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Chapter Four

            So, this must be how a gazelle feels when it's about to die, Sandi allowed, her eyes half-closed from lack of air and burning from the droplets of sweat and tiny bits of dirt and grass inside her eyelids. Her limbs seemed to be detached, unwilling to obey her commands, and cold fire began to slowly move up from the base of her spine as her lungs seemed to fill to bursting with thousands of tiny, sharpened, burning needles...

            And then, there was the crushing sensation around her neck, filled with sharpness; it was almost as if she could feel the blood stop on its own and flow out through the wounds on her neck - were there wounds? What happened, and I can't die now - I actually have a clue about what I can do... I don't have to fight to be in a spotlight with Quinn or my mother - I don't have to be in a spotlight at all! I can make my own light...

            The pain grew sharper, even more intense as it flowed out through her body and back again, and there was no more air for Sandi to breathe, and no energy for her to try, even if the pressure hadn't increased around her neck like a slow vise turning, and turning...

            "Good God, Jodie - LET HER GO!"

            The sound of flesh impacting across flesh reverberated through Sandi and for the briefest of moments, for a split-second, she had regained control-

            And the pain began again, as though she was being braided on the wheel an inch at a time. This time, somehow, Sandi turned into the pain, turning into the liquid agony as a boat turns into the wave: It's pain. Does it matter if it's in your head or through your stomach or if it comes across your back from an extension cord or when your grandmother says you're an ugly little girl? If it's pain, you can lock it away - lock it in one of those tiny little boxes I've got somewhere in the back of my mind, where no one will ever see -

            Or I can turn it around. I can turn it back; I can let it go back the way it came - with interest. Remember that, Sam, when you tried to burn my hair? I wonder if that old pervert remembers - or if he's too busy breathing through the hole in his neck: and you're going to remember, too...

            Sandi would never remember the vicious, instinctive manner in which she sent the pain through; she only knew that she had somehow turned it back, and the force of doing so sent her tumbling out of the world of burning, piercing pain.

I remember now...         

 

            Images poured back into the young woman's mind like flood waters through a burst dam: how she went outside to get a breath of fresh air - clean air, she corrected herself, feeling as though she had been left with a slight sheen of pure filth coating her body. I went over the line - as they see it, she told herself, but I did the right thing. They know I did, otherwise they would have said something! They know that it had to be said - and maybe Daria doesn't deserve to be flamed that way, but there isn't a person who knows her who could argue that she didn't bring it upon herself -

            And that's when she saw Jodie. In slow motion - the way the human perception engages when in primal situations; 'fight or flight', in this case. She saw her through the glass doors at the front entrance, and something within her snapped as Jodie's eyes came up and connected with her own.

Sandi knew that she was no coward. She wasn't a brawler by any means, and fighting simply messed up one's clothes and looks - if the other person fought like a girl. But at that moment, Something inside her snapped free of its bindings and said, in a voice as clearly as that of Tiffany or Stacy (who she would forever believe had actually spoken those words of warning to her):

            Run, Sandi. Now. Don't stop to talk or try to reason. Run. You're going to die if you don't...

            And Sandi took off running, catapulting forward with such velocity that Coach Morris - who had witnessed the entire event - made a promise to herself: If that child manages to survive the day, I'll be DAMNED if I don't get her into a Lawndale High track uniform!

            Sandi ran - but she wasn't an athlete, and she was tired, and the adrenal burst that fear gave her was beginning to wear thin...

*****

           

            Jodie didn't hear the sound of Mack beside her as she walked down the hallway. She didn't hear the words he used to attempt to calm and console her, no could she hear the extraneous noises and voices that made up the background noise of Lawndale High...

            When I find her... please, let her run, Jodie thought, the smile on her face sending students and more than a few adults moving out of her way with, if not speed, then with haste. Let her run just a bit - the kill always tastes better when it's taken as game. And don't let her trip over a rock, or a patch or air or something. I'm going to run her down and beat on her the way she did Daria. I'm going to let these bastards around here live the cliché as I act black and slap fire from her rancid tollbooth ass! Oh, please fight back, just a little -

            And then, through the glass of the front doors, she saw Sandi, talking to two of those Fashion Club - No, I won't go that far down in the gutter with my language, not even on them. I'm going to put you in check, bitch!

            Two pairs of eyes met.

            In that moment, Jodie recalled a quotation from Homer she had read long ago: 'There are no compacts between lions and men, and wolves and lambs have no concord.'

            Two pairs of eyes met.

            Mack would later regret that he moved too slowly to stop Jodie from taking off after her: he didn't understand that he had about as much chance of stopping her as of turning back the time of day.

            Sandi ran at full speed for the better part of a block and a half; Jodie pursued her with the extreme myopia reserved for Terminators locked onto their targets. Sandi was fast, agile and had a head start, but she was beginning to tire...

            Jodie launched herself through the air at Sandi's neck, bringing the both of them down in a small, fenced-off vacant lot. "Time to go, Griffin," Jodie spoke tonelessly, her vise-grip hands locked around Sandi's neck as she began to apply pressure. "When you hit the ninth ring of Hell, say 'wuzzup' to the big guy from me."

            A small crowd of teen onlookers had already gathered by the time Mack, Kevin and Brittany, driving in Kevin's Jeep, got to the lot; Sandi was beginning to turn blue, her legs and arms flopping about as Jodie calmly applied more pressure around her neck...

            "Good God, Jodie - LET HER GO!" Mack shouted at the top of his lungs, racing in and grabbing at Jodie's hands when her head turned slowly, her eyes met his - and he realized that whatever or whoever he knew as Jodie Landon was currently running with the 'OUT TO LUNCH' sign in the window. Hauling back, he slapped Jodie as hard as he could -

            -And promptly found himself on his back, wincing in pain from the all-out blow to the solar plexus that he had never even seen coming in! "Jodie..." he gasped, looking over to where his girlfriend actually yawned as she continued to throttle Sandi - and his eyes widened as a hard, sharp kick flashed out from Sandi, sending Jodie flying a good six feet through the air and into a nearby tangle of kids!

            Jodie managed to pick herself up, grasping at her side where she had been kicked, and she looked over to Sandi. "What was I doing...?" she said, allowing Brittany to help her up as Kevin hauled Mack to his feet.

"Oh, Jodie, you didn't know what you were doing!" Brittany wailed, glancing over to where Tiffany and Stacy were helping a now pale-skinned Sandi up. "It was like you were going crazy, or something! You were really trying to hurt her, but you couldn't do something like that, but I SAW you, and -"

            "What in the blessed blue blazes of Hell's going on here?" Ms. Li bellowed out over a bullhorn, dismounting from the LHS 'detention' bus (actually, an old transport bus from the Department of Corrections painted in Lions 'blue-'n-gold') with a number of LHS security guards stampeding off the bus in full riot gear. "Guards - secure this area! Nobody's going ANYWHERE until I find out what's going on!"

            Naturally, everyone scattered. Disappearing like alley rats through a crack, the Fashion Club slipped through holes in the dilapidated old plank fence, while Mack, Jodie in his arms as he fought his way through the rushing crowd and leaped into the back of Kevin's Jeep, where Brittany and Kevin already had the engine revving. "Go! Go! Go!" Mack yelled, holding on as Kevin dropped his foot on the gas like an anvil, and left a streak of rubber in the street forty feet long.

            Thirty seconds later, there wasn't a teenager to be found in plain sight.

"Did you get it?"

            "We got it, Principal Li," a videocamera-wielding security type said as he paraded off the bus. "Three videocameras providing coverage of the disturbance from separate angles to ensure maximum coverage and identifiability of the suspects - just like in training. In fact, this was probably easier."

            "Right," Angela harumphed. "Get those tapes edited down and have video captures of every student identified on my desk by noon tomorrow. I'm not about to have any gang activity anywhere near my school! Right? Right! Check the area for anything left behind that can ID someone, and then - let's move out!"

 

*****

            "What the hell happened to you, Jodie?" Mack demanded, his earlier concern now tempered with a healthy dose of anger. "God, girl, you were trying to kill her!"

            "Trying to kill who?"

            "That's not funny," Mack shot back. "If I hadn't distracted you so Sandi could get loose, you'd have strangled the girl! She was turning blue, Jodie! You were KILLING her!"

            "I don't remember that," Jodie said, looking away from her boyfriend as she leaned her head against a roll bar. "I don't... I don't remember - We were just in the foyer, and I- Guys, I don't feel well..."

            Brittany screamed as Jodie leaned off to the side and vomited into the street, then fell back into the seat as her eyes rolled back. "Oh, man!" Kevin yelled, pulling over to the side of the road. "Mack, how is she, man?"

            "Hospital, Kevin - right now!" Mack practically screamed, beyond frightened as he felt how Jodie's skin had suddenly become cold and clammy, and her body went into a series of spasmodic fits. "Don't think! Put your foot on the gas and make it happen!"

            "You're going to be all right, Jodie," Brittany said, holding her friend's hand as the Jeep screeched off down the street, and trying her hardest not to be frightened at how cool Jodie's skin was or the way her half-closed eyes showed only white. "We'll get you to the hospital, and they'll make you all better there... they really will..."

*****

            "Daria... are you all right?"

Daria's eyes refocused, and she turned to see Upchuck standing about ten feet away from her - trying not to enter the Neutral Zone, she thought wryly, remembering briefly an exchange they had long ago. "Are you going to be all right?"

            "I don't know," she replied truthfully, and wiped at her tear-streaked face with a napkin. "Was there something you wanted from me - "

            OOPS! Her little voice shrieked - if there was ever an invitation into the house, that was certainly a gold-plated one for Upchuck the Love Vampire to come swooping in! What the hell have you done, Daria? Backpedal, Daria, back it off...

            "Well, now that you mention it..."

            Normalcy reasserted itself as Daria winced, almost being able to feel the lecherous tentacles that was Upchuck's gaze as it came slithering across her body, moving up and then back down her legs with a cold, almost slimy feel... no, wait, that was the napkin she wiped her face with earlier. She pulled it off her leg, tossed it into a nearby trash can and looked up to see Upchuck busy flipping through pages in his project folder.

            He hadn't been paying any attention, lascivious or otherwise, to her. Daria felt mildly chastised as he looked up. "Can I sit down?"

            "Sure, go ahead."

            Upchuck smiled as he sat on the other end of the table. "Let's get straight down to business. I want you on my team - well, on the team I'm on. We've got a little something planned that'll guarantee an 'A' and college credits for EVERYONE in our group. You've noticed that our group's gotten slightly bigger, hmn?"

            She had: Group One (Upchuck's group) now had sixteen people in it - almost half the class. Dr. Armalin had inquired about the defections from the other groups, reminding them that only six could go into the group shelter, but had only gotten wry smiles from the teens. He relented, noticing the teens looking up at him like a pack of panthers gazing up at a deer on a rocky ledge...

            "How'd you swing that?"

            "This is where we need to talk about you signing on first," Upchuck said, becoming serious. "You have to promise to come into the Group first, without knowing what we're planning. You can't leave - trust me, you won't want to -, and you can't tell ANYONE about what we're doing. Is that too much to ask, fair Daria?"

            "I can't find out first?"

            "No."

            "Can't talk to anyone about it?"

            "Not unless they're already in the Group."

            "Can't leave?"

            "No, my sweet. You can't leave."

            "Pass."

            "Think it over."

            "Just did. Take the train."

            "You may wish to consider, my lovely firebrand," Upchuck growled lasciviously, and Daria shot him a harsh gaze, set on 'full metal jacket', as she followed his gaze to her legs. "It seems that your fellows don't have the... appreciation... for your special qualities that I do. Join us, Daria. With your intellect and pristine physical perfection, you could be..."

            "Your 'special little friend' in the New World?" Daria mocked, her cynical nature recharged and coming back on-line. "If you and I were the last two people on Earth, I'd find the 'Pets.com Sock Puppet' and explore bestiality."

            "Feisty..." Upchuck said, almost as if by nature, and Daria felt a warm spot appear within herself. At least with him, the world was still the same. "I have to write that down. Consider the offer, my dear. It won't last long."

            "I'll bet you say THAT to all the girls," she shot back. "Truth in advertising?"

            "No - lots and lots of laboratory studies."

            Daria turned and Upchuck looked up at the sound of the new voice. "Give it up, LC - like a broken toy, you'll get no play," a second voice chimed in.

            "David Allen! Antonio!" Upchuck called out, standing up and heading for the newcomers at the door. "Juneau - Leda - what are you guys doing here in Lawndale?"

            Daria watched as the four new teenagers walked across the cafeteria, and she could SWEAR that the 'Theme from V.I.P.' started to play in the background as they seemed to walk in slow motion. I have got to consider medication...

            The first one was a downy, athletic WASP of a teen-queen dream with way-long, platinum blonde hair, intelligent brown eyes and a tiny, perfect nose that any girl in the Fashion Club would have sold her soul for. She was dressed in a lush, parchment-hued angora sweater that refused to hide her endowments, with a matching virgin-wool full-length skirt and suede boots; a tiny platinum necklace with a hanging topaz stone and tiny, matching earrings completed the look.

            The second teen was a Latino, and younger than the others - probably fourteen, or even thirteen. He was, however, very attractive to look at - perhaps the most attractive of the foursome - and he was still on the border between being a 'cute kid' and a 'handsome young man', quite tall, but still boy-thin. He wore cutting-edge urban gear - the latest in 'FUBU' athletic wear, Oakley sun-shields EXACTLY like the pair James Marsden wore in 'X-Men', and 'Vince Carter' footwear. He also had a DVD-Audio recorder/player attached to a custom-made carrier attached to his left leg, a PDA and an iridium cell phone (capable of satellite phone calls to ANYWHERE on the planet) in a similar rig on his right, as well as a ultraslim digital camcorder in a flattened shoulder-holster rig and a quartet of 'Charms Blow-Pops' in his front jacket pocket. His hair was perfectly slicked back and styled, and the beginnings of a lady-killer legend were visible whenever he flashed his perfect smile...

            The third was Italian, and Daria was sure that wherever she went, there was no way that this girl was going to EVER escape being noticed. She was tiny - even shorter than Daria was - but made up for it with a porcelain complexion, a custom-designed face and a slender, curved figure (contours, not proportion) that male comic-book readers and artists dream about at night. Her glossy, night-black hair was cut short; combined with large, oak-brown eyes and naturally full, pouty lips, Daria wondered how Upchuck was able to look at her and not pass out from lack of blood to what stood in for his brain. The look was even further enhanced by the young woman's attire; a body-hugging set of crimson & eggplant-hued leather pants and matching bolero-style jacket, set off by a hot mustard-colored satin half-top and Maria Taylor sandals of the same color.

            The final member of the foursome was an African-American, and apparently a fan of the movie 'Shaft', by the way he dressed. He was just as tall as the Latino street-tech, but easily as big - and as handsome- as Mack, with the shaved-head look many young Black men favored. He was a walking ad for Armani, as he wore a three-quarters-length black leather jacket like the one worn by Samuel L. Jackson in the movie. He also wore the black monochromatic shirt, tie and slacks of the Regis Philbin Collection, tiny, stylish Armani sunglasses, and a pair of black Gucci glove-leather loafers that looked so comfortable that they had to be real.

            "I guess the WB Network's finally decided to go ahead and do an updated version of 'The Mod Squad,' hmn?"

            The four turned from their greetings of Upchuck and focused on her.

"To quote Errol Flynn: 'What a pity her manners don't match her looks," the African-American student said, looking down upon Daria. "Always did think he made a better Robin Hood than that Costner jerk. LC - introductions, if you don't mind."

            "Certainly," Upchuck replied, and Daria suddenly felt as if she were upon a stage in the middle of a county fair auction. "This... delectable excursion into the joy that is woman, my friends, is the fair Daria Morgendorffer. Like Harvard, diamonds and James Bond - there is no substitute."

            "Morgendorffer?" the Italian girl said, raising a wonderfully sculpted eyebrow that the Fashion Club would have committed genocide for. "Hey, she's one of the ones we're supposed to talk to!"

            "Talk to?" Daria said, a bit taken aback. "Who are you guys?"

            "We were supposed to meet you last year, but we got hung up in Oregon," the Latino rang in. "Someone just HAD to have a little more time in the wild up on her stupid mountaintop -"

            "Antonio, do you have to keep harping on that?" the blonde growled. "I'm tired of saying 'I'm sorry' about your damn rats!"

            "They were albino hamsters - and I still haven't been able to reproduce the data I lost," the Latino complained, a childish pout entering his tone.

             "Oh, ram your hamsters where the sun doesn't shine - and this time, leave the safety line off their back legs!"

            The Italian reached up on her toes and grabbed earlobes; the two arguing teens shut up as she pulled them down to her level. "We mustn't fight in front of the newbies - it scares them off," she said coolly as she turned to Daria. "I'm Leda Calavicci. These two idiots are Juneau Corwin - say hello, blonde ambition..."

            "Ow - hello - let me go..."

            "- And this ad for commercialism at it's worst is Antonio Vargas," Leda continued. "Your turn, tree sap."

            "Let go, let go, let me go!"

            "One track mind," she continued. "David..."

            "And I'm David Allen Farrington," the African-American youth announced, extending his hand. "Madam... an honor."

            "You said you were supposed to talk to me," Daria said, a sense of foreboding setting in as she looked at the foursome, "and one of you said that you missed meeting me sometime last year -"

             "Yeah, you and that Landon girl left just before we got back," Juneau said, rubbing her earlobe as Leda released her and Antonio. "They said we'd probably get to see you when we came through Lawndale."

            "Came through Lawndale..." Dark horror mushroomed silently behind Daria's eyes as she looked the four over closely. "You guys... you're from Grove Hills, aren't you?"

            "Oh, it's much better than that, Daria," Upchuck said, coming up to stand next to her with pride in his eyes. "Allow me to introduce to you... the Grove Hills Fashion Club."

           

*****

            Daria's scream could be heard a full mile away.

            It certainly sounded that way.

*****

"Is she always like this?" Leda sighed, she and the four other teenagers gathered around and looking down at a now unconscious Daria, who lay out on the cafeteria floor. "You know - someone could have TRIED to catch her."

"Oh, yeah - I catch her, she says I felt her up, and the next thing you know, there's lawsuits, court costs, we end up featured on MSNBC and Naomi Wolf gets pimp-slapped by Eminem over us during the first segment on 'Politically Incorrect!" Antonio shot back. "Look on the bright side - she can always sue the school."

"Next time, catch the girl. I might let you feel me up."

            "Stop teasing the baby, Leda," Juneau said. "Save it for the idiots."

            "Is someone going to check her out?" David Allen asked. "She could have hurt herself."

            "Daria's got a head like a bank vault," Upchuck tossed in. "She'll be all right."

            "You're not going to pick her up?" Antonio asked.

            "Nah," Upchuck returned. "After the way she got chewed by Sandi Griffin today, she could probably use a rest."

"You know, she does have a pretty face," Juneau observed, glancing down at the insensate form. "You could do a lot with her features - you know, I don't think she's ever used makeup! Look at her skin - really nice, although a touch of moisturizer wouldn't exactly kill her..." She looked her over again. "She really isn't that bad-looking at all..."

"Yeah, she's a 'plain hot dog," Antonio agreed. "She'll look good if somebody dressed her up, but she's not bad as is. What do you think, David Allen?"

            "That the Fashion Club here at Lawndale High is a bunch of fascists or idiots," David Allen remarked, tossing a glance in Upchuck's direction. "Man, LC - you called it right on this one. I know you're steamed because your dad won't let you go there - I won't even bring up your mom and her art kick - but would it have been too much to tell this girl that at Grove Hills - WE'RE the good guys?"

            "And miss a moment like this? Perish the thought!" Upchuck laughed. "I wanted to see you revealed in all your glory!"

            "Let them marvel at our splendor," Antonio remarked. "Durga the Hutt. Can we get something to eat now, somewhere? This is a cafeteria!"

            "Let's let our friend Little Charles take us somewhere," Leda said, curling her tongue in a manner that would have impressed a Bond girl. "Consider it a token of gratitude for this light-hearted moment with his friend."

            "Ah, my dear, but in the words of Josef Stalin, 'Gratitude is a disease of dogs," Upchuck smirked as Leda snaked an arm seductively around him. "And your world-class charms hold power over me no longer, my sinful little canole. I have a girl in my life."

            "What? When did this happen?" Juneau said, genuinely surprised and pleased by the announcement. "One word, LC - details!"

            "Of course, but first, I want to take you down to our pool. Let me show you how I'm going to get a recommendation to Harvard, along with college hours from my work here," the young man said, leaning back to let Leda walk slightly ahead of him - and receiving a scowl from Juneau in return. "Do any of you take the opportunity to watch the UPN Network on Wednesday nights?"

            "Why would I - Oh. Stop fantasizing about Jeri Ryan, Little Charles..."

            "Not ever going to happen, Leda, but just before 'Voyager'..."

            The five students headed for the doorway, leaving Daria unconscious on the floor. "And one more thing, LC?" David Allen said. "Tell someone about the girl..."

*****

            "Tasty traditional Thanksgiving tubers transformed into titanic townhouse-trashing truncheons that transcend true terror? 'I Yam Who I Yam, and I Yam Death -the Shatterer of Worlds!' - coming up NEXT, on 'Sick, Sad World!"

            "See, this is one reason why I can deal with a chick like Daria hanging around," Jesse Moreno yawned, chugging an entire two-liter bottle of cola down in several gulps as he watched the overhead TV. "She's a brainy type who can get into the weird and strange stuff... must be why she hangs around always looking at you, Trent."

            "Go finger your own guitar," Trent replied, a slight smirk on his face as he turned from the 'Sick, Sad World - The Soundtrack' video display in the foyer area of 'Thrash Into Cash', the newest music store in Cranberry Commons. Trent loved coming into this place - a mom-and-pop shop that understood what the 21st Century was all about, and was here to do something about it. 'T-I-C' had one of the most widespread collections of music that Trent had ever seen (from first-generation, pre-gangsta rap to 1930's no-shit, 'nothing's ever gone right for me' Mississippi delta blues, and from taped baleen whale mating sounds - great for having nasty sex to - to the latest in first disks from college, bar and house bands all over the country). It also had one kick-ass music exchange for everything all the way back to old-school vinyl and 8-tracks, and a serious rep for being a place where you could find excellent music gear for prices a starting band could handle.

            The thing that Trent really liked about ''T-I-C' was 'Thursday T-I-C.Net'. On the second and fourth Thursday of each month, the owners would let bands come into the studio and do a gig, which they sent off live on the Internet - and allowed the bands to get instant feedback. The Boys of Spiral hadn't gotten their invite yet, but they knew that it was coming...

            "I think that you like Little Miss Brainpower a lot more than you say."

            "She's cool, Jesse," Trent said, and a tiny smile escaped from him.

            "Know that smile, dude," Jesse said, leaning against the counter. "That chick doesn't know how lucky she's about to get, does she?"

            "Don't know what you're talking about."

            "You're just waiting for her to become a senior. Then, you'll layeth the Smack Down on her little heart..."

            "Still don't understand."

            "End of school's in three-and-some-weeks. You're waiting for that, aren't you?"

            "No habla, senor."

            "I already saw the necklace, man," Jesse said, and laughed at the expression on Trent's face. "So that's why you couldn't buy the new guitar, or go down with us to Florida..."

            "Hey, I thought you said Max didn't go."

            "No, we dropped him off in Georgia for a few days... said he had to meet his cousins. That's a NICE necklace. How long did you save up?"

            "About a year or so," Trent admitted, and cringed as he saw the huge smile on Jesse's face. "Stop it, man."

            "Not making fun of you. Just glad you admit what everybody else already knew - that you've always had something for her," Jesse jibed. "You two'll be good together... and she's gonna love the necklace - all chicks like having even just a little bit of jewelry..."

            "That's why I got that one," Trent said, the image of the necklace about Daria's sleek, elegant neck at the forefront of his mind. "She's not a fashion freak, but it's simple, and it's pretty. I talked to Jane - this morning - and from what she said, it's something she'd actually wear."

            "Yeah. She's not a slave to the Man's dress code like her sister, but she can have something nice." Jesse let his smile grow larger. "And she'll be glad to wear it, because her man bought it for her."

            "Her man," Trent said, letting the sensation that those words evoked flow through and around him. "Sounds real good..."

            "Hey, isn't that Daria's sister?" Jesse asked, tossing his bottle into a trashcan as Trent turned to run his hands over an acoustic guitar. "And who's - WHOA..."

            Lifting his head, Trent glanced around - and was just as starstruck as his friend as they saw Lauriel walking into a store with Quinn, her hair loose and flowing, her every movement unconsciously and sensuously feline...

            "Now that's what a woman is supposed to look like," Jesse continued, his eyes locked and tracking.

"If anybody ever asks why you're into the music scene - there goes Reason Number Two," Trent said, hormones running savage roughshod over emotion and true love as he watched the way Lauriel's angora sweater dress seemed to mold itself to her form as she moved. "Oh, man..."

            "That's what MY woman looks like," Jesse said, standing up without knowing it. "Talk to you later - I might let you listen to us having sex."

            "I'd tell you to tape it, but videotapes don't run that short."

            "Funny. Go tune a G-string - that's as close as you're getting with ME around -"

Trent heard a loud THUMP! directly beside him just as he suddenly, totally stopped in mid-step to the sound of another THUMP! As his nose and forehead began to sing with pain, his knees unlocked and he felt himself slowly (by his perceptions) falling to the floor and into darkness, Trent suddenly remembered a certain fact of life:

Skinny, underfed grunge musicians cannot walk through 4-inch tempered glass panes at high rates of speed. Attempting to do so can cause serious injury and embarrassment.

"Ow."

*****.

            "I get that all the time," Quinn said off-handedly, taking a small bite of unsalted, unbuttered popcorn as she watched security guards lift Jesse off the floor and revive Trent with smelling salts. "One time, there was this college boy who totaled out his dad's BMW because I was wearing a little skirt and he couldn't keep his eyes off my legs... That reminds me - even though this is Texas, you can't wear jeans. Every guy over twelve'll strain his neck checking you out."

            "I know," Lauriel said, peeling out of the sweater dress and hanging it on a rack just at her shoulder. "I decided to toss this on just for the trip over, and some poor guy almost ran into an apartment building because he was staring."

            "What kind of car did he have?"

            "Quinn - I said 'he RAN into the building...joggers."

            "I know - but what can you do? Stop being attractive? Lauriel, sometimes it's just SO difficult - you know, being so attractive and so in tune with the fashions of the day..."

            The svelte teen turned and glanced around the floor, then walked back to the dressing area of 'Long Millennial Fashions', one of the better women's fashion shops in the area, and stopped to look over a pearl-colored handbag. "I wonder what's keeping the others?"

            "Others?"

            "Only the Fashion Club and Rachel - Rachel Landon. She's, like, my apprentice! She's starting to discover fashion and boys, so I'm making sure that she's brought up right! She'll probably be in the Club someday..."

            "As one of your Fashion Club friends?"

            "Well, Stacy's my friend," Quinn allowed, "the others are fellow members. Sandi got to take this big-time special seminar that they have every year, and the other girls must've decided to wait for her and get a ride out here."

            "You don't sound like you care that much for Sandi," Lauriel noticed aloud, slipping into a navy-blue v-neck sweater. "I noticed that this morning."

            "It's kind of like sibling rivalry. She was like, 'most popular girl' when we moved here, but the boys just like talking to me and helping me out more than they do her! It's not like I encourage it - much - but she's the one with the 'Why her and not me?' thing going on!"

            Quinn took up another handful of popcorn. "Also, Sandi's a real 'popularity by any means necessary' type. Stacy's been seeing this guy who's basically the kiss of death for any girl who wants to be popular at Lawndale, and if 'Herr President' finds out, she'll sink them both so no one'll think she approves in any way at all!"

            Lauriel looked over the doors of the changing booth with a skeptical gaze. "And you're all for them being together, Quinn...?"

            "I know how it feels when popularity gets in the way of being with someone you really like," Quinn said quietly. "I had a tutor, and I liked him... Look, Stacy and Upchuck - I mean, Charles, they deserve to be happy, and it's not fair that they have to basically stay on his family's estate whenever they want to spend time together!"

            "Estate... Charles - does this boy have red hair and come across like James Bond on 'Hee-Haw?"

            Quinn stopped in mid-stride. "You KNOW Upchuck?"

            "Charles Ruttheimer the Third - my 'Official Number One Fan," Lauriel sighed. "He's been to EVERY open taping we've had, and put up the first 'North of the Border' fan site on the web. He's harmless, but really annoying on occasion. He has a girlfriend, hmn?"

            "And devoted, too, Stacy's just as devoted to him - that's why I couldn't stab her in the back by not supporting her. She deserves to be happy."

            "I understand," Lauriel replied. "Whenever I've had a friend, they always end up turning on me. My sophomore year in college was really bad. My roommate was from a really rich family in the Chicago suburbs - I think they owned the suburb, come to think of it."

            "Sounds like my grandmother."

            "Jeanette -that was her name - was spoiled rotten, mean-spirited and jealous to the core. She could always find a guy because of her money, and because she looked like a life-size 'Barbie' doll - never mind that her nickname up and down Greek Row was 'Psycho Jenn.' Guys never believed it - until she saw them even look at another girl."

            "What happened?"

            "She brought a new boyfriend - a new bedwarmer, if you want to be rude - to our dorm one night without telling me," Lauriel continued. "They had been out at the bars, the poor boy had to use the bathroom, and ran right in on me in the shower!"

            "Why did he head for the shower?"

            "Think about it, Quinn. You're a nineteen-year old boy, you've been up all night playing 'drain-the-keg', it's a hundred-twenty-five if the campus police see you cut loose next to a wall, and you've spent all night with a girl who's actually going home with you."

            "But she took him home."

            "Same thing when you're in college," she replied. "You've got far too many things to worry about besides good aim, so..."

            "GROSS!" Quinn exploded, and a saleslady nearly sprinted over.

            "Is there something wrong?"

            "No, she was just telling me a story."

            "The fashions are to your liking?"

            "They're very nice."

            "The popcorn is as you requested?"

            "Excellent."

            "The diet drinks are satisfactory?"

            "Wonderful."

            "The décor, lighting, and music?"

            "Inspirational."

            "No uninvited individuals accosting you with unsolicited opinions or appearances in your area?"

            "None at all," Quinn said. "Thank you very much."

            "No, thank you," the saleslady replied. "Remember, at Long Millennial Fashions - YOU are our most important customer. We are here to serve YOU."

            Lauriel smiled and Quinn looked mildly impressed as the woman left. "Now, this is service," the older woman smiled. "Coming here is the only real luxury I indulge in. You should come in one day and try the whirlpool, or have lunch in the arboretum. They have a lemon meringue pie that'll make you think you're already on the good side of the Pearly Gates, and their 'Lasagna Extraordainaire..." Lauriel sighed. "When I get married, I want THAT for the wedding dinner."

            "With a markup like they have, they should have service like this," Quinn observed. "I'm surprised that I've never been here before, or even wanted to..."

            "When you are ready for a new experience, the universe provides it," Lauriel said. "It sure did that night."

            "Yeah - what happened?"

            "I turned around just as he rips the curtain open and was about to cut loose - and he froze up. He couldn't go. He was just standing there, with his fly open and he's all ready to go - and he looks me dead in the eye... and then his eyes dropped down."

            "What did you do?"
            "I decked him." Lauriel shrugged, stepping from the booth in a burnt-orange sweater and a matching pair of corduroy slacks. "What do you think?"

            "That you're going to have people wondering how your stomach could possibly be that firm and that flat," Quinn said. "Next. You decked him?"

            "His eyes were still open, and he had a silly little grin on his face when I finally got a robe on and went back in. Jenn's screaming, he's still out cold - with that silly little grin! - and that's when our suitemates came in through their side of the bathroom. It made the school paper."

            "So what happened?"

            "He came back a week later to ask me out. I said yes - just a movie, nothing serious, and besides, I figured I owed him one for the right cross I gave him. Jeanette said okay at first - she had already moved on to another guy - but she freaked out and tried to burn the room down with us in it later that night," she sighed. "She's probably still in the hospital over in Europe..."

            "What about the guy?" asked Quinn, catching the sweater Lauriel tossed her.

            "Colin? We ended up together for the next three years, until he went into the Air Force," she replied. "He flies for British Airways now, and he's married with four kids. Lainie - that's his wife - is a doll, but none of his daughters can stand me."

            "Why?"

            "Because they don't realize something that Lainie does; that I'm Colin's friend and Lainie is his wife. He likes me, but he loves her - and that's it." She sighed sadly. "I don't get to visit as much as I'd like..."

            Quinn sat quietly for a moment. "You don't have many friends, do you?"

            Lauriel looked up, slight surprise on her face at the tone of Quinn's question.

            "No. I don't."

            Quinn stood up, and walked over to the door of the booth. "Look, I know that somebody like you doesn't need a sixteen-year old hovering around you and everything, but if you'd like a friend who won't slam you because of your looks - what I mean, is, I don't have that many real friends, either, and..."

            Lauriel looked out at Quinn, and her eyes went soft and moist. "Thank you, Quinn."

            "Just bring me here to browse sometime."

            "We can do that."

            "Uh, are you going to wear that...?"

            "I'm partial to skirts," Lauriel admitted, stepping from the booth and checking out the herringbone skirt and cream-colored blouse she wore in a full-length mirror. "Above or below the knee?"

            "For YOU? Below! Far, far below!" Quinn laughed. "Why don't we just make everyone happy and give you a nun's habit? Seriously, though - hey, wait, now that's an idea! You'll go all 'Faith Hill', or 'Shania Twain' and everything!"

            "Pardon me?"

            "Maybe I've been going about this all wrong," Quinn said, mostly to herself. "Instead of playing it down, maybe we should crank it up, show it off, be proud of what you've got! That way, you've got the whole 'I can wear what I want because it's just part of what I am' thing down that a lot of Southern women have going on, and... Hmm... How do you feel about denim skirts? No, that's almost as bad as a wrap skirt -"

            The tiny redhead turned to the taller woman. "What do you usually wear on your show?"

            "A lot of food, by the end," Lauriel joked, "especially when we have kids on the show. Usually, I wear one of my personal cooking smocks from Chez Pierre, except when we're doing something outdoors - for our seafood show, I wore a one-piece bathing suit beneath a pair of beach shorts and a sweatshirt."

            "I'll bet that went over big."

            "I wasn't wearing the sweatshirt at first," the older woman admitted. "I started off making a shrimp salad, and between the ice for the shrimp and the weather - it was a touch colder than I'd thought it would be... well, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in a reflector about halfway through the show and made one of the PA's give me his shirt."

            "Oh," Quinn said. "How could you not notice... that?"

            "I really get into my cooking."

            "Now I understand why the boys don't flinch when they take me to Chez Pierre."

            "Keep it up. I'll make up something so delicious that they'll forget why they brought you there."

            "With all due respect, Lauriel - nectar and ambrosia couldn't make a man forget why he wants to go out with ME."

            "You think so?"

            "I know so," Quinn replied, with absolute confidence. "After all - every man SHOULD have a dream."

*****

            "You just stood there and let it happen!" Angela screamed, angrier than she could ever remember being. "Why didn't you do something?"

            "Excuse me, Principal Li - but I don't think that you should hold either Mr. DeMartino or Miss Barch responsible for not doing anything during the incident in the cafeteria," Kyle said, leaning against a wall while Janet and Anthony sat in chairs in the middle of the office. "I asked both of them not to interfere - and in Miss Barch's case, I did so with undue intensity. Neither of them should be blamed or penalized in any way."

            The threesome looked over at Kyle with some shock. "This is my responsibility."

            Angela stared at Kyle for a full minute without a word, then glanced down at her teachers. "Both of you will receive a written reprimand. Regardless of what the Doctor says, you should have stepped in to stop the verbal harassment of Miss Morgendorffer. Such behavior is a clear violation of this institution's zero tolerance policy against such behaviors. I expect those policies to be enforced by all staff members at all times - and any staff member unable or unwilling to do so will face immediate dismissal."

            She went to the door and held it open. "You can leave now."

            After the teacher and the Assistant Principal left, Kyle pulled himself from the wall. "So, what did you see or find that made you go easy on those two - not to mention not trying to crucify me as an example?"

            "I beg your pardon?"

            "You're not into letting people off the hook."

            "No, Doctor - I'm not. One more slip-up in your column and you're gone."

            "And it's nice that you believe that," Kyle said.

            "You're not the only person here with inroads into 'The Community', Doctor. Please keep that in mind,"

"As long as the zipper doesn't break. How's Miss Griffin?"

            "She'll be all right - her friends took her to the ER for a once-over," Angela answered him. "The government stipend we receive here to allow you to do your work isn't enough to put up with this type of outrage, Dr. Armalin. Remember that, the next time you go off the reservation. Get out."

           

*****

Will Smith don't gotta curse in his raps to sell his records/well I do, so fuck him and fuck you too! /You think I give a damn about a Grammy? Half of you critics can't even stomach me, let alone stand me! /But, Slim, what if you win - wouldn't it be weird? /Why - so you guys could just lie to get me here, so you can sit me here next to Britney Spears? /shit, Christina Aguilera better switch me chairs, so I can sit next to Carson Daly and Frank Durst/and hear 'em argue over who she gave head to first!

            Jane's every movement showcased the anger seething within her as she ran down the jogging paths through Centennial Park, one of the larger areas in the Lawndale Park District. Her feet came down hard with every step, as if she were racing after something that she could stomp on when she caught up with it, and the music she listened to only seemed to magnify her increasing fury...

            I'm sick of you little girl and boy groups/all you do is annoy me/so I have been sent here to destroy you/and there's a million of us just like me/who cuss like me/who just don't give a fuck like me/who dress like me/walk, talk and act like me/and just might me/the next best thing/but not quite me! /I'm Slim Shady/yes, I'm the real Shady/All you other Slim Shadies are just imitating/So won't the real Slim Shady please stand up/please stand up, please stand up?

            Jane's world went suddenly upside down and spinning; she found herself moments later tangled up in a Ted Dewitt-Clinton and headphone-wire pretzel!

            "OW!" the young man called out, wincing as Jane removed his foot from being a mite too close for comfort (after all, I don't know you THAT well) and began to withdraw his cassette player from inside her t-shirt. "That hurts!"

            "Well, why don't you watch where you're going? People are running here!" she replied harshly, bending her leg back to take a wire from around her ankle.

            "I know - I've been doing it here almost every day since I was six!"

            He managed to untangle himself for almost a moment before he slipped on a strange pebble and lurched backward with a shout of surprise, landing hard on the newly mown grass and bringing Jane down on top of him! "OW!"

            "Well, you too!" Jane barked, wincing a bit even though Ted acted to cushion her landing. "Will you just hold still - I'll get us loose!"

            Jane lifted herself up and managed to straddle him as she worked to untangle the unusually long headphone wires when a trio of older women, one with a bouncy, happy Dachshund on a leash, came down the path and saw them.

            "You know," one of the women announced, her pronouncement directed at the teens even though it was spoken as though just to the other women, "When I was younger, no young woman - and certainly no decent one - would display her affections for her man is such a public way."

            "That explains why the three of you are walking by yourselves with the only wiener you can get bobbling along on that leash," Jane torpedoed back.

            "JANE!" Ted gasped, watching as the women stampeded off. "How can you say something like that?"

            "Because I'm pissed off!" she snapped. "Now be quiet and lie still or I'll do something horrible to you!"

            "If Charles were here, he would probably come up with some vulgar comment like, "Do your worst - I want to take it," or "My kind of woman."

            Jane looked at the boyish face looking up at her from the ground, so unusually earnest, innocent and childlike, and a deep, throaty laugh burst through her anger! "What's so funny?" Ted demanded, wriggling beneath her in an effort to get loose. "Let me go!"

            "Oh, stop pouting - I mean, hold still," Jane finally conceded, managing to untangle the wires before moving off him. "And don't say that it was good for you, too."

            "That's part of Charles' oral repertoire," Ted allowed. "I thought you were going to stop when you saw me, and then, BAM! What were you thinking about?"

            Jane stood up, her anger beginning to return as thoughts of Daria did. "Nothing," she said finally. "Sorry about running into you - I've got to go -"

            "Wait!" Ted shouted as he hopped up. "Don't go! I came out here to find you - they wanted me to talk to you!"

            "Who's 'they?"

            "Everybody in the Group - Charles and -"
            "This is about the assignment for the seminar?" Jane said incredulously. "That's why you came out here and ended up playing speed bump and 'Back-to-Nature' Twister? Look, Ted, I'm already doing a project, and-"

            "The people in your group really don't want Daria, which means she won't be helping you out much since she didn't really want to be in the seminar anyway," Ted finished softly. "They asked me to come and talk to you, Jane. They want you to be a part of the Group."

            "I'm already in a group."

            "Not 'a' group - 'The Group," Ted explained. "The last time I checked, we had everyone in groups one and two, but they especially wanted to get you, me and Brittany in. Charles said to tell you that he can GURANTEE that you'll not only get an 'A', but you'll get a letter of recommendation to any school you want after this is all over!"

            Jane took a step towards him. "What do you guys have up your sleeves?"

            "I can't tell you until you're in the Group. Rules."

            The raven-haired girl looked around the wooded area, took a deep breath, and started away down a path. "Come on, already," she called back, waving Ted on. "You might as well start talking, because I really need that 'A'..."

*****

            "She's in a coma? How?"

            "Not a coma, Mrs. Landon," Dr. Hanley Phillips said, turning from a EEG monitor at Jodie's bedside to a very worried Andrew and Michelle Landon, "a catatonic state. For some reason, her mind has completely disassociated itself from all physical stimuli and responses. It's as though she's been through a horrible mental trauma of some sort -"

            "What could cause this-?" Andrew roared, actually making the doctor flinch as he moved over to his daughter.

            "Several things - but she doesn't have any outward physical signs -"

            "Did someone -" The Black man's voice caught in his throat, and Dr. Phillips caught on immediately.

            "No - there's absolutely no sign or indication of sexual assault," he assured the Landons, who breathed twin sighs of visible relief. "She's been treated for some bruises and scrapes, and her friends said that's because of a fight she was in just before she collapsed -"

            "Where are they?" Michelle snapped.

            "In the lounge, down the hall - Mrs. Landon, I need to ask some questions -"

            "So do I."

            Michelle stormed out the door of her daughter's room and down to the lounge where Mack, Brittany and Kevin had already seen her and were rising from their chairs. "What the hell happened to my daughter?" she bellowed, emptying the bulk of her frustration on Mack. "You're supposed to be her man - where were you? Why weren't you around to protect her?"

            "Mrs. Landon, Jodie's really not well at all," Brittany blubbered, unable to keep her tears back as she stepped forward. "Jodie and Sandi got into it today because of how Sandi was treating another student, and it got out of hand -"

            "And - wait a minute? Linda's daughter? Sandi? Jodie and Sandi were fighting - WHY?"

            "That's a damn good question, Michelle - and I'd better get a damn good answer!"

            Everyone turned to see Linda, flanked by two uniformed LPD officers as she stepped into the lounge, and the three teens noticed the scarf around Sandi's neck as she came in, Stacy and Tiffany right behind. "Where is your daughter?" Linda said, any trace of friendship now less than burnt ash as she came face to face with Michelle. "I want to know just why your precious little All-American Daughter chased and ran my baby down like a damned animal and then nearly strangled her in plain daylight right in front of God knows how many witnesses!"

            "Mrs. Landon, about your daughter..." one of the LPD officers began.

            "Excuse me - 'bacon' - but you get to wait your turn," Michelle flicked out, sparing him a few moments of her monumentally lethal gaze before turning back to Linda. "She did what? Jodie did what? That's not possible!"

            Without hesitation, Linda whipped the scarf from around Sandi's neck - and the entire room seemed to gasp at the black-over-blue marks that seemed to swirl around the entire of her neck! "Then how the hell did this happen - a horrible freak accident involving a turtleneck sweater? Get your damned little murderess out here front and center so they can put her behind bars where she belongs!"

            "You'll get my baby over my dead body."

            "Fine with me - flowers in a ditch need food, too."

            "Before you try, better make sure this child of yours owns a black dress."

            "For your funeral, I'll get her a black leather mini!"

            "You'll have MY funeral before I wear that," Sandi snapped, and her head snapped back as Linda slapped her hard enough to knock her back.

            "Shut up!" Linda barked, and the second officer grabbed her hand.

            "Don't do that again," he said firmly, and Linda shrank back slightly from his gaze.

            "Unless you want to bring some of that my way - but you're not that brave."

            "I don't need to be brave to step on a roach like you!" Linda snarled as she spun back towards Michelle, who didn't flinch a bit.

            "Then step up for lunch and get served, bitch!"

            "That's enough!" the first cop - Officer 'Bacon' - snarled, stepping between the two of them. "I suggest the two of you be quiet and stop making threats before we send the two of you off to the station! Mrs. Landon - where's your daughter?"

            A sudden flurry of activity down the hall caught the group's attention, and Andrew's voice rang out! "Michelle - something's wrong!"

            A stampede thundered down the hospital corridor as adults and teens raced to the door of Jodie's room - and watched in horror as Hanley and several nurses had to physically restrain Jodie!

            "What the hell happened?" Hanley snapped, trying to hold Jodie's head still as the girl's form shuddered and contorted constantly as powerful spasms rippled through her! "Two minutes ago she was catatonic!"

            "I don't know - the EEG started spiking like crazy, then her heart rate shot up like a damned rocket and her temperature dropped into the basement!" the nurse screamed back, barely able to hold Jodie's arm down. " Respiration started dropping, and she started to go into convulsions - it's like her body's telling itself to self-destruct!"

            "What's happening to my baby?" Michelle screamed, rushing in to get to Jodie and all but being thrown back by Hanley! "Andrew, what are they doing to my baby-?"

            "Miss Hanover-get them the hell out of here!"

            "I'm not going anywhere!" Michelle blasted, knocking Nurse Hanover back through a tray before the second officer gripped her arms and moved her away from the bed! "Let go of me!"

            "Officers, clear this room!" Hanley bellowed, trying to force a mouthpiece into Jodie's mouth. "She's having another seizure - I said I wanted her extremities in those damn restraints! Help me with this before she bites her tongue off! Francine - I need an injector of Anestazine - stat!"

            Gasps and murmurs of panic and shock rippled through the gathering outside the door as a jet of vomit and fluid fountained through a gap between Hanley's fingers and the mouthpiece and sprayed across the doctor and a nurse! A second torrent of vomit arced across the room and splattered against the door, catching Tiffany and 'Officer Bacon' in a vileness of pale-green, viscous drippings and partly digested food as a second nurse made her way through the fray around the bed with an injection gun and administered the drug into Jodie's immobile left arm!

            "Call Dr. Varma - tell her that I need her help," Hanley said wearily, wiping a nasty off-green splattering from his forehead with his coat sleeve. "We've got one of her weird ones, and we're going to run this kid through every medical test in the universe. Get her up into C/ICU. MAKE SURE that Sarah the Swede is in, and if she isn't, page her and get her here a week ago -"

            He threw an evil stare at the people in the hall. "- And she gets NO visitors until we figure out what the hell is wrong with her. I want someone in her room watching her 24/7, and I want security to camp on the floor. Draw samples - I want to see the results on her yesterday - and I want her vitals rechecked every fifteen minutes. Wire her up like she's going up on the shuttle and watch her, people. Move."

            One of the nurses came over and slammed the door shut as Michelle turned, the fire in the dark-skinned woman's eyes in sharp contrast to the cold, pale pallor that discolored Linda's face.

            "What the hell is going on?" Linda said, her face pale at what she had just seen. "Somebody, please tell me what the hell is going on?"

            "Damned little murderess, you said," Michelle echoed, and the rattling of her tail heard in her voice made even the police step back. "Why is it that your little girl supposedly got beaten up so badly and MINE'S going into intensive care? Would you like to explain that to me, Linda? Please do... I'm really... very anxious... to hear how this could have happened..."

            "We're moving - stand clear!" a male nurse snapped out as the door to the room flew open and the medical team charged through with Jodie on a gurney, moving nonstop towards the elevators!

            "Dr. Varma's waiting in C/ICU Five and we've got everybody in line upstairs," Nurse Hanover said, adjusting an IV drip as they went down the hall. "We can get the MRI in ninety minutes, and Dr. Henry from Neurology's coming down, too!"

            "Tell Varma that I want her to check everything on this kid - I'll be back in thirty minutes!" Hanley shot back. "I'm going to roust this kid's doctor and get any info we'll need!"

            As the nurses loaded Jodie into the elevator and the doors closed, Hanley stripped out of the filthy lab coat. "Oh, yes," he said. "I'm going right to the only source I'll need for this..."

*****

            "Helen, it's almost five," Eric offered, slipping his head into the doorway of her office. "Isn't tonight the big night - the cooking show? Aren't you going?"

            "They won't start taping until at least eight, Eric," Helen said, exasperation showing in her voice as she looked up from her desk, "and I really want to finish the work on the motion to challenge the city's 'eminent domain' action on that lakefront property before I leave."

            "I thought Jake said the taping starts at six-thirty."

            "I've known Jake his entire adult life, Eric," Helen dismissed, turning her attention back to her papers. "Frat Time' and 'C.P.T.' is nothing compared to 'Jake Time'. There's no way that he'll have everything ready on time. It's not what he's all about."

            "Okay, then - I'll swing by at seven-thirty," Eric replied. "See you there, and I promise - no drooling at the star."

            "Or the woman who's cooking in front of the cameras," Helen shot back, no trace of humor in her retort. "See you later."

            Helen turned a page as Eric closed the door. "I can't believe the City Council actually believes that they can pull something like this off, in this day and age..."

            The door opened again, and Marianne poked her head in. "Mrs. Morgendorffer -"

            "WHAT?" Helen bellowed, jerking her head up from a folder. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

            "There's -"

            "ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AND NO ONE SO IMPORTANT THATTHEY CAN'T COME BACK TOMMORROW!" Helen screeched at the top of her voice. "I have to finish this work so I can get home and pretend that I actually care about my husband's insane notion of being some sort of actual gourmet chef AND some silly little tramp that my husband's invited over to cook tonight! DO YOU UNDERSTAND what I'm saying? DO YOU THINK that you could allow me some time and some quiet so I can get my work done? DO NOT BRING ANYONE and I mean ANYONE through that door FOR ANY REASON, because I SWEAR BEFORE EVERYTHING HOLY that if I don't get some consideration and some time to finish what I need done tonight without being bothered by even one more pathetic soul - I WILL UNLEASH UPON YOU THE VENGEANCE OF THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY AND I WILL KILL YOU ALL!"

            Marianne flinched as the door slammed and locked from the inside, and turned around with sympathy in her eyes.

            "I'm sorry, but I think -"

Marianne's gaze fell upon the sight of Daria leaving the office, her head hung low and a dejected aura settling about her like low-hanging clouds.

"Poor little girl," she thought aloud, thinking about the haunted look in Daria's eyes as she asked to see Helen, and knowing that it must have been a true act of desperation for her to come seeking her mother's help, or advice, or whatever... I hope that my babies never feel that coming to me for help is the absolute last resort like this...

            "You poor thing."

*****

           

            "Mmmm... I love this wine," Erin Danielson said, lounging on a sofa in the den of Kyle's home. "You have a gift for choosing the best of everything, don't you?"

            "You shouldn't flatter me like that," Kyle said, setting down a small platter of sliced cheeses and thin roast beef slices. "I'll take it personally."

            "I'm sure you will."

            The shorthaired brunette took another sip of her wine, and glanced at the tray. "You are such a barbarian," she clucked. "If you're seducing a woman, don't you know that wine goes with grapes and cheese?"

            "First, thanks for the compliment. Second, who said anything about seduction? I'm hungry!"

            "You don't want to sleep with me?"

            "What, like I'm crazy? Of course I want to sleep with you!" Kyle told her, making himself a sandwich. "I reiterate: who said anything about seduction?"

            "This is why I married Brian rather than just play around in D.C. with you."

            "This was never about relationships - this was about two more-or-less adults trying to have some guilt-free sex," Kyle shot back, popping open a bottle of root beer. "How is 'Captain America' doing, anyway?"

            "He's in Dallas now, working for his family's company. He got downsized by the government - he can't tell me exactly why," Erin told him. "Stupid 'need-to-know' security rules and everything - this is part of why we're separated."

            "No, you're separated because you thought Mommy would love it that you brought 'a real American hero' home, and when she told you he was a lunkhead, you started to finally see all of the other problems."

            Erin took a drink and sat up on the sofa to face Kyle, her large, emerald eyes shining in the bright light of the flames burning in the fireplace. "And you wouldn't be annoyed because I took Brian home to meet my family and not you, hmn?"

            "I don't know what you're talking about, Erin," Kyle snapped, taking a long pull from his root beer. "Besides, I'm not your type anyway - I can spell and say big words without putting 'uh' in the middle."

            "Sounds like someone's been on the world's biggest riverboat cruise," Erin replied, not taking her eyes off him.

            "Besides, I went down that path before. I don't do well with rich chicks."

            "You do all right until feelings get in the way."

            "Mine or theirs?"

            "Does it matter?

            "Maybe that's why I'm happiest as an absolute bastard."

            "Maybe that's why you are an absolute bastard."

            "You've said that before."

            "That's right. I've never lied to you."

            "I never lied to you about anything, Erin."

            Erin stood up, walking over to the fireplace and watching the flames for a long moment. Her expression all but screamed 'GET READY TO RUUUUMMMBLE!' as she set her wine glass down...

            Why the hell did I bother coming here - why the hell didn't I just hang the phone up as soon as I heard his voice, she thought, running her fingers across the top of the mantle. I've said time and time again that I didn't want to get involved with these 'I Spy' freak-a-zoid types after Georgetown, but I run into this jerk - then I drop him - then as soon as he calls me, I go running right over to see him, even after almost two years... What the hell is wrong with me? Haven't I dealt with enough after Brian and I had that wonderful day trip trough hell we called a marriage - why would I even think about going near the runner-up for that? Why am I still even standing here?

            Why is he even here in Lawndale, anyway? Why did he bother calling me after all of this time, and why did I come just running on over here like an eager little puppy just wagging its tail and wanting to be picked up and petted...

            "Let's start with you saying that you'd never keep me in the dark about anything - that 'national security' dodge to the contrary. After that, we can move on to 'I won't let your family get in the way of us -"

            "And that's MY fault? Let me express my displeasure at having been on the receiving end of your 'granny-poo's' hospitality!"

            "You didn't have to tell her what you really thought of her, Kyle - and when she caught us together in the stables, you could have played it off a lot better than you did!"

            "Nobody tells me that I'm not worthy or that I'm not good enough, do you understand? Madam - I am an officer in the United States Marine Corps. I DO NOT have to prove myself or anything else to ANYONE."

            "Kyle-"

            "And one more thing, in case you forgot - that evil old bitch sent the Texas Redneck, Shotgun and Moonshine Posse out to turn me into 'strange fruit' and bring back my balls for her next set of earrings!"

            "Oh, please - stop acting like that really bothers you," Erin waved him off. "Everybody knows you and some of your friends in the black masks made those guys disappear when they came after you. Oh, don't even try to deny it - because people talk. They said you did the same 'Old Testament, real 'Wrath of God' routine on a whole gang of hoodlums up in Boston or somewhere. I still can't believe the part about the heads -"

            "I don't know what you're talking about, and besides -"

            "If you let the words 'need-to-know' slip out of your mouth, I swear I'll claw your eyes out!"

            Kyle looked at the holy flames in Erin's eyes, and kept his mouth closed.

            "Right. How about you promising not to drop in and out of my life like a yo-yo? Either stay here and deal or make a clean break; you weren't being fair to either of us any other way."

            "You want to talk fair?" Kyle almost shouted. "I step across the Atlantic for five minutes, and when I come back, I find you playing 'Dallas: The Next Generation' with a guy so dumb he can be outwitted by a squirt of piss!"

            "You were gone for a year. A YEAR. You were gone, I was lonely, and it wasn't fair for you to expect anything of me if you couldn't even call and say 'Hi. I'm still alive, and I care enough about you to take a minute, call and let you know."

            "You know that if I could have gotten in touch, I would have."

            "No. I don't know that. I don't know your feelings unless you tell me."

            "And this justifies you rushing off to accept Goober's ring and willingly laying underneath him so he can breed you like a prize cow, tasked to pump out more Texas idiots like Kevin Thomphson who have only enough brain cells to know to catch the ball and get it to the goalpost? Oh, yeah - and don't run into the goalpost or let it fall on you. DON'T ASK."

            The room was silent for a moment; Erin reached down, finished off her glass of wine and moved to refill it as Kyle sat down on the floor, took a bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly.

            "So, why did you call me?" Erin asked, reaching for a slice of sharp cheddar. "I can see now that it's not for reliving the 'good old days'..."

            "No, I did want to see how you were doing," Kyle admitted. "However, I wanted to ask you about-"

            Kyle was cut off in mid-sentence by a sudden banging on the door! "I wonder who that is?" he wondered, rising and going to the front door. "Hello -"

            "How's it going, Kyle?" Hanley hissed, coming through the front door like a rhino and throttling Kyle against it with one hand. "Been a while. I've got a kid in my ICU who's coming off like she's on a Prinean high. You still playing chickenhawk for the Feds and that 'Fast Forward' boggle?"

             "Somebody's either been working out or playing with themselves too much," Kyle said, looking up and grasping at the doctor's wrist. "Nice to see you too, Hanley."

            Hanley gasped as a knee shot knocked the wind out of him, and a sharp flip and toss sent him sprawling into the living room! "I'd been planning to stop by for a visit," Kyle continued, rubbing his throat as he walked back in, "but I've been busy. Want something to drink?"

            "Hello, Hanley," Erin said, tossing him a slight wave. "How are you?"

            "Hey, baby bird," Hanley allowed, grimacing as he lifted himself from the floor. "It's been a while. How's Brian?"

            "We're separated - its back to 'Chambers' soon."

            "Oh," he said, tossing a cross gaze at Kyle. "So - I guess you've moved over from chickenhawk to vulture."

            "Stop," Erin snapped, holding out her hand as Kyle took a determined step forward. "You obviously came here to talk about some of that 'shadow crap' all of you were in, so talk. I'm going for a walk."

            She rose from the couch and headed for the door. "I'll be back in about twenty minutes. Try not to act like Ian Fleming stereotypes."

            "We were never Bond types anyway, remember? We're eggheads."

            "You both read too much Fleming," Kyle said. "You should try more Clancy. It'll give you a more realistic expectation of the business - that is, without the good guys always winning part."

            Ignoring him, Erin turned back to Hanley and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "And it's not as if Rutherford is on the other side of the country, Hanley. You should try to visit. My mother and granny always did like you."

            "Don't go too far. This won't take long."

            "I've heard that before, too," she said, touching Kyle's arm. "Behave, okay?"

            "I'll try - baby bird."

            "You know, I never liked it when you called me that," she said sharply, giving him a harsh look as she turned and walked away.

            "That smart mouth of yours always did you in," Hanley said, allowing a small smile to cross his face as Erin disappeared through the door. "Even if she wasn't Texas royalty, that would've kept you from putting a ring on her finger. You would've had MORE than a chance if you'd told them you played second-string at Annapolis - they look at ballplayers like gods down here - or let someone know that you flew jets for a year or so. You actually put a hurting on the Gray in an 'Army-Navy' game, and with that and the kind of respect gold wings get, even Grandma Barksdale would -"

            "You said that some girl was suffering from Prinean rejection," Kyle cut him off sharply, getting back to the matter at hand. "Vomiting, low body temperature, high BP and heart rate, spiked EEG?"

            "Spikes like the damned Himalayas," Hanley confirmed, "and shallow, rapid respiration. Temperature down to 90.5 before I left - and grand mal seizures that could snap an elephant's back. Heart rate was up to 178 b.p.m. - but we brought it down with Anestazine."

            "Spontaneous psychotic episodes?"

            "From what I caught before I came over, Jodie's been the most restrained person around since Regis during the Kathie Lee years," Hanley told him. "Today, however, she watched one girl read the riot act to another, got up a few minutes later, chased the girl down and tried to strangle her while showing all the emotion of someone stepping on an ant."

            "Get a manifestation?"

            "She obviously didn't go meta-active - we'd have lost half the building with the reaction she's having if she had," Hanley said, "so the stuff's making her body turn on itself. Now I need to know how much of the stuff you've been giving her AND I need you to get some deactivator-agent here NOW."

            "Only one problem with that, Doctor - I haven't used it."

            "Don't lie to me - I know what neg-activation rejection looks like!"

            "I'm not lying! I haven't used that in over - in a long while," he said. "Hey, wait a moment - 'one girl read the riot act to another... did you say 'Jodie?"

            "Jodie Landon - she's a student at-"

            "She's one of MY students," Kyle interrupted. "She - she was - I can tell you for certain that she's been nowhere near Prinean!"

            "And how can you be so damned sure - did you come here to Lawndale to get her?"

            "Not her,"

            "Excuse me?"

            "Oh, I'm here to recruit a student," Kyle said. "I'm not, however, here for Jodie Landon."

            "You're actively recruiting but you're not using Prinean," Hanley echoed, his gaze following Kyle as the latter filled a wineglass and offered it to him. "Oh, right. Your 'seminar.' I've heard about it. Which scenario are you using on the poor kids?"

            "Department Omega - extended."

            "I thought the 'T-32 serum' scenario worked better with adolescents."

            "It does, but Omega/Extended has a higher psychological deconstruction index - and also allows for an immediate subject reintegration into the social structure if things start to go south fast. With the kid we've got, we definitely needed that escape hatch."

            "Who are you recruiting?"

            "Need-to-know, Hanley."

            "You're doing freeform psychological manipulations on what you've already acknowledged is a potentially unstable teenager. If you ask me - I need to know."

            "She's not unstable - and no one asked you," Kyle pointed out as he finished his root beer. "She simply doesn't have the proper focus for her mindset - and we can help her with that. If she starts to have problems, I can always 'Jenny Lindsky' her back into the good graces of her classmates. It helps that we almost recruited the boy she's got a crush on a few years ago - we can manipulate them together. If I have no other choice whatsoever. If I'm ordered to."

            "It always pissed me off that you like manipulation so much."

            "Being pissed off rather than being pissed on is the reason I like manipulation so much," Kyle replied, watching Hanley sip his wine. "Better the windshield than the bug."

            "A few years ago..." Hanley said, thinking aloud. "Who were... The bookstore. The Lane boy."

            He set his glass down hard. "You're recruiting Daria Morgendorffer? Are you out of your warped little mind?"

            "Excellent free association, Doctor," Kyle opinioned. "From there to here, please..."

            "I had her as a patient a little over a year ago - rash caused by stress factors. Always caused when this Lane kid was around. Been keeping an eye on her ever since - it doesn't seem like there's too much in the way of adult role models around for her."

            "It shows."

            "Forget that part. Kyle, think about something - and I know you have, you cruller from hell. One little word. Erin."

            "What about her?"

            "For the first time in recorded history, your advance intel is in the dumpster," Hanley said. "They're first cousins - Erin and Daria. Erin's mom's sister - you know, the bulldog of a lawyer that she always talked about? That's Daria's MOTHER."

            Kyle stopped in mid-breath. "Erin's cousin."

            "Yes."

            "Evelyn Barksdale's granddaughter."

            "Oh, yes."

            "Amy Barksdale's niece." Kyle snarled out the last name like poison.

            "Glad you remember her."

            "And Barksdale women are like the Harpies."

            "With government connections and more money than God," Hanley chorused. "We have clear air. Abort your recruitment, Kyle. Do it now."

            "That old bastard Bakeson - I asked if there was a relation, and that's why I called Erin..." Kyle's face became harsh. "I have to make a call; to shut things down at this point, I'll need to get authorization..."

            "Don't let me stand in your way."

            Kyle stood up. "You know the way out," he concluded. "And, Hanley?"

            "Yes?"

            "I'll get a specialist down from Niagara Falls to consult with you on Jodie Landon."

            "I'd appreciate that, Kyleton."

            Hanley headed for the door when Kyle spoke again.

            "Hanley."

            "Yes."

            "Erin doesn't need to know, but after you've fixed any damage you've caused, you'll need to call her husband and have him do any extra clean-up on the Barksdale side - unless you'd like Amy to take care of it."

            Kyle walked straight up to Hanley and stood directly in his face. "Let's get one thing straight, First Lieutenant Phillips - you do not give me orders. You do not tell me what to do or how to do it. You do not tell me who to disseminate valuable information to... and you should know better than to threaten me."

            "Not threaten - advise," Hanley said, taking a minute to collect his thoughts as he backed away.

            "Besides - he's with the D.O.A.," Kyle spat, "And what can that clown-opera road show do of worth, anyway?"

            "Kyle, we've both seen Barksdale's work up-close... do you want her in on this because of her niece?"

            Kyle was silent for a full minute as he opened another root beer and drained it. "No," he agreed. "She doesn't need to come anywhere near this."

            "Or you - despite your... skills," was the response. "It would be a fight worth paying to see, though. After you stop playing doctor for Trainor, come see me. I can probably get you honest work."

            Kyle barked off a sharp, bitter laugh. "Yeah - and where's the honor in that?"  "There's a staff psychologist's position that's going to open up next month - she's getting married and moving to Alaska. They're always looking for good people here, and I could put in a word for you," Hanley said. "You know, Kyle - you don't have to do this kind of work anymore."

            "And if I walk away, the next person they get won't care about the kids or anything else but his recruiting quota," Kyle replied. "At least I try to take only the ones who we really could be doing a favor by recruiting, not just to prepare kids to wear a uniform."

            "Then you should have gotten your general's stars instead of nearly getting thrown into the military's personal dumpster up north, Kyle," Hanley told him. "You should have played the game - and you should have done everything possible to keep Erin in your life, so she could give you an anchor to reality. You could use a 'Mrs. Armalin' to keep you grounded - and if you took the time to be a couple again, she might still fit the bill."

            "Why is it that I'm the psychologist, but lately you're doing the headshrinking?"

            "Why is it that I'm the handsome one, but lately, you've been getting all of the really good women?"

            "Me? Wait a minute here, 'Doctor Feelgood'- when have you EVER gone without? I seem to recall that hot little redhead from William and Mary who practically lived to please you during your internship, and the month before you went to Savannah, there was that biker chick with the cat-eyes who used you like a salt lick 24/7! Hell, I can't even THINK of a time when you didn't have women waiting around every single corner waiting to jump you - even the ones who shot at us STILL wanted to take YOU alive for 'questioning!"

            A smile fought valiantly to keep from appearing on Hanley's face. "Like I said - 'lately."

"Don't give me smoke about 'lately' - Erin's been here a few hours, and it's been a real dry season down here for teachers."

            "Throw your uniform on and hit one of the bases - women are in uniform, too. I go over to Fort Hood every month or so to talk with the doctors there... they invite me out, and the pickings aren't bad."

            "Rule number one - no shagging chicks in cammos. They know how to use the sixteen, too, if you don't dump them right."

            "Shut up, Kyle. You know good and well that if you wanted to meet women, you wouldn't have any problem, in or out of the dress blues - and with your decorations, you could probably feel safe talking to admiral's daughters. We both know that you haven't tried meeting women because you've still been hung up on Erin - even though you knew she was off the market."

            Hanley shook his head as he walked back to his friend. "One more thing. You believe in getting information like a frat-boy believes in getting laid, so tell me something: Why is it that the young woman you've been sent to shadow-recruit just so happens to be the first cousin of a woman you've always had feelings for - and YOU didn't know anything about it beforehand? I won't even mention how both are members of a family that, for all intents and purposes, told you to leave their women alone, get out of Texas, don't EVER come back - and has the cash flow and the pull to make that an actual threat?"

            Kyle leaned against a wall, silent once again. "Didn't factor that in, did you - or was it just that someone's playing you, too? You can just imagine how Erin's going to react to the news about her cousin - and without her protecting you -"

            "I don't need her to protect me."

            "Keep dreaming. When Clan Barksdale finds out and your Erin steps to the side, they're gonna try and take you back out to the hanging tree, boy!"

            "I've got your boy swinging right here."

            "Start watching your back, Kyle. Somebody's probably playing you, too."

            "Hold up," Kyle said, going to a wall and touching an edge near a painting. "You always did make sense."

            A section of the wall slid away, revealing a foldout closet with several... wonderful toys, as Jack Nicholson would have said. "I always carry a few doses of 'flush' when I go out in the field - stuff bonds with and clears out everything but bad Mexican food," he said, handing a package of four sealed medicinal vials over to Hanley. "If you're right - about everything - then somebody else is here, doping up Landon and placing me in the crosshairs. Get her clean and shoot me a copy of her bloodwork."

            "I can do that."

            "If you are right, Hanley," Kyle said, pulling a Heckler and Koch MP5SD2 suppressed submachine gun from the closet and checking the magazine of 9mm subsonic 'hydra-shock' rounds, "then someone's going to send a cleaner down here after they burn my op - and they'll come looking for you after they find that Jodie's clean. You need a piece?"

            "Always," Hanley half-joked, lifting his jacket as he turned slightly and allowed Kyle to see the Glock Model 27 pistol he had in the small of his back. "But this - I'm prepared for. This IS Texas, after all. 'Forewarned is Forearmed', Four/One."

            "Roger that, Four/Eight," Kyle said, mimicking speaking into a headset. "I've got some work to do... is that a Model 27?"

            Hanley immediately went on the defensive as he turned back. "Yes, so what?"

            Kyle couldn't keep himself from chuckling. "A .40 caliber? Hanley, you went out and got a REAL gun?"

            "Oh, just stop it."

            "What happened to your love affair with those .22 magnums you had jacked up to the moon? Somebody tell you that your barrel wasn't long enough for a real woman?"

            "Still got the record for captures - unlike some people, I have problems with a body count," Hanley countered. "Remember - doctor, 'do no harm' - I'm the best long-shooter you ever had, anyway."

            "Not anymore - Aki Ward's got herself a Gauss rifle with a needler attachment that she's been using to take people alive and silent at long range. She took a live target in Outer Mongolia at over a thousand yards last year. Nice shot - downhill, in high wind... you might want to give her a call. You probably need to update your POGO certification, and you might as well qualify on that needle gun, too..."

            "What makes you think my certification's not current?"

            "Because you used to be an Army puke. If you were a Marine, this part of the conversation wouldn't happen because you'd know better."

            "And if you were a soldier instead of a jarhead, you'd know that you go slow when it comes to women instead of charging the target and getting zeroed."

            "Ease up about the prairie princess."

            "Yeah - she should be back soon."

            Hanley's hand was on the door when Kyle spoke up. "Hanley - 'my Erin?"

            "Start using some common sense, you prick - then it'll be a fact instead of a phrase."

            A short pause.

"Goodbye, Doctor Phillips."

            "Major Armalin."

            Kyle popped the top on another root beer as the door closed behind Hanley. "Barksdales," he said, draining half the can. "I hate those bitches."

*****

            Sitting on a tree stump atop a folded sleeping bag to keep from getting clothes wet or growing cold, a figure watched from a shaded grove of trees as Hanley got into his champagne-hued Le Baron and drove away.

            The observer chewed on a handful of raisins and walnuts, washed it down with a drink of warm chocolate milk from a large thermos, and pulled a heavy coat closer. The observer continued to watch the house, a very powerful, very expensive pair of binoculars on hand...

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