a songstress in the making : camilla st. john

<center>and with a broken wing, she still sings.
she keeps an eye on the sky.
with a broken wing, she carries her dreams.
man you outta see her fly.

------

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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

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v39/rpstuff/rw.jpg</center>

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.

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...chel_weisz.jpg</center>

<font color="#DFECCA" size="1">[ March 24, 2005 11:29 PM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

<center>it's been a long year since you've been gone.
been alone here, i've grown old.
fall to pieces, i'm falling.
fell to pieces and i'm still falling.

----</center>

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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 )

<font color="#ad865d"><font size="1">[ December 28, 2004 02:15 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 11, 2005 03:12 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>Baby, close that suitcase you've been packin'.
Just sit down and talk to me a while.
I know you tried to tell me what was lackin'.
But I guess I must've missed it by a mile.

---</center>

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3.../ngs6_0182.jpg</center>

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."

( to be continued )

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 11, 2005 03:06 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>shoulda seen it coming when the roses died.
shoulda seen the end of summer in your eyes.
shoulda listened when you said goodnight.
you really meant goodbye.

----</center>

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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.

X's and O's, your sister,
Camilla

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 12, 2005 12:19 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>so what you got? one last shot.
it seems to me that you're not needed.
c'mon it's killing me. let's see, you've got the gall.
come take it all.
----</center>

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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.

Sammy

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 12, 2005 12:21 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>send away for a priceless gift.
one not subtle, one not on the list.
send away for a perfect world.
one not simply so absurd.

----</center>

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"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 )

<font color="#ad865d"><font size="1">[ January 04, 2005 07:26 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 11, 2005 03:07 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>let her cry, let the tears fall down like rain.
let her sing, if it eases all her pain.
let her go, let her walk right on me.
and if the sun comes up tomorrow, let her be.

----</center>

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...f/AA013336.jpg</center>

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.

( to be continued )

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 11, 2005 03:08 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>If I could somehow comfort you, I'd hold you
in my arms and share with you the peace within my
soul. For I have seen the face of God, the Spirit and the
Son. Now, I am with the Lord of Love, my new life has begun.

----</center>

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v39/rpstuff/cross.jpg</center>


"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."[/i] 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 )

<font color="#ad865d"><font size="1">[ January 10, 2005 10:54 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 11, 2005 03:09 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>do like i told you
stay away from me.
never misunderstand me
keep away from me

----</center>

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v39/rpstuff/anger.jpg</center>

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.

<font color="#ad865d"><font size="1">[ January 14, 2005 05:10 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 18, 2005 03:35 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3.../pianodark.jpg

Try every single day
I know you're worth the wait
Am I getting closer or further away?
Somewhere behind your eyes
I know my answer lies
But you won't release it
I wish you would try
To open up and let me see inside

Down deep in your heart I want to be
Down where you hide your love for me
Cause I've got to go, I've got to be
Let me inside down where
You hide your love for me

Round and round we go, circles all I know
Deeper and deeper, endless and slow
Everywhere I turn the same old lesson learned
Over and over I just get burned, so bring me

No, there's nothing you can say
That's ever gonna make me change
I'll always feel this way

Down deep in your heart I want to be
Down where you hide your love for me
Cause I've got to go, I've got to be
Down where you hide your love for me</center>


( hide your love ; jonny lang )

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 18, 2005 03:31 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>i want it now, i want you now
give me your heart and your soul
i'm breaking down, i'm breaking out
i just want to lose control

<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v39/rpstuff/music.jpg></center>
----

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 <u>make time</u> 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 <u>satisfy</u> 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."

The doctor clicked the tape recorder off and watched the woman walk out of his office. "I don't get paid enough for this shit," muttered before he slumped in his chair, fingers shoving through his hair.

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 19, 2005 01:27 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>don't grow up too fast.
and don't embrace the past.
this life's too good to last
and too young to care.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...blackonred.jpg

----</center>

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.

----

With that, the paper was left on the desk as she gathered up her purse and exited the room. Hopefully, within the next two visits, she could drive the shrink insane. That was her goal, anyway.

<center>when you cried, i wiped away all of your tears.
when you screamed, i'd fight away all of your fears.
i held your hand through all of these years.
and you still have all of me.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...f/10093471.jpg

----</center>

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."

With that, he hung up and settled back in his chair, a smile curving to life.

<center>you're so cold, keep your hand in mine.
wise men wonder while strong men die.
show me how we end this, alright?
show me how defenseless you really are.
satisfied and empty inside.
that's alright, let's give this another try.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3.../telephone.jpg

----</center>

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."

All she had to do now was bide her time and wait for someone to show up. Someone always showed up, and when they did... it was her turn.

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:25 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>i gave my word, i made a promise
and i'm gonna keep it 'til the end
look what i'd do if i lost it
there's nothing better what we have

---

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...MyInsanity.jpg</center>


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.

<font color="#ad865d"><font size="1">[ January 26, 2005 11:54 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:27 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>i stand alone, feel that you're slinked down inside me
i'm not dying for it
i stand alone, everything that i believe is fading
i stand alone, inside

----

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3.../butterfry.jpg</center>

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..."

Speaking to the empty street, jaw clenched as she began moving again, heading back to her apartment.

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:33 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...mpledpaper.jpg</center>

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.

Regards,
Me.

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:29 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v39/rpstuff/mic.jpg

you know you're not a strong (wo)man
and you're just about to cry
hang on it's all right
you worry about the future
the sign said "yoga class for cats"
it's okay

the dynamite is waiting
they bankrupted the sky

you're frustrated by the cracks in the pavement
and every mother's back
once again the carnival closed down
but if this world ever turns around
you'll be there
when everyone is sane you'll be there</center>

( carnival ; our lady peace )

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 29, 2005 03:34 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...leggarters.jpg</center>

I've been a bad, bad girl. I've been careless with a delicate man. And it's sad, sad world. When a girl will break a boy just because she can.

Things just keep getting hazy. Distorted. Shifted. I open my eyes, blink through the morning sun, and the first thing that pops into my head ... `` here we go again. `` Shouldn't there be thanks for a new day? Happiness that I actually had the opportunity to wake up again? More and more, it's just that same thing. Here we go again. Another day, more phone calls, more stress. Is this the sort of thing suicidal people think before blowing their brains out? I never really understood how that was an answer to anything. If you believe in Heaven or Hell, you know self inflicted death is just going to complicate things that much more.

Don't you tell me to deny it. I've done wrong and I wanna suffer for my sins. I've come to you 'cause I need guidance to be true. And I just don't know where I can begin.

What was important in life-- that was a simple question not so long ago. What was important.. was what I wanted to be important. There was just me, a book of sheet music, and a piano. That's what was important. The music. The words. The chords. The way you feel when you walk up onto a stage in front of a crowd, knowing that they're there.. simply to hear you. A two hour set made an impact that lingered, even after the notes and cigarette smoke faded. Flesh and ivory, mixing into one so that the music flowed effortlessly, like the bourbon being consumed at table four. The spot light was like the beacon to Heaven. The light at the end of the tunnel. Go towards it, stay in it's glow, and you'll never die. Never fade. Infamy by design. Here we go again.

What I need is a good defense 'cause I'm feeling like a criminal. And I need to be redeemed to the one I've sinned against. Because he's all I ever knew of love. Heaven help me for the way I am. Save me from the evil deeds before I get them done. I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand. But I keep living this day like the next day will never come.

Sometimes I can still hear his voice. Guiding me along, cheering for me even when there wasn't anything worth cheering for. Gangly limbs and unformed features, a voice that warbled like a baby sparrow. `` Don't ever think ya ain't good enough. Yer as good as ya think ya are. `` Words to live by. Words that were lived by. Tucked away in the secret compartment of my heart, to bring out when things looked bleak. Desolate. Here we go again. Not that it ever mattered. Cold hearted, frigid, unfeeling, uncaring, emotionless; the names didn't bother me. The opinions didn't bother me. Money was exchanged for entertainment, and I was lucky enough to be able to perform by singing. Not by spreading my legs or any other sort of degrading act.

Help me but don't tell me to deny it. I gotta cleanse myself of all these thoughts til I'm good enough for him. I got a lot to lose and I'm betting hard so I'm begging you. Before it ends just tell me where to begin. What I need is a good defense 'cause I'm feeling like a criminal. And I need to be redeemed to the one I've sinned against. Because he's all I ever knew of love.

I never really understood love. The other girls would disappear, one by one, to the altar. Turning up two years later with two kids, a house, and an emptiness inside that spread like an abyss. They were nobody. Just a part of an equation that didn't really matter. They did it for love. They asked me why wasn't I settled down with a nice man. Having kids. Here we go again. The same old questions, that had the same old answers. `` That's not what I have planned for my life. `` Love never was that important. I had music. Music had me, completely. Thoroughly. It didn't matter if I was famous, because ... I was. Regardless if it was true or not. I just hope that if the opportunity for real love comes along, I'm not too caught up in something else, or just simply too stupid to grab for it. Things can't stay the same forever, right?

Right.

Let me know the way before there's hell to pay. Give me room to lay the law and let me go. I gotta make play to make my lover stay. So what would an angel say? The devil wants to know.

( criminal ; fiona apple )

<center>you and me, we used to be together
every day together, always
i really feel that i'm losing my best friend
i can't believe this could the end

it looks as though you're letting go
and if it's real then i don't want to know

don't speak

----

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v39/rpstuff/hand.jpg
</center>

He made hiding under the kitchen table a game. Camilla always thought that Sam was right, no matter what, so it was done without questioning. "C'mon Cammy, we hide up under here 'til they get done, then I'll take ya down to the creek. Sound like fun?" Wide blue-violets blinked up to her brother, a cheerful smile forming. The cursing and fighting in the background didn't matter. Never did when Sam was there to protect her. "Yup. Reckon there'll be a gator there?" Grinning, he reached over to ruffle her dark hair. "Ya know if ya see a gator, yer gonna pee on yerself." A rather indignant huff followed that. "Nah-uh. I'm brave Sammy, jus'like you." He could help but chuckle at her, even through the wince of Harris yelling at Analee. "Yer gonna be stronger than me, Cam. Jus'remember ain't nobody can hold ya down."

- - - -

All the times you said I was strong, I couldn't help but think.
What would happen if you weren't there to guide me?
And all the times you said I was worth everything, I couldn't help but wonder.
When are you going to cut loose from your past and be free?

Like a butterfly in a jar, your wings were clipped too soon.
The tears shed for you could fill a living sea.
Nobody can say that your life was in vain, even though they try.
Because of you, I've never been afraid to change into what I'm supposed to be.

Love is such a strange emotion, it can be turned into so many things.
True devotion was something that came so quickly to the ones you trusted completely.
Now that you're gone, we've found the will to move on with our lives.
A prelude in the chord of sadness, for you, this is your symphony.

( original work )

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ January 30, 2005 06:23 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>as your rapturous voice escapes, i will tremble in prayer
and i'll beg for forgiveness.
your sins into me, oh my beautiful one.

----

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...te-camilla.jpg</center>


Tape Transcript
Session 12
January 30th -- 3:45 p.m.


"Good afternoon, Camilla, how are you today?"

She eyed Dr. Bartholomew oddly over the rim of her glasses, smoke trailing up into her eyes from the cigarette hanging from her lip.

"Who body snatched you?"

"Just exchanging pleasantries, Cam. Is it so difficult to simply reply back?"

"You're odd."

"Mhm.."

Words trailed off as he jotted something down in his notebook. ( has trouble accepting common courtesy; acts suspicious right offhand )

"Anyway, we're going to do a word associate game today, just with a little twist considering your musically influenced background. How is that with you?"

".... whatever. Let's go."

Another moment of writing. ( seems to have reverted back to the un-emotional stage )

"You writin' a book or analyzin' me? Pick one, I got shit to do."

"Fine. I'll say a word, you tell me a song lyric that comes to mind. Alright?"

"Cool. Get it over with already."

Silence.

"As you wish. The first word is 'childhood'. And please state the artist and song title."

"Nothing's ever wrong, but nothing's ever right. Burning Bright, Shinedown."

"I see you've upgraded to a lot of .. modern music."

"Yup, keep goin'."

Jot.

"Love."

" Everything falls apart, even the people who never frown eventually break down. Pushing Me Away, Linkin Park."

"Anger."

"And I wonder day to day, I don't like you anyway. I don't need your shit today, you're pathetic in your own way. I feel for you, better fuckin' go away. Whatever, Godsmack."

She smiled a little towards the doctor, the expression not pleasant.

"Sadness."

"Everytime we say goodbye, I wonder why a little. Everytime We Say Goodbye, Ella Fitzgerald."

"Happiness."

"I know the breakdown, everything is gonna shake down someday. Breakdown, Tantric."

Another not so pleasant smile directed his way. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Abandonment."

"Wouldn't that tie in with sadness?"

"Song lyric, Ms. St. John."

He was perturbed; went back to the Ms.

"Fine. Tell me you've had trouble sleepin', that you toss and turn from side to side. That it's my face you've been seein' in your dreams at night. It's Not Just Me, Rascal Flatts."

"Empowerment."

"The record shows, I took the blows, and did it my way. My Way, Sinatra."

He finished writing in his little notebook and shut it promptly, hands clasping in front of him as he glanced her way.

"Thank you, Camilla, that will be all for today."

"Mhm. Hey, Doc, can ya do me a favor? Won't take but two seconds, I promise."

Silence.

"If I can. What is it?"

"Tell them I said hi, would ya?"

With that, she turned and walked out of the door, leaving behind one very confused, very nervous psychiatrist.

<center>looking back at me i see that i never really got it right
i never stopped to think of you
i'm always wrapped up in things i can not win

----</center>


( One )

Full Name: Camilla Violet St. John
Goes by: Cam
Occupation: Jazz/blues singer
Current age: 22
Date of birth: November 9th, 1921
Birthplace: Lafayette, Louisiana -- Bossier Parish

Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of parent(s):
Harris Michael St. John.: 42, unknown
Analee Beatrice St. John: 40, unknown

Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of sibling(s):
Samuel Michael St. John: 24, deceased

Height: 5'2"
Weight: 115 lbs.
Hair color: Brown
Eye color: Blue-violet
Heritage/Nationality: Cajun-French
Religion: Catholic
Marital status: n/a
Children: n/a

( Two )

Likes: music, piano, sheet music, edgar allen poe, and alcohol
Dislikes: closed mindedness, rudeness, stalking
Dreams: to wake up every morning
Phobias: cats, technology, and pumps.

( Three: Do you )

Smoke: Nope, the cigarette does.
Cuss: The hell kinda question is that?
Sing well: That's how I make a living, so I hope so.
Sing in the shower: Great acoustics.
Talk to yourself: Sometimes.
Believe in yourself: I only believe what I see. I can see myself in the mirror.
Play an instrument: Piano.
Want to get married?: No.
Want to have children?: Hell no.
Think you're a health freak?: Chocolate is a food group.
Get along with your parents?: If hoping they'll kick off is getting along with them.
Get along with your siblings?: He doesn't talk back, doesn't put up a fuss. Dead siblings, the way to go.

( Four: Current )

Clothes: Black cotton pajama bottoms, dark red t-shirt
Mood: Blank
Taste: French Vanilla coffee and nicotene
Annoyance: Cell phones
Book you're reading: Collected Works of Edgar Allen Poe
CD in CD Player: Frank Sinatra; The Voice
DVD in player: n/a
Refreshment: French Vanilla coffee
Worry: Learning these new songs by Friday

( Five: Favorites )

Food: Cheese wonton
Drink: Coffee, any kind
Color: Red
Album: Anything before 1940
Candy: Gummy bears
Animal: n/a
TV Show: n/a
Movie: Casablanca
Girl's name & Boy's name: n/a
Vegetable: Celery
Fruit: Apple

( Six )

If I were a month, I'd be: December
If I were a day of the week, I'd be: Tuesday
If I were a time of day, I'd be: Midnight
If I were a planet, I'd be: Saturn
If I were a sea animal, I'd be: Underwater
If I were a direction, I'd be: That way
If I were a piece of furniture, I'd be: Comfortable
If I were a sin, I'd be: Gluttony
If I were a historical figure, I'd be: Dead
If I were a liquid, I'd be: Bourbon
If I were a tree, I'd be: Leafy
If I were a bird, I'd be: Canary. Har.
If I were a flower, I'd be: Camilla. Har again.
If I were a kind of weather, I'd be: Stormy
If I were a mythical creature, I'd be: Not believed in.
If I were a musical instrument, I'd be: Piano
If I were an animal, I'd be: Hunted
If I were a color, I'd be: Vibrant
If I were an emotion, I'd be: Bi-polar
If I were a vegetable, I'd be: Eaten
If I were a sound, I'd be: A Gershwin composition
If I were an element, I'd be: Worshipped by Pagans
If I were a car, I'd be: Wrecked
If I were a song, I'd be: Melancholy
If I were a movie, I'd be: A silent film
If I were a food, I'd be: Vegan-friendly
If I were a place, I'd be: Desolate
If I were a material, I'd be: Silk
If I were a taste, I'd be: Lingering
If I were a scent, I'd be: Aromatic
If I were a religion, I'd be: Catholic
If I were a word, I'd be: A curse
If I were an object, I'd be: Collecting dust
If I were a body part, I'd be: Handy
If I were a facial expression, I'd be: Indescribable
If I were a part of a house, I'd be: Cluttered
If I were a subject in school, I'd be: Useless
If I were a cartoon character, I'd be: Drawn
If I were a shape, I'd be a: Round
If I were a number, I'd be: Infinite

<font color="#ad865d" size="1">[ February 01, 2005 02:27 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

"She knows."

"Knows what? How the hell would she know?"

"I don't know how she knows. She came in for a session, and before she left, she told me to tell you hello. The smart ass bitch."

"Now now, she's your patient."

Amusement floated over the line.

"What do you want me to do about it? She's due here in ten minutes."

"When she gets there, speed dial me and make sure the speaker phone is on. I'll mute mine. Don't fuck this up."

With that, the line died.

On the other side of the door, she smiled to herself and headed back for her chair as the receptionist returned from a coffee break.

"Are you ready for your session, Ms. St. John?"

The woman was mousy-- non-descript with a sunny disposition. Cam glanced up from the magazine she was pretending to read and mirrored the other's bright smile.

"Oh yeah. I'm ready."

That was the understatement of the decade.

[ modified log ]


The magazine was out of date. They were always out of date. As much money as these people charged, you'd think there'd be a current issue of People somewhere. Glancing up as the receptionist led the way into the office, a smile was offered as she followed. Hand smoothing down the black material of her skirt, she spied the shrink hanging up the phone as time as she walked in. Convenient. "Busy day, Doc Bart?" Cheerful tone. The nickname irked him. "Always, Ms. St. John. Have a seat." Settling into the hard back torture device aka a chair, a look was given to her watch.

Quiet, unobstrusive, pressing within with the uneasy demeanor of the habitually neurotic soul. Quiet words with the secretary, mainly seeing if there was any open appointments with the good doctor. He went so far as to make an appointment, however, under the name Zip Manning. As quietly, looking at his hands, urg. Stranger-cooties. He slid towards the bathroom. Quietly to get into the toilets workings, deft as any three year old with rocks, to make the toilet bubble over.

She looked to her watch, he looked at the phone. Doc Bart was counting on the fact she'd be too busy driving him crazy to notice the red light. No mention of her parting words the other day; he was breathing a little easier. Two people, three sets of ears-- he wasn't accustomed to working like this. The tape recorder was started. "Session 13 recording started. We'll skip the name stating. How are you feeling?" Quiet browns watched her carefully as she lit a cigarette. "I'm doin' well, thanks for askin', yourself?" Pleasantries from the ice bitch. He was getting nervous. "Fine. I notice you keep checking your watch. Have a later appointment?" A smile from her. "I'm expecting company later." Let him mull that over. Dead silence from the phone.

Simple and effective, he merely swept up one of the chairs to neatly brace it against the doorknob. Tilting his head carefully to gauge the effect, it should take the woman at least ten minutes to figure out the door hadn't just swung closed behind her. He paused, ludicrously taking the moment to adjust his cuffs before stepping to the doctors door. Gloved hand rested to the door, head tilting to listen.

"Company?" The question in his voice almost matched the wariness. He had learned not to let his guard down around her. She was tricky. "Mhm. You keep lookin' at the phone, expectin' an important call?" Serenity from her side. "All my calls are important." Bland. Dry. "Of course they are." Up to her feet she went, smoke trailing over her shoulder like a scarf. "Really important, dependin' on who's there." Another look to her watch, lethargic movements. She wasn't in a hurry. Poor ol' Doc Bart looked kind of pale.

A faint draw of smile fleeted across the quiet features, faint, unpleasant. As if enjoying listening, willing to let the mind game continue.

He pulled at the collar of his shirt. "Yes, of course." A nod for her words. "Have you been having any more problems?" Pen was lifted to begin jotting down notes. Or to start drawing cartoons-- whatever he did. "Nope, it's been quiet." She turned to face him fully. "I wonder why that is." Feigned-confused brow arch from his direction.

Slow turn of the handle. Very slow. It was for effect.

Cue horror movie music. "I have no idea. Please have a seat." Voice as dry as the Sahara. "I prefer standin'. Makes things easier." Head tilting, eyes sliding from her watch to the door, then back down. The Doc looked ready to keel over.

Careful, he pushed open the door. Hardly an imposing figure, his head lowered, apologetic seeming through the fall of bangs. A step within, quietly ineffectual, to push the door closed behind him. "I'm sorry, I think I'm a bit early."

Doctor Bartholomew nearly fell out of his chair when the door opened. Imposing, no. Unexpected, very. Cam glanced up with a wry smile. "Nah, just on time. Doc Bart, Des. I've told you about him." Nodding with that, he tried smiling at the youth. "I've heard a lot about you," trying to come across as sincere. She was wandering around to his side of the desk now, absently.

A glance upwards only fell back to the floor, hopelessly shy, even his voice was little more than a series of rolling whispers. A nod and a slight shrug, self effacing. A slight movement of his wrist, almost sharp, as if getting the cuff to settle properly. He knew, however, to hide the gleam of steel in the cage of his fingers for the moment.

Eyes were on the phone now, the corner of her mouth uptilting. "Fais dodo, Colas mon p'tit fr?re," quietly singing as a hand dropped to the Doctor's chair. One of those roller kinds-- it was given a slight push forward, then a tug backwards. Testing. He had bypassed nervous now. "Ms. St. John, if you'll return to your seat. You as well, .. Des." No formality, he didn't know the last name. Sweat beaded on his brow.

"But she's singing." He lifted his gaze finally, his voice smoothing, silked, a widening of his eyes that was sheer insanity pretending to be gentle.

"Fais dodo, t'auras du lolo. Maman est en haut." Voice fading a little as she pulled back, fingers still on his chair. "I know what you're doing." Pretenses dropped, his hand darted for the phone, only to have the chair pulled back abruptly. She didn't like interruptions during a solo. Blue-violets lifted finally to glance to Des. Flat, emotionless. Sociopathic. The doctor was silent. For right now.

A swing of steel in his fingertips, a scalpel held in easy veiw; sweetly tremulous the smile in the glide foreward to place himself at the doctors knee. A tilting of his head and silence. The throat-level hover of the scalpel spoke for itself.

Now that the good doctor was finally quiet and had Des' rapt attention -- returning it with an unblinking stare to the scalpel, she continued. "..qui fait des gateaux.." Fingers gliding towards the phone, lifting it from its cradle. Mouthpiece adjusted appropriately. "Papa est en bas.. qui fait du chocolat.." The voice on the other line sounded abruptly, more of a curse than an actual word.

His gaze remained steady, dark, with an empty curiousity of a cats watching a mouse hole.

"You think yer funny, dontcha?" Her first conversation with her admirer. She was agog. "I know I am, how are you?" Cordial tone. Doc was still alternating his gaze between the boy and the scalpel. "You don't want to do this, son. There's an easy way out of this." Cam rolled a look to the two.

"Of course there is." Warm. Hideously warm.

"Honestly, there is. He's.. he's not far from here..." Apparently, the Doc favored his health-- didn't mind spilling his guts ( figuratively ) to avoid it happening literally. "Tell that quack to shut the fuck up." She glanced to the almost blubbering shrink. "He said shut the fuck up. If you need help, Des will be more than happy to volunteer." Smile. Static on the line for the now.

"Where?" Soft, purring depth of tone as he slowly crouched to gaze within the doctors eyes.

Cam placed the call back on speaker phone. It was rude to not include people in a conversation, if they needed to hear it. The rough voice sounded abruptly. "If you open your goddamn mouth, I swear, they'll be pickin' pieces of you up off the sidewalk..." She rolled her eyes again. "You sound like a broken record," was all she had to say before ending the call. Expectant look to the Doc. He was crying-- crying. "We've had a break through!" Couldn't help herself. "He set up a place four streets over from where she lives. It's called... fuck.." He was scouring his brain for the apartment building name.

His gaze never shifted, never wavered. Patience itself in an expectant silence.

He was about to wet himself. She smiled. "....Yorkshire Apartments. Top floor, penthouse. John Marseau." His eyes turned imploring; the kid looked compassionate, even while holding a scalpel. "Don't kill me." Don't mind her making violin motions just behind the Doc's head.

"You're dead either way, you know." It sounded compassionate. "But are you telling the truth?"

His hands were clasped against his chest now. A grown man crying-- begging. It touched her, really. "I swear. It's the truth. I swear.." His thought pattern; I knew this broad was gonna be the death of me.

"We have to get out of here." Quietly noted to Cam as he straightened, though his gaze remained carefully on the cornered man.

"Yeah, I'm figurin' a goon squad will be here shortly." She was already gathering up her purse, no second looks to the doctor. One day soon, she was going to find out why Des was so good at this stuff. Doc Bart had his chin tucked to his chest-- still blubbering.

It was remarkably swift, powerful, backhanded to avoid the inevitable, but he did have a clean shirt and jacket just in case. A slash of the mans jugular before backing away and stepping after Cam as calmly as ever. Easy glide, already removing a handkercheif to wipe the blade.

The blubbering cut off immediately, but she didn't look back. Read the Bible, see what happened to Lot's wife because of that. "It's hard to find good shrinks in this town," was all she offered as the door was pulled open, a sideglance to the blade cleaning. Poor broken marionette psychiatrist. Somebody cut his string.

The handkerchief tucked away, pausing again to fixate on his cuffs. Actually, to press the scalpel back into the slender hilt stitched into the cuff. A slight lift of brow and faint fade of smile with his shrug. He snagged his coat and trailed out after Cam.

<font color="#ECE6CA"><font size="1">[ February 04, 2005 02:59 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ECE6CA"><font size="1">[ February 04, 2005 03:02 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 04, 2005 03:06 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...f/400Dress.jpg

I found a window in the kitchen and I let myself in.
Rummaged through the refrigerator, poured myself a beer.
I can't believe I'm really here and she's lying in that bed.
I can almost feel her touch and her anxious breath.
I stumble in the hallway, outside her bedroom door.
I hear her call out to me, I hear the fear in her voice.
She pulls the covers tighter, I press against the door.
I will be with her tonight.</center>

( tyler ; the toadies )

<center>When I was only just a friend to you.
All I wanted to do was get to know you better.
Now I wanna give my heart to you.
Tell me do you feel like I do when were together.

Cause I come alive with your touch.
Your touch it always sets me free .
I can't get quite enough.
Too much of you is what I need.
Yes I know you're the one.
Cause love has come alive in me.

Tell me am I out of line.
Tell me if I'm wasting time, I don't mind.
Giving my love to you.
I can't help it baby.
If I asked you would you say I do.

Cause I come alive with your touch.
Your touch it always sets me free.
I can't get quite enough.
Too much of you is what I need.
Yes I know you're the one.
Cause love has come alive in me.

Tell me why do I always have to tell you how I feel.
Can't you see you're the one, the only thing.
That ever meant something to me.
And I need your touch.
To come alive.

Nothing else is like the way you make me come alive</center>


( touch ; jonny lang )

<center>she isn't real.
i can't make her real.

----</center>

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.

An overworked delusion birthed and slaughtered in the same breath.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 05, 2005 04:55 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>you got it, you got it bad, when you're on the phone.
hang up and you call right back.
you got it, you got it bad, if you miss a day without your friend,
your whole life's off track.
you know you got it bad when you're stuck in the house,
you don't wanna have fun.
he's all you think about.
you got it bad when you're out with someone
but you keep on thinking 'bout somebody else.

----</center>

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.

<center>there's such a sad love, deep in your eyes
a kind of pale jewel, opened and closed within your eyes
i'll place the sky within your eyes
there's such a fooled heart beating so fast
in search of new dreams, a love that will last within your heart
i'll place the moon within your heart
as the pain sweeps through, makes no sense for you
everything thrill he caused wasn't too much fun at all
but i'll be there for you as the world falls down

----</center>

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.

<font color="#ECE6CA"><font size="1">[ February 06, 2005 01:13 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 10:55 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

the shadows on the wall spell your name
drivin' me crazy, yeah, makin' me not know what to do
the secondary glances that you cast my way
those i can't take, baby, i'm through

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

holdin' on to a dream that you know ain't there
it kinda makes you wanna scream, but i ain't got the air to spare
gotta glass full of bourbon and an ashtray full of smoke
mystical hands around my throat, feels like i'm gonna choke

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 02:04 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>why live life from dream to dream
and dread the day when dreaming ends?

http://www.hostboard.com/forums/hbmc.../2005/02/1.jpg</center>

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 02:34 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>i've been sleepin' way too long
search for the answers but couldn't find one
thought i had it under control
yeah i was lyin' and didn't even know

----</center>

"Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"You can ask me anythin'. What's up?"

"Why do people die?"

"It's a part of life, Cam. If people didn't die, then the world would get full and there wouldn't be enough food for everybody, and they wouldn't have anywhere to live."

"Doesn't seem fair to me."

"Why's that?"

"Because if somebody dies, that means somebody is losin' a person they love."

"It's just the way it works."

"Doesn't make it fair."

"Life ain't always fair, Cam."

"I know, Sammy, it just seems stupid. Yer not gonna die, are you?"

"One day."

"... I hope I die first."

"Camilla Violet, don't you say anythin' like that again. Why in the world do you want to die first?"

"Cause. I couldn't take it if ya left me."

........

"I'll try to stay around as long as I can, for ya, okay?"

"Better be forever."

"Cam..."

"Just sayin', is all. Make it a long time from now, okay?"

"Deal."

----

Forever doesn't last.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 04:38 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>no more crying. no more fear
i found a way out after all of these years
no mistaking, i've been shamed
now and forever, i'll never be the same

----</center>

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, b?b?..."

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 apartment manager was going to be pissed.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 04:49 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>father of mine, tell me where have you been
you know i just close my eyes and the whole world disappears
father of mine, take me back to the day
when i was still your golden girl, back before you went away

----</center>

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.

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

"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.

It was what she was use to.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 06:15 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>I don't stop breathing everytime the phone rings
my heart don't race when someone's at my door
i've almost given up thinkin' you're ever gonna call
i don't believe in magic anymore

----</center>

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.

All she needed was some marshmallows.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 09:49 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

<center>I remember her saying I'm already dead.

-----</center>

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.

Or maybe she'd go back to bed ...

<font color="#999999" size="1">[ June 28, 2005 04:10 PM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

<center>Walking.
Waiting.
Alone without a care.
Hoping.
And hating.
Things that I can't bear.

Did you think it's cool to walk right up to take my life and fuck it up?
Well did you?

I see hell in your eyes.
Taken in by surprise.
Touching you makes me feel alive.
Touching you makes me die inside.

I hate you.

I've slept so long without you.
It's tearing me apart too.
How'd it get this far?
Playing games with this old heart.
I've killed a million petty souls.
But I couldn't kill you.

I've slept so long without you.

( slept so long ; jay gordon of orgy )

----</center>

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.

The movers would be able to get everything together. She wasn't coming back.

<center>How do you get that lonely? How do you hurt that bad?
To make you make the call, that havin' no life at all
is better than the life that you had.
How do you feel so empty? You want to let it all go.
How do you get that lonely and nobody knows?

----</center>


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.

Merrily, merrily life is but a dream, and you only wake up when you die.

For the past couple of weeks, activity inside of the penthouse had been borderline nil, but all in the span of four days, things were in a horrific uproar. Four men gone-- two recent. It was beyond comprehension how two women were causing such a commotion.

"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.

( to be continued )

Things were normal around the 'central headquarters'. Marceau was safely ensconsed in his study, going over a few things with his right hand man, Mario, concerning the upcoming.. festivities. "When it happens, I want it to go down quick. Don't give those bitches any chance to call for help or attempt getting away." They were crafty. Mario nodded and turned on his heel, heading out to the other room to disperse game strategy to the ten or so thugs
waiting. The building had pretty much been cleared of outside distraction. All six stories were under the control of Marceau Inc. A business convention in town was the excuse.

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.


( to be continued )