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Occasionally Yours: Episode Five
Published May 28, 2011


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... Guess my race is run
She's the best girl that I ever had
I fought the law ...

"I Fought the Law," Sonny Curtis

The long-awaited date's aftermath! Many thanks to my ever-helpful and always creative co-author! :D

... Guess my race is run
She's the best girl that I ever had
I fought the law ...

"I Fought the Law," Sonny Curtis

The long-awaited date's aftermath! Many thanks to my ever-helpful and always creative co-author! :D
So a night that began with Gwen holding Jesse's hand ended with her clutching his arm in terror. The officer shouted at the photographers to 'clear out and take a goddamn hike if they didn't want to be fined for loitering,' which broke up the party right away. He made a call on his police scanner while flinging towels at both Gwen and Jesse. "Cover up, you two. Car already stinks, don't need you dripping all over the seats and makin' it worse." Normally, Gwen would be giggling by now. But the abrupt realization that once again, her mostly-naked tush was going to be all over a bunch of newspapers, magazines, the internet, and heaven-only-knew HOW many camera phones was more than enough to keep her relatively serious. Not even the grin pulling at one side of Jesse's mouth could lighten her rapidly-darkening mood. "... no problem, sir. I'll get 'em right home and let 'em off with a warning. Call ya when I'm done." The officer turned back to look at them both.

"You're in luck, Ms. Glover. Officer Frio picked up the dispatch, so looks like you'll be getting a slap on the wrist. But no more swimmin' in your birthday suit, 'kay? People don't like to get in a hot tub where the previous occupants were showin' off their goodies, makes 'em squeamish."
Now Gwen chuckled. There was no luck involved in that. Connor Frio had a notorious work ethic. Only he would voluntarily listen to a police scanner on Friday night. But hey, if it was going to get her out of trouble with the cops, so be it. She'd have more than enough to deal with in the morning.

At the time, she didn't know how right she was.
Rosalind closed the laptop's cover. "Done at last."

She looked at the appetizer plate that Connor had left on the desk for her and smirked. Two oysters, several thin slices of avocado, a dusting of caviar, a shearing of foie gras. And a champagne flute filled with bubbly and topped with a dark chocolate heart for garnish. All noted aphrodisiacs. The man was NOT subtle.

She quickly swallowed the light meal and wandered up front, still drinking, when he walked in from the back porch.
He smiled when he saw her. "Did you eat?"

"Oh yeah," she said, and smiled back.
Rosalind Frio was not a particularly romantic woman. She did not care for mood lighting, flowers strewn about a room or soft music--the one time Connor tried that, she complained that the room was too dark and she couldn't hear the music, and who was gonna pick up all of these damn rose petals?

The best way to get her attention, Connor found, was simply to be direct. And so he was.
But just as they had both settled onto the couch and he was beginning to get what he wanted, his police scanner buzzed again. Rosalind's hand froze on his thigh.

"It's okay," he said quickly. "Just ..."
Before he could turn off the intercom feature, a crackling voice announced, "Officer Frio, this is Officer Hunter. I've just brought Ms. Glover and her escort back to her house. Um, sir ... there's something here that you should probably see."

"What is it?"

"Ah. Well. This Mr. Simanski? He's claiming that he just came into town tonight for the symposium at the Billings Theatre, but ... a lot of objects that have been reported missing around town are in the back of his truck."
"Shut this line down," Connor ordered. "I'll be right there." He rushed into the bedroom to change into something slightly more professional. Rosalind was right behind him. "What's going on? What's happened to Gwen?"

"I don't know. I have to find out." She was trying to grab his arm, but he pulled back quickly. "Ros, I have to go."

"I'm coming."

"No you're not. I don't know what's going on over there yet and I don't need you muddying the issue. Stay put, I'll be back in a little bit." He went up front again. She was on his heels.
He stopped short of the door. "Rosalind, I do not want to see you there."

When she gave him a defiant look and didn't answer, he muttered, "Maybe you'd better get some sleep," and took the keys to her motorcycle AND her convertible.
Rosalind stood at the window and watched as the red and blue lights began to flash and his squad car vanished around the corner. Maybe he was right. Maybe this would sort itself out all on its own.

"And maybe deathfish fly on Halloween," she grumbled. She picked up the forgotten flute and drank the last of the champagne.
"You're crazy! You can't do this!" By the time Connor reached the beginning of Gwen's block, he could already hear the high-pitched ranting. While he was inside of a moving car. Which meant it was only going to get louder. Just great. He already had a headache and this wasn't going to help at all. He pulled up next to the truck alongside the other police car. "Folks, go back in your houses, please," he shouted to the neighbors who had gathered on their front steps to see the fun. Of course they didn't move. Gwen was carrying on so loudly that no one except the comatose would be able to sleep through it. He turned his attention to the matter at hand: the young man with the messy hair and the equally-messy scruff, staring with slack jaw and confused eyes at the back of the repossessions truck, which was quite full of various and sundry goods that NO man his age would have any business possessing. Heirloom furniture. Frou-frou teapots. Boxes of jewelry. Clothing by the pile, much of which appeared to be women's. Antique mirrors. "Well, well. What have we here? You planning to start a consignment store with all of this?"

“I… what?”
Jesse glanced at Connor only briefly before returning his gaze to Gwen, and it was to her, not Connor, that he added the word, “…no…” Connor didn't really hear what Jesse had to say for himself. This was more a joke for himself, because he knew the owner of the only consignment shop in store, one Bradley Steel, and he was all too aware that Bradley often sold merchandise that came into the store under questionable auspices. Bradley insisted that he didn't ask where the items came from if his seller didn't volunteer the information and that he had positively NO CLUE when something was stolen, which prompted eye-rolling from his friend. "So a guy your age selling you a freakin' ton of women's clothes didn't set off any bells?"

"Hey, man," Brad shrugged, "coulda been the remainder of Grandma's estate."

"It WAS," Connor snapped. "Too bad Grandma's still ALIVE."
But the fact remained that Connor had never arrested Brad for wrongdoing. Probably because the one time Connor marched into the store with an irate homeowner who immediately pointed out several items that had been stolen from her home the previous night, Brad apologized profusely and returned them on the spot, even offering to shut the store and deliver them in his own truck. That won him a few brownie points. Still, though, this didn't look good at all.

"Hunter, where are Mr. Simanski's clothes? He's gonna have problems if I take him into the precinct like this."

"Yup," the other officer drawled. "Gotta say, though, if you get him dressed the girls in Central Booking are gonna be mighty sad."

"Booking?" Gwen squeaked. "Are you ARRESTING him?"
"Just bringing him in for some questioning."

"You can do that here!"

"Gwen," Connor said in a police officer's voice, and she choked, went silent. If all else failed, Gwen Glover could always be silenced by the slightest hint of authority--she was very predictable in that way.
As he lowered Jesse's head and directed the man into the back of the car, he jerked his head at Officer Hunter. "Return Ms. Glover's clothes, please, and get someone out here to pick up this truck. I'll be in I.R. No. 4." **brzzt brzzt**

"Eh?" Rosalind mumbled. She sat up and blinked stupidly. The house was dark, and by the feel of it, still empty. She had crashed on the couch. And her phone was ringing. Why? It was 2 a.m.!

**brzzt brzzt**

"H-hello?"
"Rosalind!" a voice screamed. "You have to help! Your husband just came to my house and arrested my date! And the police are taking his truck!"

"... wait, what--"

"Jesse! Connor just took him away!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down ... lemme put some shoes on or something ..."
She went into the garage and grabbed a flathead screwdriver. She knew how to make a car start, keys be damned. Less than ten minutes later she was outside of Gwen's door. As soon as Gwen stopped sobbing, Rosalind said, "Do me a favor. Go grab those keys I made for you. Sounds like the PD's on a tear tonight, I don't need them stopping ME too. And before we go anywhere, I REALLY need for you to explain to me just what the hell happened tonight." She stepped on the wet dress. "Why does that smell like chlorine? And why is your hair wet?"

"I fell in the pool--"

"Why were you around the pool in a dress? Why were you around the pool at all?"
"Well, I was a little drunk--"

"A little? Your eyes haven't stopped spinning yet. Doesn't the theatre have a pretty strict '2 glass' policy?"

"Well, yes, but I was actually at the Grind--"

"The Grind? In a formal dress?" Rosalind's expression was rapidly turning distrustful. "And how did you have any energy to dance after going to the post-event party? I've seen you after those things, you can hardly stand up!"
"I ditched, okay?! I ran out at intermission!" Gwen was shaking. Whether that was because of weariness, anger,
drunkenness, or cold was hard to say.

"... I swear I ought to just go home. Get those keys, Gwen, and don't you say anything else between here and there."
They pulled up at the precinct in record time. Rosalind came in, completely ignored the desk clerk who greeted her, and walked right over to Sergeant Beverly Tisdale. "Beverly, hi. Is my husband in here?" Her voice was clipped.

Beverly pursed her full lips. "... he is."

"I'd like to see him."

"He's unavailable," Beverly said immediately. Her gaze was even.
"Would you please escort me to his office then?"

At this, the older woman stood and made for an "Employees Only" door. When both women followed, she came to an abrupt halt. "Just you, Rosalind. I can only get authorization for an officer's spouse. Unless Connor is this lady's husband too?"
Beverly took Rosalind down a dull marble hall and opened the third door on the left. "Here we are. Call me if you decide you want to leave. They don't take kindly to civilians roaming around back here."

Rosalind nodded. She didn't need to leave the office. She was more than capable of using Connor's desk phone to patch into the various interrogation rooms and eavesdrop. And once she found I.R. No. 4, it didn't take her long to get a pretty good idea of just went wrong earlier in the night.
What she couldn't quite believe, though, was her husband's voice. It was angry. It was cold.

It was brutal.
There was a photo of her and Connor on his filing cabinet, taken by the licensing clerk immediately after their low-key wedding at City Hall. She stared at it, trying not to hear what she was hearing.

How long had she known Connor Frio, now? Going on nine years? ... and from the moment she met him, he was a cop--god KNEW he was a cop--but he had a very human face, and that kept him from being just a man in a blue uniform. He had grown, opened over the years. That Parole Officer. Her Parole Officer. Parole Officer Frio. Parole Officer Connor Frio. Then Connor Frio.

And finally, just Connor. Her dear Connor.
But now he was none of that. That man screaming at another person in that interrogation room was just a cop. She stood so suddenly that she knocked over the office chair. Without waiting to call Beverly--or silence the phone system--she fled the office and ran down the hall. She burst through the main reception area without hearing a word that was shouted at her, from Beverly, from the other officers, or from Gwen, who stood there in amazement as the little convertible tore out of the parking lot and zipped out of sight.

"What the HELL?" Gwen shouted to no one in particular. "That cow, she LEFT me!"

Beverly sat back down helplessly. Her phone was blinking. Interrogation Room No. 4. Just fantastic. "Yep?"
"What was all that racket, Bev? And why was the phone's intercom button lit up before I picked up the line?"

She hung up and went back to Connor's office, but of course he'd beaten her there. They both stared at the phone on his desk. Intercom: status active.
"Uh, Grantham?" Connor called after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. Officer Lindsey Grantham was waiting in the interrogation room alongside Jesse Simanski, who was proving an obnoxiously hard nut to crack.

"Yes, sir."

"Hang up the phone, please."
He turned back to Beverly with an aggravated expression. "What the hell was my wife doing in here? What the hell was she doing HERE period?"

Before she could answer, another officer poked her head in the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Officer Frio, sir? You have a call. From a ... whassis-his-name ... err, L'Bo, I think he said?"

Connor groaned. "Roch LeBeau?"

"That's it."
He turned his chair upright before waving both women out of the door. "Put him through," he said in a resigned voice. Within the first half hour of being brought to the Foxgrove Police Department, Jesse Simanski had ceased hearing what was being said to him. Or sworn at him. Or screamed at him. There was no point to hearing it, because he wasn’t going to answer any of it. In nearly nine years of working for Terrence Whistler, Jesse had never been arrested or questioned by cops. But he’d known what to do if it ever did happen. Whistler had made sure of that. So Jesse sat there and said nothing at all while angrier and angrier cops took turns trying to get him to talk, and he thought about the look on Gwen’s face when they snapped the handcuffs on him. The look that said she would never smile at him again. The look that said she does not and will not ever love him. The more he thought about that look, the more his hands shook and his head hurt and the deeper the ache in his throat went. And the more he wished they’d hurry up and put him in a cell so he can just disappear. But Gwen Glover had no way to know any of this. All she knew was that the police were accusing Jesse of something that she was positive he didn't do himself--after all, she was WITH him all night--but well, they were accusing him of conspiracy and collusion and conversion and a bunch of other stuff that she really didn't get, and it sounded like he really might have done something wrong, but what it could be, she wasn't sure, and ... well ...

... she just didn't know anymore.
For the first time, it was beginning to sink in just what she'd done. She left a major performance in midstream and broke a cardinal rule for all aspiring divas--'Thou shalt not storm out of thine own performance, leaving thine understudy to perform thy musical selections and receive thine rightful praise. Amen.' She insulted a fellow performer, which was unspeakably rude. She ruined a §1500 dress. And photos of her naked butt were going to be all over EVERYWHERE in a matter of hours. Her parents were probably going to disown her. Again. Rosalind had just freaked out and ditched her. She didn't even want to THINK about what Viv was going to do. She was suddenly aware that she hadn't seen Holden for nearly two days. Funny that she hadn't noticed before now that her best friend wasn't around.

She didn't want to call him. If he wasn't at the fire station, she didn't want to know where he was. But she HAD to call--she'd forgotten her purse in her haste, so she didn't have a dime for cab fare, and what would she look like walking home at 7 a.m. from the police station? She held her phone tensely, hoping that he'd answer.

He answered on the fourth ring. He had clearly been asleep.

"Hello?"
"Holden, can you please come get me? I'm stuck at the police station."

"... you're WHERE?"

"Holden," a second, sleepy voice called. Gwen heard him try to muffle the mouthpiece, but it was too late. "Who is that? Is it the chief?"

"No, no," he interrupted quickly. "Go back to sleep, it's a friend." Gwen heard the sound of clothing sliding over bare skin.

"I'll be there in just a minute," he said, and hung up.
He pulled up just as the sun rose. Gwen exited the station and climbed into the truck tiredly. He saw the faint hickeys on her neck and collarbones. She was that he was only wearing a pair of shorts--he didn't even have his shoes on. Neither of them said anything on the way home. Gwen made two cups of coffee and offered him one. They sat on the sofa and drank in silence. They had been friends for years and years. How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

"I'll ... uh ... I'll be right back," Holden said, and headed to the sole bathroom in the house.

While he was in there, he faintly heard a knock at the front door, and shortly thereafter Gwen's outraged "No!" He came out just in time to see her march into her room and slam THAT door. Whoever she'd just shouted at, though, hadn't left. They were still there. Still knocking.

"Holden!" Gwen yelled. "Don't get that!"
"Who is it?" he asked. Of course he was going to get it. Gwen came storming right back up front, but too late--Holden had opened the door to see Connor Frio standing there. He looked even MORE pissed off than usual, which was impressive in a frightening way. "Uh ..."

"Holden!"

"Settle down, wouldja?" He turned back to the police officer. "Rosalind's not here, Mr. Frio."

"I know that," Connor said shortly.
"Uh ... 'kay. Why are you here at 7:30 a.m. then?"

"As I was explaining before your roommate slammed the door in my face, I need to know where your OTHER roommate is."

"Couldn't tell you, I haven't seen him for a little bit--"

"He's NOT HERE," Gwen shouted. "I already told you that!"

"Stop shouting," Holden begged. He turned back to Connor. "What do you need Harley for?"
"We believe he's the one who filled Mr. Simanski's truck with all of those stolen goods. We'd like to confirm it."

"Oh!" Gwen said sarcastically. "The same way you 'questioned' Jesse by marching him down to the police station naked in handcuffs?"

Now Holden's face went comically twisted. "... naked?"

"Shut up," Gwen ordered. Holden slowly turned back to Connor. "Uh ... would you like to come in?"
"He is NOT coming in here!" Gwen shrieked. "We answered your question, Connor. If you want Harley, be a cop and go find him!" And before either man could respond, she kicked the door shut. She poured more coffee and drank angrily.

Holden leaned on the counter. "Would you care to tell me what the HELL happened last night?"

She told him as best she could remember. Her head was in rather uncertain state.
When she stopped talking, Holden turned to look over his shoulder. "Huh. Not to be a wet blanket, but have you noticed that Harley's computer is gone? And his bag? The one that always hangs on the bedroom door? It's gone too."

They went into the bedroom together. All clothing, shoes, personal effects, books--all gone.

"He left," Gwen said.

"Probably because Connor's looking for him," Holden said, and nodded.
They both went back to the front of the house and slumped onto the couch. Holden was yawning, but Gwen just lay still and felt hopeless. Because if she was right about Jesse's innocence, and if Connor was right about Harley's guilt, that meant that this entire fiasco was her fault. And a bunch of people weren't about to let her forget it.

Including the one calling at 7:44 a.m.

Viv Miller.

Great.
Connor stood in the yard, incredulous. He was more than used to being abused as a police officer--the uniform invited spite and disrespect readily. Still though, tonight had been a disaster of epic proportions. And it wasn't over yet. His phone was ringing. He stared at the caller ID in disbelief. It was Roch LeBeau! How had the man gotten his personal number? ... not that it mattered. He already knew what this was about.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Frio! Rough night arresting all the wrong people?”

MR. Frio? Connor scowled. “Go to hell, you. I got bigger problems than him.”

"Unlawful detention is still a pretty big problem.”
"Look," Connor said, but he couldn't go on for a few moments. He mentally kicked himself for showing this much weakness. "I think part of your Riddlemethis club is in town. I've been chasing a burglar for weeks, and recently the guy's moved up to home invasions. He's disabling home security systems remotely. That's where all of the stuff in Simanski's truck came from, homes that have been robbed recently. Guy must have felt the heat and dumped what he couldn't take."

“None of which is Jesse Simanski’s problem.”

“Roch, I'm sorry, but this guy is living in the house with the girl we picked up with Simanski tonight. I haven't been able to get her to let me in the house to get this guy's computer. If squeezing Simanski's gonna get me in, he's just gonna have to get bruised.”
“That’s why you’re still holding him? Because you think this girl will open her door to you out of concern for a man she just met and then watched you drag to detention? No, Connor.”

Connor said nothing; he couldn't. He was absolutely livid. Because he was all too aware that Gwen WOULD open the door if she thought it'd help get Jesse released sooner. But his wife showed up even after he told her NOT to, and Gwen was pulling a pouty-face act now because Rosalind had stranded her, and--
“I understand you’re under a great deal of pressure. So we’ll let it slide that you’ve been leaning on a detainee that you know damn well is innocent. I told you hours ago you had it wrong, and that I know this family. Now you find some way that will actually work to get that girl to open her door, and you release Simanski, before his family lawyers up with my blessing. Mm-kay?”

"You lose my number NOW," Connor snarled, and hung up on Roch before another word could be exchanged.
He called Beverly directly and told her to release Jesse Simanski and return his clothes and vehicle. When Beverly asked about bail, Connor shook his head. "No bail. Just let him go."

His hand was still shaking. He was back where he'd started with all of this. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nothing to show for all of the time wasted except a ream of paperwork that someone MIGHT possibly request should they actually manage to locate this guy again in future.

He moved to get in his squad car. He might as well go back to the precinct and try to salvage what little he could from this mess. It was funny, in a sad way, that his dedication had earned him the nickname "Chief" amongst several of the officers--they claimed he did more work that the REAL chief of police. Well, he didn't feel much like a chief. He felt very frail. Shatteringly human.
"Connor."

He froze up. That was Gwen's voice, and she was coming up behind him. Steeling himself, he turned around. "Ms. Glover."

"I ... I found this in the backyard. It was lying in the mud." She offered him a leather computer satchel. "It looked like it got knocked into the garden and Harley forgot to pick it up."

The computer. The damned computer. He took it, exhaling slowly. "Thank you. I just told them to release Jesse."

Gwen looked as though all of the fight had been knocked out of her. She nodded once, and went back inside.
Connor took the laptop back to work, checked it in through the evidence counter and poured a fresh cup of coffee for himself. He was going to need the caffeine if he intended to dig anything useful out of this thing. Chances were fairly good that Harley had covered his tracks.

Two hours later he was pacing his office, cursing. Harley HAD covered his tracks, exceptionally well. No matter where Connor looked within the machine's guts, the information was being systematically deleted, seemingly as he searched for it. Either the whole system was infected with a specific worm, or worse yet--the machine was being remotely accessed, and someone in a backroom of a non-descript building somewhere was just laughing at him as he tried to scrape together something, anything. This was far too complex and sophisticated for a few lousy home invasions. This was ...
He called Roch LeBeau again and apologized for his earlier burst of temper, and Roch was gracious enough to not only accept the apology but give him some advice. "Don't bother with the laptop, agent. If it was left behind for you to pick up, there's nothing on it you can access without their knowledge. These folks are too organized to make a mistake like that."

"I was afraid of that," Connor sighed. His phone was beeping with an incoming call. Rosalind, maybe?

No, Bradley Steel, who wanted to meet him at Patrelli's, a terrible little bar on the derelict side of town. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?" Connor asked, and almost laughed. Almost.
"Ehhh ... I figure I can keep the store closed today, do some inventory. C'mon man, I can tell you've had a rough night. Have an adult beverage with me."

Normally Connor would turn this sort of offer down immediately. But the previous twelve hours had been so hellish that getting a drink before noon was likely the least of his potential problems. "Can you come get me?"

"Be right there."
They went. They drank. Connor talked, and Bradley listened though he didn't really need to. Thanks to a few "number unavailable" calls he'd gotten over the course of the evening, Bradley knew just as much about the whole affair as Connor himself. And he knew that laptop was just a tease. The only thing the police would be able to salvage it for would be the parts. The information was a lost cause.

But despite his criminal ties, he genuinely liked Connor as a person, and had Connor been a little less upstanding as a police officer, they could have probably been partners.
As things stood, though, they were on opposing sides of the law, and could only really connect over an occasional happy hour. And right now, Connor was miserable.

... almost as miserable as his wife.
Rosalind stumbled up a hill. Why she was climbing a hillside in heels, she chose not to consider. She was already so mixed-up and torn apart that there was probably no point in thinking about anything.

From the time that she was sixteen years old, she'd been in and out of trouble with the law. And she'd learned two lessons that all criminals learned early: don't snitch, and don't talk to the police. She'd known Connor Frio for over a year before she thought of him as anything other than "that cop." But he never gave up on her. He broke through, got deep under her skin. And she broke her own rules for him. She talked to him. She snitched for him. She gave up a chance to escape the law's grasp for him.

Her vision slowly cleared and she realized where she was.
The mineshaft.

A place where they had dragged Connor and left him to rot. The last resort by her old gang to force her back into her old life.

This horrible place.

Why had she come back here?
... because this was the place where she had decided that she loved Connor, no matter what. She loved him enough to turn on her old associates to save him. She loved him enough to drop into a pitch-black mineshaft to save him. She loved him enough to fight six seasoned gangsters to save him. But she didn't love him enough to stand by his side now?

...

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#11MinraedMay 30, 2011

Loving it! Cant' wait for more!

#12fruitopiaVIPMay 30, 2011

\:rah\:\:D  Loved it 

#13ohgodcaitlynMay 30, 2011

Love love love loveddd it! \:wub\:

#14marko232Jun 1, 2011

\:D

#15PralinesimsJun 5, 2011

5*\:rah\:

#16MangioJun 6, 2011


Being meaning to comment.. i just cannot be bothered because it would come out in pages and pages and pages... Congrats on a well deserved feature \:rah\: Everything is just absolutely perfect.. i hope she doesn't have further doubts. I would hate what happened to Jesse and Gwen to effect Rosalind and Connor's relationship... \;\) I've never seen Connor so pissed off before.. Can't wait for more \:wub\: 

#17J_andrews8081Jun 7, 2011

there are a few of you amazing storytellers on here that make me wish I could just play in YOUR games! I love your stories, and all the dimension to the characters. They're totally not just sims anymore. lol! You're great! Thanks for your stories!! \:rah\:

#18flody888Jun 8, 2011

Wow! The plot got thicker!!!!! I can't wait to see what happens next with this theft and computer plot! \:eek\: Also, how Rosalind-Connor and Gwen-Holden-Jesse will sort things out! (I keep flipping between Gwen-Holden, Holden-River, Gwen-Jesse!) Great chapter!!!!

#19ShelleyBJun 22, 2011

\:mad\:NOOOOOO!!  I'm all caught up now and will just have to wait. I'll be looking out for the next installment (please???) \;\)

#20Ben72006Jun 25, 2011

it getting more drema and more.

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