Once your eyes start doing the Itchy Dance of Hell, it's time to cease consciousness.

Oh yeah. Sidenote. Things are going splendidly, in terms of progress. Plus, I've got an interview tomorrow afternoon for a new apartment. Hopefully, the red nose-look won't scare the manager off.

( a year ago )

"Good God woman, how many pairs of shoes do you need?" Huffing along behind her, the red-headed kid -- or, she should say, man -- glared at her through these lenses of his glasses. A grin slanted the red curve of her mouth, a brow arching delicately as she half turned to face him on the stairs. "As many as it takes, darlin'. Put the cases in the room and try not to scruff 'em."

Instant dislike, right off the bat. She was the evil shoe whore of New Orleans in his eyes. Eighteen years old -- a man in their times -- and innocent of the world she had learned was so corrupt, all hope was lost. Three years older than him, Cam took it upon herself to ruffle his feathers whenever the situation called for it. Insults were exchanged during every meeting like pleasantries.

Up until the night she kissed him. It started out as a normal night. Her acting like the Queen of Sheba, him glaring daggers at her back, but one thing changed. Or rather, one thing was brought to light. Cam had always viewed him for what he was-- a man, rather than the kid everyone else kept treating him as. Intelligent, witty, clumsy ... Some nights, after her set, she could remember going up to her room and wondering what it'd be like to have a decent person like that in her life.

Well, you're never going to know the answers until you do a little investigative work. Investigative work in the form of pushing him in a chair, straddling his lap, and making him pay attention to what she was saying. None of the words really mattered after that first kiss. What developed after, she couldn't put a name to. It was a little heavier than lust, but was it up there with 'love'? Confusing, that's what it was. Sprawled out next to him in bed, fingers running idly over the skin of his shoulder as he slept, a feeling welled up in her chest that she'd never felt before.

And she ran from it. Packed her bags, quit the club, and had left on the first train out of there with a goodbye kiss. She didn't look back when she left, and he didn't call out to her. Somewhat of a mutual understanding; things had escalated beyond their control.

People were clapping.

A wide smile appeared when she realized the applause was for her, one hand gripping the mic stand as she took a bow. The second set of the night was over with-- all she had to do was pack up and go home, thankfully. People thought standing on stage for two hours was a piece of cake, considering all you did was play piano and sing. Easy. They should try it. Wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, caused by the spotlight shining directly on her, the smile faltered slightly as the clapping dulled out to an echo.

The light wasn't going off.

Releasing the mic stand, the hand shifting to shield her eyes as she peered in the direction of where the crowd was, only to be faced with .. nothing. No one was there, and it looked as if nobody had been for quite awhile. Spiderwebs hung from the rafters. The tables were splintered and broken, and what chairs were left, were on their sides. Confused, she swung around to look behind her, at the stage, only to be confronted with a lot of dust, and a caved in piano.

Something was wrong.

A noise from the left of her caused attention to shift quickly, eyes widening as the source was brought into view quickly. Where the microphone stand had been just seconds ago, a large coiling snake now took it's place-- forked tongue slithering out to almost lap against her leg. With a scream, she scrambled backwards, her heel catching the edge of the stage and causing her to crash to the floor.

What was going on?

Crying out, the sound was cut off as she thudded to the floor, the breath knocked out her lungs from the impact. Not bothering to regain bearings, she scurried backwards on her heels and palms, ignoring the slicing pain shooting through her flesh. A glance to her hands showed that they were bleeding, though what caused it was yet to be seen. Not really caring at this point, the only thought in her mind-- get away from the snake. Hearing yet another noise behind her, she quickly regained her feet beneath her and pushed upwards, head swinging towards the door, where the sound was heard. Two people were standing there, though with the lighting in her face, all that could be seen were black shadows.

Who were they?

Fingers curling inwards to make fists, her position was kept in the middle of the room, eyes trained on the figures even as the hissing noise from behind gained in intensity. She knew.. if she turned her back on the men, something was going to happen, but if she kept her back to the snake... "What's goin' on?" screamed to the people, her voice echoing through the empty room-- reverberating off the walls to come back and mock her.

"What's goin' on? -- goin' on? -- what's -- goin' -- on?"

The blood was falling thicky from her hands now, trailing down her arms, and falling to the floor in a vermillion stream. The shadows were saying something now, but their tones were low-- almost inaudible. The voices blended together with the snake still hissing behind her, until the room was filled with a buzzing sound, an undertone of accusation and threat intermingling in a way that could only be sensed-- not heard. "You're lyin'." Lying about what, though? Clasping her bloody hands over her ears, she dropped to her knees suddenly, chin tucking towards her chest to try and block -- as well as drown out -- the noise.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Screaming suddenly, she could feel the snake coiling itself around her foot. Hands were dropped and eyes slid towards the roof of the building just in time to see a piece of it fall away to reveal the sky. Swallowing hard, as the serpent began winding its way up her leg, the last thing she could remember seeing was a star streaking across the dark velvet sky. It almost looked like it was going to crash right into h--

---

Waking up with a start, a scream stilled itself on her lips as she looked around the room wildly. Hands were coiled tightly in the scarlet sheets beneath her, and with a start, it took a moment to realize that the color wasn't induced by blood.

Stumbling from the bed, the lightswitch in the bathroom was flipped on. The mirror revealed a person Cam didn't recognize. Pasty white skin, dark circles beneath her fear-widened eyes. Breath coming in hitching gasps caused her shoulders to rise and fall jerkily.

That had been one hell of a nightmare...

----------

Dream Interpretation:

snake:
A snake, being the ages old symbol of Evil or Satan, makes it a bad omen to have one show up in a dream. To see a lone snake and feel threatened by it shows that you have a bad enemy that is even then working against you, it also a warning against bodily harm from an enemy. Should you overcome and kill a threatening snake in your dream shows that you will overcome your adversary and win out.

shadow:
A shadow is also a symbol for the unconscious activities that sometimes control actions. So a shadow can depict inner feelings seldom expressed. A shadow can also be a sign of coming events, the shadows cast from the future. This is because we often see someone’s shadow before we see them.

fear:
To feel fear in a dream means that you have not yet developed abilities to cope with what is symbolised as causing the fear. They show how to meet the parts of yourself that need release, or to be understood or healed. If it takes courage to meet these buried or painful parts of yourself, then your dreams will gradually take you on a journey that helps you to unfold your resources of courage.

blood:
Most often relates to emotional or psychological hurt and loss of energy, but can also depict physical injury, or presentiment of it. Emotional hurt could mean hurtful remarks, for instance being told we are not loved - these can sap our motivation to live and may be depicted as blood. The dream blood can denote injury, often from past trauma, which is causing us to lose energy or motivation. On your hands: Feelings of guilt about something. Perhaps you have killed the best in yourself in some way.

stage:
All the world is a stage and we are all actors playing a part. The trick to figuring out this dream is to try to find the symbology that will point to your 'performance in life' and then you will be able to correlate the stage with any items you see on it and the actions of the actors as they role play in order to receive the intended message.

lights:
A light shining out of the dark, or a flashlight beam, shows that you will finally find the truth in a situation or the answer to a personal problem that you have been searching for. If the light is dim, you will only find part of the solution.

echo:
Dreaming of an echo means you may have to keep repeating yourself before someone decides to trust and believe you.

defensive: This usually suggests you are being, or have been, defensive in the way you live or in relationships. There may be an underlying hurt or fear creating this defensiveness.

star:
A hope, a wish, an ambition. An intuition or subtle sense of the cosmos and your relationship with it. Subtle influences that shape and direct you.

Two nights later
----

She was on the stage again, but this time, the spotlight wasn't on. Mainly because there weren't any walls, floors, or a ceiling. The dias was centered in the middle of what appeared to be a field-- the dark sky stretching out for miles above her. Huddling her arms across her chest, she sank down onto the edge of the platform and glanced up. The shooting star was aiming for her again, but this time, there was no fear towards it. Right before it crashed into the ground, a voice sounded beside her.

"It's beautiful, ain't it, Cam?"

Blinking, blue-violets slid to the side to reveal a rather healthy looking Samuel. He was sitting beside her, hands grasping the edge of the stage loosely as his own eyes were trained heavenward.

"Yeah it is. What do they look like up close, Sammy?"

".. like heaven.."

Both fell silent as they continued watching the stars as they seemed to shift and twist-- every so often, one would break from from the rest and come streaking down towards the ground, only to dissipate in a flash of bright light. It took a moment, but she looked back towards him.

"I wanna go with you."

"Can't do that yet, Cammy. You just keep yer eye on the prize."

"What prize?"

"I'm speakin' figuratively, dummy." He flashed a grin her way. "I see ya, ya know. Wanderin' around lost. Just remember I'm with ya."

Lips pursing, she nodded slowly before reaching out to grasp his hand. As soon as her fingers made contact with his, something changed. The sudden bright flare from a star that had gotten too close temporarily blinded her, and her free hand came up to shield her eyes as her head turned away from the light.

Sammy had disappeared by this time. The hand she was holding was different-- not as calloused, not as familiar. Blinking to regain focus, when Des became visible, she just turned her head back up towards the sky as if nothing had changed.

"I don't want to be here alone.."

"You're never alone. It's all within you. Everyone you've ever loved, who's loved you. You just have to learn to touch it, and it's as far away as the stars and as near as your heart."

"Never had nobody but him love me, though. I try to touch him and ..."

Without another word, she slid down to her feet and wandered away from the stage, hands tucking loosely into her pockets. As time as she left it, the stage -- and Des -- disappeared, leaving behind.. nothing. The sky had bled away to flat black, taking the starlight away. The grass in the field was taller here, more wild. The more she walked, the tougher it became to find a clear path.

Suddenly, the sound of a gun shot broke through the silence, causing her to cry out and duck down, arms thrown over her head protectively. There were no footsteps signalling someone else was around, and as soon as the noise from the shot echoed off into silence, she realized that it had been her with the gun.

The Browning was clasped tightly in her right hand, and very slowly, arms lowered so that she could stare at it. Blood coated the barrel, and there seemed to be blood spatter on the ground below her, but there were no wounds on her body.

Taking a shaky step back, her head whipped around to try and spot someone--anyone else around. Emptiness. Turning abruptly, she headed back in the direction she had just came, only to stumble over something heavy directly in her line of passage. For the longest moment .. she wouldn't look down. A harsh intake of breath kick started movement, and very slowly, her eyes slid to glance at what she had tripped over. And then she started screaming.

Looking back up at her -- through still, glassy eyes -- was .. her.

----

Dream Interpretation

field:
Your feelings of relaxation, or your natural feelings. Fields also suggest freedom from social pressure, and the feeling you have about yourself when away from other people, with one's own natural inclinations.

walking:
Walking usually depicts personal effort, making your own way at your own pace. The conditions or surroundings where you are walking suggest what you feel about that, and the situation of your personal life.

brother:
Probably represents your feelings in connection with your brother. These may include rivalry, anger, feelings of persecution, love and admiration, authority, or an outgoing ability to deal with the world.

gun:
This could be a sign of urges to hurt someone. It may also signify fear of being attacked and hurt by others, or a sense of inadequacy when facing aggression. For some people the gun relates to a sense of power and strength to meet the world.

shooting:
A hurt received, or given. Fears or worries about death. The destruction of a part of yourself by another which is demanding energies in an aggressive way.

She was in the field again, but everything felt different. The fear from the previous time had dissipated, leaving her in that cold emotional state Dr. Barthlomew described as sociopathic. A pure white static that was a void of any emotion-- any at all. Brushing the tall grass aside as she moved through it, eyes never wavered from the path she was cutting. All of a sudden, her way was stopped, as if an invisible wall had appeared.

Pressing her palms flat to whatever it was, she leaned forward until her forehead was pressed against it. Eyes closing, a harsh breath was inhaled, shoulders lifting jerkily with the motion. When her eyes reopened, things had taken on a more familiar feel. The surroundings came to into focus sharply, and she realized she was looking down onto the dance floor at Envy. That meant she was in ..

Jace was standing directly below her, surrounded by a crowd of people she didn't recognize. The odd thing wasn't that she didn't recognize them-- it was that each and every single person had a smile perpetually engraved on their faces, him included. Frowning, her eyes shifted from where he was standing to glance around the rest of the club. From one of the exits, two shadowy forms appeared, heading in a straight line through the crowd. Everyone else parted like water for a ship, as if nothing at all was going on.

Palms flat to the window, she began beating on the glass, though the harder she hit, the quieter it got. After a moment, she realized she wasn't making any noise at all, even when her mouth opened to scream. The frown dissolved into something darker-- more fearful as the two figures seemed to be drawing closer to Jace. His eyes were kept on the people in front of him, that smile almost mockingly bright in face of the danger that no one seemed to be aware of but her.

Drawing her hands back, fists were made as they pounded onto the glass, over and over, until the whole wall shook from the force. One of the shadow-figures broke away from the other, drawing it's arm out to reveal a wickedly curved blade. Eyes widening, all attempts at trying to warn were abandoned as she reached b