Girls Like That

[FlyIntoOblivion]

Yes, I'm back yet again. I don't know how fast I can get this story out(busy, busy), but I'll try. Enjoy!

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“He saw me again.” The voice came from the lighted end of the empty warehouse where they met every day, and there was Addison dressed in grey wool and too long jeans, leaning against one of the supports and frowning. He never changed, the only concessions made to the changing of the seasons was to substitute cotton for wool and a neatly shorn head at the first of May. In other words, he dressed like all the other men in town-utilitarian clothes, drab colors. But there was a wariness deep in his reflective eyes, a nearly invisible wall keeping everyone else out. Everyone else had a dull sheen over their eyes, but his burned with a rather cold disapproval for his situation.

Grace recoiled at his words and those reproving eyes. Even his posture wasn’t welcoming, his arms crossed over his chest. Still, he was the kindest man in town, even though slightly forbidding. “Its not that big of a deal,” she replied. “If you’d just talk with him and not insist on sneaking around-”

“The whole town hates me, you and I both know that.” He shrugged. “And I do care when he does things like that to you.” Her fingers went automatically to her swollen eye, wincing as she probed the royally violent violet bruise pressuring her left eye blind. “I saw you stepping into Mercer’s this morning,” he continued before she could ask how he knew; she was still hidden in the shadows.

“Perhaps if you didn’t skulk around town, hiding out in warehouses, they’d like you better. You don’t act like anyone else in the town, so of course they find you…odd.”

“They didn’t like me the moment I took up residence in this town.” She bit her tongue at his chastisement; she knew it was true. He sighed then and held out his hand. “Well, I suppose you should come here.”

Once she was near him, she allowed him his minute inspection of her injuries. Addison didn’t drink away his afternoons like the other factory workers, and so instead of that nauseating mixture of metal shavings, oil and alcohol, the whiskey was replaced by a rather clean laundry smell and Camels. Once his investigation was over and concluded with his rather tender lips on her bruise, he enfolded her in his arms. “Let’s stay here and talk today.”

“That’s all you ever want to do.” She was feeling reckless, straining against his reserved manner. He never wanted to do anything, never wanted to run away from their god awful town, but at the same time, he hated it. She knew he did-how could he not?

His arms shifted from her shoulders to her waist. “And if we do go out, your father will see us and do this again.” His callused thumb caressed her black eye.

“He beats me because you creep around like this and he thinks you’ve seduced me and you’re going to leave me the moment I get pregnant.”

Addison said nothing for a long time, only licked his lips once. “If you don’t like it, then you’re free to leave me.”

She wrenched herself out of his embrace. “That’s all I have to say about it?”

“What else is there to say about it? What do you expect me to do?” He slouched, sticking his hands in his jean pockets. “You won’t move in with me, and your father would beat me, too, if I came home with you.”

“If you just married me-”

“You know I can’t do that. And how, Grace? You’re underage, and you can’t hide a wedding from your father.” He shrugged. “You act like I’m supposed to be your savior, but I can’t even fit into this town myself.”

“At least you can leave and go back to where ever the hell you came from.” She glared at him, but he only looked back with that infuriatingly placid face. Would nothing shake him?

“Don’t swear, Gracie, you don’t have the tone for it.” Addison glanced out the window then, his eyes unfocused for the first time ever. “I can’t go back,” he said in a voice barely over a whisper. “Not like this.”

“What do you mean?” There was something in his face that almost made her not ask.

He snapped back to reality then, and began to walk toward the exit. “I’m going home. You should, too, or he’ll beat you again. We’ll meet up in a few days-that is, if you still want me.” And the Addison was gone out the door before she could speak.

[FlyIntoOblivion]

Dusk was always the best time to people watch in the town. Addison pressed his forehead against the glass, taking a long drag of his cigarette. His coworkers were lumbering home now, lurching off tilt from filling their vacant stomachs with cheap whiskey and beer. They’d sober up when they came home and ate, sober enough to feel despair and drink more. Drink, drink, drink, that’s all they ever lived for-not for their wives, their children, they just worked to fill in the hours until it was a respectable drinking hour.

There was Grace’s father, the biggest, most boisterous sot of them all, his permanently ruddy face roaring with laughter that even reached Addison’s third floor apartment. He would’ve liked to spit on his head, but thought better of it and stamped out his cigarette, turning away from the window.

Addison’s doppelganger tugged on his hair in the medicine cabinet mirror. It was getting too long; perhaps he should shave it again, even though it was only March. He was looking downright feminine, and he had enough problems without looking like he should be wearing Gracie’s skirts instead of jeans. Then he shivered at the thought of being bare-headed in early spring, and half regretfully set the razor back in the cabinet.

He resumed his perch by the window, lighting up another cigarette. What the hell am I doing here? It would’ve been better to pick a city instead of this closeted town. A plague on whoever pointed me here, he thought, then chuckled at his own melodrama. It wasn’t a small town, but it wasn’t large enough by any means for the anonymity he desired. No, not desired-needed. But still, he was stuck here until he could build himself a slight cushion before he could move on.

But what about Grace? He shook his head before the thought even occurred to him. There’s no way she could come along-she’d never understand. Girls like that use men like him to escape, to rebel, and she’d never get the truth. Her head was too far in the clouds, she was too immature. Smart and cheerful, yes, but he wasn’t going to be the one to teach her about the adult world. He didn’t understand it, himself.

The pounding on the door made him start, overturning his chair with a clatter. “Rent, Mr. Marlow! You told me you’d have rent by today!” Bellowed Mrs. Wilks, the landlady, from the other side of the door.

“Coming! Hag,” he muttered under his breath, stomping over to the door to wrench it open. Mrs. Wilks was a bony woman, but hippy, giving off the impression that her skin wasn’t attached to her flesh and instead hung off her once rotund body. Addison suspected this had to do with the excessive dieting she did after giving birth to her third child, and all that excess skin just flapped uselessly off her limbs. She colored her hair an awful shade of auburn that faded into an unflattering ash blonde that made her skin look grey.

“You could at least not smoke when talking to me,” she snapped as he leafed through his bills, and he puffed on the cigarette in response, clouds of smoke blooming from his mouth like a Chinese dragon. He did glance up when she snickered, and Mrs. Wilks sneered right before shutting the door, “Perhaps I should call you Miss Marlow from now on.”

He stared at the blank door for a long time, and it was only when the delicate ash cylinder drooped and collapsed under its own weight, shattering to the floor did he start, and he scowled, grinding the butt of his smoke in the door and dropping the end on the floor.

Once his hair was slicked and soaped, Addison’s doppelganger grimaced as the razor sheared his softly curling ringlets free of his scalp, and he shivered once at the feel of the biting air against newly exposed skin.

[bostongirl]

Very good . I think I am going to like this story alot!!!!! I think we have a thick and complex plot forming here . Look forward to the next installment. Nice writng style.

-Boston

[FlyIntoOblivion]

Thank you! I hope I can get the third part done this weekend, but who knows. The end of semester is always killer.

[FlyIntoOblivion]

flyintooblivion said:

Thank you! I hope I can get the third part done this weekend, but who knows. The end of semester is always killer.

You know, the moment I say something like this, I set myself up to getting an idea. I have to make a cautionary note, though: this part is a bit intense, so I apologize in advance. I hope you enjoy it!

One hand steady on the rail, a lit cigarette pressed within his fore and middle finger, the other clutching a sandwich, Addison hooked his feet through the second tier of the railing outside the drugstore, casually slouched over to keep his precarious balance. The factory may have been the nerve center of the town, and men trudged into the heavy iron gates despite their overtired bodies, hardened from years of toil, but the corner occupied by the drugstore was the heart. Here, kitty corner the drive in and the grocer, Mercer’s, Addison found an almost perverse glee in watching the good people of the town duck class and play hooky from work. From his perch, he had been keeping track of who met whom and for how long, a personal tally sheet of all the sins of the town. For instance, he was certain the town physician, the beloved Dr. MacPherson, was sleeping with Miss Johnstone, the pastor’s daughter and the elementary school receptionist, as they walked this way after having lunch at the diner down the street.

He glanced at the town clock. Odd, it was a few minutes past noon, and the adulterers had yet to make their way down the street to part ways just past Mercer’s. Perhaps there had been a falling out? But no, he then saw the distinctive brown bowler of the doctor’s, only to his surprise, he was walking with Mrs. MacPherson, a stout but kindly lady who was well known for her cheesecakes—as well as keeping an iron fist on their brood of seven rambunctious boys of varying ages. She was laughing, but his lips were thin, his gait stiff. Perhaps something had happened to Miss Johnstone.

“Well, if it isn’t Marlow,” a rather boorish voice announced from somewhere in the drugstore parking lot, and Addison cringed in his mind. He had an inkling as to who was that proud owner of that swaggering, testosterone laden refrain was.

Half turning, his suspicions were confirmed. “Hello, Duke,” he gravely saluted the football captain. Since being scouted by a dozen high ranked teams, Bruce Duke had recently reached a level of arrogance Addison dared not dream of in a human before, and his father wasn’t much better. “My boy’s gonna be a star!” He puffed out his chest, just before an extended coughing fit as the oil fumes hit his lungs. The younger was blonde, curled, his square jaw at odds with his cherubic locks and eyelash laden eyes, which helped him with the girls in the town, something he reportedly used to his great advantage.

“What are you doing here, Marlow, looking for more girls to pick up to seduce up in that little hidey hole of yours?” Duke shook his shoulder, but Addison only watched him, refusing to be riled.

“I’m eating my lunch.” he took one last precious drag off his cigarette the moment Duke removed his hand, and then crushed it on the railing.

“Is that so? Sure you’re not looking for another girl to knock up?” One of the other boys smirked at this.

Addison furrowed his brow. “I don’t follow.”

“Please,” Luke Perkins sneered, leaning over Duke’s shoulder. “The whole town knows the preacher’s daughter left town carrying your baby. Forget what a rubber is?”

Addison began laughing before he could stop himself. “Believe me, I’d be the last one to, ah, knock up anyone.”

Duke’s hand was choking him suddenly, lifting him off the narrow rail with one thick fingered hand. “Take that lightly, do you? Well, I’ve got a word of warning for you, Marlow: Gracie is mine.”

He knew what was coming, so there really was no reason to keep his mouth shut now. “How do you figure? Is every girl in town yours, Duke? Because I’ve heard you’re quite the Casanova.”

“No, you freak, he’s taking her to prom.” Perkins heckled.

“Oh? Doing that to make your current girl jealous? What happened, was she not submissive enough for your satisfaction last night?”

Addison only got a momentary glimpse of Duke’s snarl, and he drunk in the triumph moments before the larger boy slammed his face into the railing once before leaving Addison spitting blood onto the sidewalk, whimpering as he fingered his split lip.

[bostongirl]

Nice way to start my day - the next chapter. It's getting interesting. Really good job at unfolding the plot. And I like your writing style. It really is like reading Addison's thoughts. Well done.

[FlyIntoOblivion]

Thank you! To be honest, I find Addison much easier to connect with than Grace. He's much more realistic and cynical-not to mention foolhardy and lacking in people skills.

[jillywilly65]

well I made myself sit down today and get caught up on everyones writing. WOW this is intense and I was getting into it. I hope there's more coming soon Fly?

[FlyIntoOblivion]

jillywilly65 said:

well I made myself sit down today and get caught up on everyones writing. WOW this is intense and I was getting into it. I hope there's more coming soon Fly?

Hopefully! I have the story mapped out in my head, so now it just needs to be written.

[FlyIntoOblivion]

Three more additions after this! Hope everyone is liking Addison...and Grace.

Glancing around to make sure she wasn’t seen, Grace slipped through the warehouse door, letting it shut gently behind her. It was a sunny day, and the light fractured off the broken windows and lit up the floor, marred only by the stern shadows cast by the support columns. But the familiar scene was marred by the absence of Addison leaning against one of the supports, just in view of the door. She stepped in gingerly, fingering her hair. “Addison?”

There was a scuffling near the back. “I’m in here,” he called back, and she wove her way toward his voice. There was a bathroom near the back, the fixtures all rusted and caked with filth, but Addison was interested in the intact mirror, where he was inspecting a welt-like bruise on his right shoulder, but he quickly readjusted his sweater as she came near, turning. His face, too, was a mass of abrasions, with his right cheek black and yellow, swollen slightly, and his lower lip split off-center, a neat strip of congealed blood.

“What happened?” She barely whispered it; he was nightmarish, and she wasn’t sure if it was to not spook him or herself.

He grunted, stepping out of the wrecked bathroom. “Your gorilla of a prom date decided to teach me a lesson. Oddly, I don’t recall what he could have expected me to learn.”

“Bruce? Why would Bruce-”

“Because he’s a beast, just like every other bastard in this town.” Addison began fishing in his pocket for his matches.

It was only when Grace sniffled did he glance up. “He’s not that bad. He’s been quite kind to me.”

“Yeah, using you to get back at Stacy What’s-Her-Face is so very noble.”

“Well, I’m not the only one screwing around!” She snapped, and he stared at her again, his hands lighting his cigarette without his consent, it seemed.

Then, unbelievably, impossibly, he chuckled low, and reached over to caress her face with one hand. “Miss Johnstone? I never touched the girl.”

“Its been the whole talk of the town. You and your slinking about, staring at everyone. Dad heard it from the doctor himself, and he would know—Mary probably found out she was pregnant after a visit.”

Addison froze, his one hand in the middle of flicking his cigarette clean of ashes. “MacPherson is telling everyone, you say? Oh, irony, how I adore thee,” he muttered, more to himself. Then he began walking away, toward the exit, shuffling his feet as though he was in deep thought.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you going to even try to deny it?” Grace felt like crying; it couldn’t be true, could it? Not Addison, he’d never do something like that. Blunt and unemotional, but he was a man of integrity, or so she had imagined.

He turned and bowed in a rather mocking, florid manner. “Its my word against the good doctor’s. And who’s going to believe me over such a fine, upstanding member of the community?”

The door was open and he was out before she could collect what he had said, and it took Grace a moment to react, and then she flung herself after him, hitching up her skirt slightly to race to the door.

He was already halfway across the street, and she shouted, “Addison!” And he turned to look back. From just a block down, an engine roared to life suddenly, and a generic looking automobile, much like what half the town drove, was raging down the street.

Addison flew, his limbs swinging limply in the dead air.

Grace screamed.

[FlyIntoOblivion]

“It’s just Addison,” he said wearily, rubbing his forehead with his good hand, his other still bound up in a splint. “Believe me, its easier that way.”

Addison was in the district attorney’s office, Mr. Grinstein, a reedy, balding man who took his duties seriously, and at least tried to be civil. But Addison wasn’t feeling very gracious himself; his pain medication made him sleepy and lightheaded, and he wanted a cigarette, but had found it damn near impossible to light up one handed. “I don’t understand why the hospital released my information to you, anyway,” he snapped, digging out his ratty package of Camels.

Grinstein sighed, removing his glasses to clean them with his handkerchief. “They normally would not, but as we’ve arrested the man responsible for your injuries, it has come to our attention that some of what the hospital learned could be of importance to the case.”

“Oh?” He attempted to ignite a match, but whimpered as his now useless left arm cringed as it held the book, the impact of the match twisting his elbow slightly out of place. There was a faint click, and he looked up to the attorney’s heavy silver lighter ignited, and he leaned forward to allow Grinstein to light it for him. “Thank you.”

He nodded in return. “After some questioning, it turns out that the young woman who first reported the crime, a Miss Grace Smitt, was correct in claiming it was Dr. MacPherson. It turns out, in a very odd trail of events, he impregnated Miss Johnstone, spread a rumor to implicate you in her pregnancy, and then attempted to murder you before you could make a denial.”

Leaning back, Addison considered the lawyer yet again, taking a long drag from his cigarette and allowed that sweet smoke to cling to his lungs for a long moment before exhaling. “And the hospital thought it important to release my personal information to you because of that?” He laughed softly. “I knew this town was a disastrous mistake the moment I stepped off the train.”

“Mr. Marlow,” Grinstein said then, and Addison watched him, reluctant to move his cigarette away from his lips—who knew when he’d be able to have another? The other man had removed his glasses again, and wiped his forehead. “Regardless of the actions of the hospital, no matter how unfortunate they may be, you do realize what you’re going to have to do at trial to prove you are not the father of Miss Johnstone’s child?”

Addison chuckled bitterly though his tightly pressed lips. “Tell me the date of my testimony and I’ll start packing.”

“Packing?”

“Do you really think I’ll be able to stay here after that?” He stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some shopping to do.” He shuffled out of the office, taking care not to jostle his broken limb any more than necessary.

[keysunset]

Thanks, Fly. The story is really interesting and I'm looking forward to more!

[FlyIntoOblivion]

Thanks, Key! These are the last two scenes.

It was the night before the trial, one of those falsely warm spring days that only felt warm because of the biting cold that preceded it. Addison was at his perch on the chair by the window, his ashtray overflowing with the mangled remains of his chain smoking. The cast had been removed a little past three, and he had promptly, ravenously consumed a pack and a half. Now, he felt a bit nauseous and lightheaded, but he still held yet another cigarette to his lips.

The town was lit up in gaiety, the warm weather married to the eve of a scandalous trial had all the makings of merriment and added to the carnival air. Teenage boys were flexing and swaggering for their female counterparts, men were drinking openly in the streets, talking in their boisterous voices to each other and their nodding, simpering wives, dirty faced children ducking through the adults’ legs. a**holes, he dismissed them with a contemptuous flick of ashes.

But still…he felt a cruel pierce of longing to be down there with them, cavorting and carrying on. Not at his expense, of course—not at anyone’s, really—but to be accepted, to be wanted. Addison shook his head. It would never happen, not now, not ever. He would always be the freak show the rest laughed at. Perhaps I should purchase a circus tent and charge admission.

Sighing, he vacated his throne to weave his way into the bedroom. Everything he owed fit into two small suitcases, which sagged, looking as deflated as he felt, at the foot of the narrow cot bed furnished by Mrs. Wilks. All the furniture was hers; it would stay here.

Addison opened the closet. He had left only one thing hanging there, and it looked lonely, alone hanging on the wire hanger. He fingered it delicately, as if terrified of the material. “I never thought I’d wear this old thing again,” he muttered bitterly. “Not in this place.” He cringed at the thought of wearing it again; he had been so certain he had left that part of him back home forever.

There was a knock on the door, not the irritable pounding of Mrs. Wilks demanding rent, but a polite, stately knock. Addison shut the closet door before returning to the living room to curiously open the door.

Reverend Johnstone was impossibly tall and slender, blonde and youthful, the only indication of his middle age being the laugh lines around his eyes. Infectiously joyous and kind, even Addison enjoyed the minister’s company. But the other wasn’t smiling this time, but looked rather gravely at Addison, holding his hat nervously in his hands. “If I may, Mr. Marlow,” he said quietly, gesturing to the inside of the apartment.

“Of course!” Addison replied, shuffling out of the way to allow for the reverend’s entrance. He made to gesture to the spare chair at his small dining table, but Johnstone only set his hat down on the table before walking over to the window to watch the grotesque spectacle below. The reverend said nothing for a few minutes, and Addison stood there, awkwardly, not knowing how to broach the question of the other’s visit delicately.

“It must be taxing, watching them make light of what’s going to be the most painful day of your life,” the minister said finally, and Addison jumped at the calm of his voice. “And all you ever wanted was to be accepted.”

Addison found Johnstone’s eyes too burning, and he bit his lip, staring at his feet shuffling on the wooden planks, blurred by shameful tears. “Yes. But that will never happen, will it?”

He heard the other man’s feet, and then his thin hands on both his shoulders. “I can’t guess all of the Lord’s will, Addison, so I refuse to condemn you for what you may be.” He glanced up; the minister was smiling kindly. “I’ve known what you are the first day you walked into the church. But, it’s not my place to damn. That’s squarely the duty of society; mine is to accept all, be they sinners or not.” Addison sniffled, wiping his eyes sheepishly. The reverend laughed then, and he chuckled weakly in return. “You’re leaving tomorrow, I take it?” Addison nodded, and Johnstone pulled out a roll of bills and handed them to him. “It’s the collection money, I thought you might need it.”

“But, this is for-”

“Community members in need. And, like it or not, you are part of this community, at least until tomorrow.” Johnstone turned serious again. “Where are you planning to move?”

“My ticket’s bound for Boston.”

The blonde considered it, tapping his finger on his chin thoughtfully. “If you want, I know a friend in New York that could help you, if you’d rather move on to there. She has connections that could be useful to you.”

Addison nodded. “Thank you.”

Reverend Johnstone rubbed Addison’s nearly bald head. “Thank the Lord before you thank me. I’m merely his hands.” The minister retrieved his hat, letting himself out of the apartment, and Addison stood there for a long time, staring down at the wad of bills, a slow grin spreading over his face.

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It was not difficult for Gracie to discern the source of buzzing gossip in the courtroom; there was an unknown woman in the front row, just behind Mr. Grinstein. Her head was bowed, her hands over her face as if to hide it, and, most unusually, a series of scarves covered her hair completely from view. Was it Mary? Grace shook her head when she heard that whisper; the pastor’s daughter was petite, and while this woman was by no means large, she was clearly not Mary Johnstone. However, it was not difficult to suppose such a thing, as the reverend was clutching the woman’s elbow and talking in her ear in such low tones they could not be caught by others.

His honor, Judge Hellensmeyer, entered the room, and there was the scraping of seats as he bustled in, looking severe in his black robes. He was a tough man, sharp as a tack even at the age of eighty five, and his courtroom was more than orderly. The gossips fell silent, and the trial began.

Grace paid scant attention to the opening remarks; the trial was of little interest to her, really, and she instead concentrated on settling her nerves about her own testimony. It was only when Hellensmeyer said in his dark, throaty voice, “Prosecution will call its first witness,” did she return to the matter at hand.

Grinstein stood up, removing his glasses and held them in both hands and replied, “Prosecution requests the courtroom be cleared for the first witness’ safety and privacy.”

“Your honor!” Mr. Eriksen leapt to his feet, slapping one hand down on the table. “These people deserve the truth! This witness has been living under false pretenses-”

“That’s enough, Eriksen,” Hellensmeyer snapped, then nodded at the stenographer. “Mr. Eriksen’s blithe attempt to sway the jury shall be stricken from record,” he continued, and the attorney flushed as scarlet as his hair, slumping over in his chair. “Mr. Grinstein, your request is denied. They’ll find out one way or another, as the record is public. Call your witness.”

The district attorney wiped his face with his handkerchief, and paused for one long moment, swallowing as if he was having difficulty breathing. “Prosecution calls Deborah Addison to the stand.”

It was silent. Then the strange woman in the front row stood, and Reverend Johnstone stood as well to allow her passage, murmuring, “Go with God, child.”

Deborah Addison tottered to the stand, her hips swaying in the uneven gait of someone unused to wearing feminine heeled shoes and skirts, and the entire court seemed to hold its breath for the moment she turned around. When she did so, the whispers exploded all over the courtroom. It was indeed who Grace had feared, and she jumped slightly as the woman spoke for the first time. “I will,” she replied to the bailiff holding the leather bound scripture, and seated herself.

Grinstein was polite in waiting for Hellensmeyer to establish order once again before beginning his questioning. “State your name for the record, Miss Addison.”

“Deborah Addison.” Her voice was a higher pitch than what Grace was attuned to, but there was no mistaking that half amused tone lurking underneath.

“Do you use any aliases, Miss Addison?” Grinstein was pacing, and Grace would have laughed at the comedic aspect of his hands clasped behind him in that way.

“Addison Marlow.” Grace jumped when she said this; Addison was looking at her, apology stamped across her fair features. The other ducked her head, swallowing her breath. It couldn’t be. Oh, Addison!

The rest of Addison’s testimony was lost to her, and she couldn’t bear raise her head until she heard Eriksen say, snidely, “Just why is it you feel the need to dress as a man, Miss Addison?”

“Objection!” Grinstein had nearly upended his table in rage, flushed to a bright crimson. “This has no bearing on the case at hand and is, in fact, a direct attack on the-”

“Settle down, Mr. Grinstein, I would have had that question disregarded even if you hadn’t objected. Mr. Eriksen, keep your prejudices out of this trial or I’ll hold you in contempt. Treat the witnesses with respect due to them.” Hellensmeyer glared at the defense attorney coldly.

Addison’s eyes, however, flared with a hot dislike of the attorney, and her hands went to the scarves bound about her head and began to unwind them, exposing her shorn head, and Grace saw the tightening of her jaw in challenge.

Eriksen took several moments to find his voice, then smirked. “Miss Addison-”

“I’d prefer if you called me Mr. Marlow from now on, Mr. Eriksen,” he replied smoothly, interjecting. Gone was the softer feminine tone; this was Addison.

The rest of his testimony seemed rather truncated, as Eriksen found himself facing a sharp-witted and irritable Addison Marlow where he had been expecting the ashamed Deborah Addison. Soon, the witness was stepping off the stand, reweaving the scarves back onto her head, the downcast and female Miss Addison again.

Then the reverend was standing, taking the arm of the woman and leading her out of the courtroom. Grace caught one last look at the face of Addison, staring straight ahead and allowing Johnstone to guide her to the door.

Grace was impatient throughout her testimony, and it was thankfully short, allowing her to race from the courtroom the moment she had stepped off the stand.

Addison’s apartment was only minutes away from the courthouse, and she had run. So, gasping for breath, she pounded on his door. “Addison! Please, let me in!” There was no answer. “Please!"

“He’s gone, Miss Smitt.” She turned; it was Mrs. Wilks, watching her with a disapproving grimace. “Cleaned out his stuff before the trial, even.”

“Where? Why didn’t he-”

“He left you a letter.” The landlady held out an envelope, and Grace snatched it from her hand in indecent eagerness, tearing it in half to extract the letter inside. It was short.

Gracie,

I’m sorry you had to find out.

Addison

[jillywilly65]

I like Johnstone, he seems cool! like a preacher should be
Would it be totally selfish to say hurry up and finish this story? haha Just kidding.. I know you are swamped with school.
Good stuff, you have the gift girl!

jill

[FlyIntoOblivion]

Thanks, Jilly! Johnstone was fun to write. He makes so much sense.

Actually...that's it for Addy and Gracie. That was the end, the fin. Hope you liked it! ^^

[FlyIntoOblivion]

Okay, I'd like to retract my last statement-I don't know if I like that ending or this one.

God damn, it’s cold. Addison tucked his hands underneath his upper arm, wincing at the feminine feel of his rounded body. He’d forgotten how cold north was, and he shivered, blowing his breath out in one large puff of steam. It was too cold to even consider a smoke, but he could always pretend.

He was in Boston; he’d forgotten how tired this place made him, how weary he felt back in this bitter old town. It was too tied up in his memories of pain, and he just wanted to forget. But still, it was home, and he had been hoping to sneak into his mother’s home at some point when it had been vacated to rescue some of his things, if they, indeed, were still present.

Addison considered the pastor’s words again, and turned over his matchbook to look at the number scribbled on there. Perhaps his belongings were not worth it, and he should just move on. On to New York, where freaks were, if not welcomed, at least treated with a friendly contempt, one that involved laughter instead of pitchforks. Bring me your tired, your poor…how did the rest of it go?

The gleam of a row of pay telephones caught his eye, and he shuffled over to them, pausing only momentarily before dialing. Yes, he knew whom he wanted to speak. He only began to despair after the fifth ring, that sickening blend of bitter heartbrokenness and relief that no one was answering. But then there was a click, and a scratchy woman’s voice said, “Yes?”

“Mom?” He licked his lips, adjusting his voice to its naturally higher pitch. “Its me, Deborah. I thought I could come over and-”

There was a momentary flicker on the other end, and Addison physically flinched away from the receiver, almost hanging up before she could say something so thoughtfully cruel. “I once knew a Deborah. Then her mother caught her kissing Lucy Cook in her bedroom, and now I’ll never know that Deborah again. Girls like that aren't girls at all.”

Addison stood there for a long time, blissfully unaware of the tears running down his cheeks, concentrated only on the buzzing dial tone that was his mother.

[jillywilly65]

Okay welll Addison's mom is a Mother in name only then? Would it be okay if I called her
a HAG?! I cannot imagine ever stopping the love in my heart for my child. No matter what!
Murder would sure be hard to deal with but you can't flip off the love switch. UGH!
When I thought there was more I was thinking happily ever after, but that is me haha
Good stuff wherever you go with it. Done or not.

[Cheza]

WOW, Fly. I didn't see that coming at all. Great ending. I've got a few of those surprises up my sleeve for my story...working on one right now...but finding the perfect name for a character is proving to be quite the challenge.

[FlyIntoOblivion]

Thanks Jilly, Cheza! The new ending wasn't completely random. After I finished the story, this song started playing: www.youtube.com/watch?v=aX14MeJrFi4 And I thought it was far too much like Addison not to write that scene.

Glad you liked it!^^

[Cheza]

Fly, what song? When I clicked on your link it just takes me to the frontpage of You Tube because the video has been removed due to "terms of use violation"...

That strikes me funny since you can search for just about any of the anime shows I watch and watch full episodes on there. Granted they're ripped into two chunks, but the whole shows are there.