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Enough is EnoughEnough is Enough
Set after S4E2, before E3
Fluff, humour, friendship and romance.
"Oh, Abby!" Jess stumbled to a stop, her eyes wide, the supermarket plastic bags in her hands rustling loudly, 'I didn't wake you up when I left earlier did I?"
Abby shook her head, smiled reassuringly at the surprised girl as she put the bags on the table in front of them, but she didn't say anything further. While the girl was friendly, and she was good enough to give both of them a place to stay, even though she didn't even know them... she still didn't want to explain to her why it was she had been awake. Abby had always been against letting others into her world, or rather, now "their" world hers' and Connors. And they had, after all, only just met her a few days ago. She felt uncomfortable telling her anything about why she was sitting on the window sill of their shared room a few hours before the brunette woke up, got ready and left over half an hour ago
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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