Chase tossed it to her. O'Connell caught the discarded tube and inspected it, frowning furiously. “Lucky bitch. You ruined fucking everything. I could have made a clean getaway. I could have disappeared.” She snapped it in half in her hand and tossed it aside. The pieces became instantly lost among the blades of grass. “It's going to be so much harder now. So, so much harder. Maybe I can do it, I've done it before with a lot more heat than this. But if I'm gonna stick around here long enough to kill you, I'll have to make it REALLY quick.”

Before Chase could stand, O'Connell fired off a needle. Chase quickly picked up one of the broken fence posts and raised it in front of her face as a shield. The needle stuck in it with a loud, wooden thok.

More needles came as Chase found her feet. She spun the fence post back and forth, deftly catching them in its painted skin. She charged at O'Connell and swung the post at her. O'Connell raised an arm to block the downward strike. The board whacked against her forearm with a heaviness that surprised her. Some of the needles shattered, and she closed her eyes and mouth and looked away as the deadly liquid rained around her.

Chase took full advantage of this, flipping the fencepost over to strike not with its broad face, but with its thin edge. She whacked her enemy in the right kidney.

Pain erupted in O'Connell's side. In response, she lashed out with one of the needles, slashing at Chase's middle.

Chase jumped back, and suddenly found herself tangled up in something. The volleyball net!

As she lost balance and fell to the grass, the poles uprooted and the net embraced her. She fought it off, but lost precious seconds in this struggle, enough seconds for O'Connell to recover. A needle flew Chase's way just as the net came off. Chase did a backwards tumble out of its path, the needle barely missing her, sticking into Alicia's lawn.

Chase came up from her roll in a crouch. Another needle flew and she jumped back, letting it land where she'd been just a split second before. She realized her hands were empty. Her eyes found the fencepost, lying on the ground a few feet away. She was defenseless.

Chase dodged another needle to the left, and then another to the right. A third, she had to drop to the ground to avoid. She reached for one of the needles that had embedded itself in the earth and yanked it out. She tossed it back at its owner. Surprised, O'Connell dodged. This gave Chase enough time to gather up the volleyball net and toss it next.

The net wrapped itself around O'Connell. The gangster dropped a needle that was in her hand to struggle with the net, but it was tangled around the heavy poles. She let out a growl of frustration.

Chase recovered the fencepost and ran at her foe. O'Connell looked at Chase just in time to see her swing the fencepost upward, uppercutting her on the chin. O'Connell's vision went black for a moment as blood filled her mouth. Just as she began to recover, Chase swung again, this time from above, hitting O'Connell squarely in the side of the head. Before O'Connell realized what was happening, she was on her back on the ground, groping desperately in the thick lawn for the dropped needle.

Chase spun the fencepost around so the pointy end, still brown with dirt, was aimed at the gangster. Chase held it with both hands and raised it high over her head. Then, without hesitation, she plunged it into O'Connell's stomach.

Twin splurts of blood gushed up from O'Connell as she was impaled—one where the fencepost ran her through and one from her mouth, accompanied by a hacking cough.

O'Connell's eyes focused on Chase. Her hand found the needle, but it was too late. Her fingers tightened around it, gripped it tightly, squeezed it as though it were her lifeline, this poison that just hours before had been meant to kill her. Then, her fingers went slack, the cylinder rolling off them and onto the grass.

…..........

From their hiding spot upstairs, Caitlin and Lindsey couldn't hear any of the fight below, so they had no idea when it was over. They decided to stay put as long as they could until they were sure it was safe, but as time wore on, eventually the alcohol in their systems overtook them and they fell asleep.

They came downstairs at about six in the morning, both feeling very hung over. Alicia's house was a mess. With cups strewn everywhere, broken glass all over the kitchen and the back door shattered, it was going to be a nightmare trying to get the place cleaned up/repaired before Alicia's parents got home.

Everybody was gone except Chase, who they found in the backyard, cooking on Alicia's grill in the morning cold.

“Chase!” shouted Caitlin, hugging her. “Oh man, you're okay!”

“Yep!” said Chase. “Win fight, beat bad Leash.”

Lindsey sniffed the air, which was full of the scent of cooking meat. “Oh, man, that smells awesome.” She paused and considered the context of the situation. It didn't take her long to wish she could take back what she'd just said. She added with futility, “That's her, isn't it?”

“Yep!” repeated Chase. She opened the grill to reveal a skinned, severed arm. Caitlin and Lindsey both gagged. “Knew Cait and Lin would want brek fist, so cook for friends!”

“What?! Us?!” asked Lindsey.

“Chase, that's...that's very sweet of you...” said Caitlin, disgusted, “...but you go right ahead.”

Chase poked the arm with her bloody barbecue fork and flipped it over. It sizzled delightfully. “Much meat for Lin and Cait, all can share,” said Chase generously. “Plus, if you help eat tee vee girl, just bones left to hide.”

Lindsey shook her head. “No, really. We'll pass.”

“Not eat?” asked Chase, disappointed. “But girl go bad if not eat, not can eat all by self.” Then, she smiled. “Oh, I know what do! Leash ma and pa not back for day or so. Can dry out meat in sun.”

“You're going to make jerky out of her,” stated Lindsey, seeking clarification.

“Yes! Then tee vee girl keep long time.”

“Guys!” A familiar voice called out, causing them all to look up and grin with relief. Alicia, the real Alicia, was running over to them.

“Alicia!” said Lindsey, as they were all treated to a hug. “You're okay!”

“What happened? Where were you?!” asked Caitlin happily. But then, she saw something that made her smile disappear. Her mom, wearing her police uniform, crossed the threshold from the house to the back yard, giving the broken door an inquiring look as she did.

“Oh, CRAP,” she said. She glanced at the arm, then quickly slammed the lid on the grill shut.

Lara looked concerned as she walked over to them. “I'm not sure if you're aware, but there was a breakout in Otsego County last night. Babyface O'Connell.” They made sure to look suitably shocked when she said that. “She tried to switch places with Alicia, here. We got an anonymous tip and found Alicia knocked out and dressed in O'Connell's prison jumpsuit. She was right here in Sunnycrest.” Saying that seemed to give her a chill. She looked at the cheerleaders. “Are you all okay?”

“Sure, mom. Yeah. We're fine,” said Caitlin, trying to look rattled. She didn't really need to try that hard, but not for the reasons her mom thought.

“You didn't see or hear anything unusual last night, did you?” Lara worried.

Caitlin let Lindsey field that one, since her mom could see right through her own lies every time. With Lindsey it was about fifty-fifty. “No, we had no idea!” said Lindsey, astonished.

Lara surveyed her shrewdly, then, apparently satisfied, looked around at the yard. “We figured out pretty quick that it wasn't really O'Connell that we had, but I'm sure she was a state away by that point. Probably two, now.” She kicked one of the discarded solo cups that littered the yard. “Big party last night, huh?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Lindsey innocently. “It was loads of good, clean fun. Very respectful of authority.”

Lara smirked at that. “Is that right? Well, I'm sure there wouldn't have been any underage drinking at a party like that.”

“Oh, of course not, officer. That would be against the law,” said Lindsey.

“M-Mom, I can explain...” said Caitlin penitently, looking down at the grass with shame. It looked as though she were waiting for a guillotine of judgment to come down.

Lara waved her hand. “No need for that now, sweetheart. There'll be plenty of time for us to talk when you're grounded for two weeks.”

All of them were shocked. “Two weeks?!”

“You can still go to practice and games and so on, but afterwards it's straight home. Sorry, kiddo,” said Lara.

“Grounded for two weeks? I-isn't that a lot?!” asked Alicia. She'd never been grounded that long, or at all, for that matter.

“Have mercy! Just have her spend the night in jail!” insisted Lindsey. “That'll teach her a lesson!”

“It's never taught YOU a lesson before,” Lara replied.

“Touché,” said Lindsey.

Lara scratched her head, then looked from Alicia, to Chase, to Lindsey. “Then there's the matter of what to do with you three...” She looked like she regretted the fact that they put her in this position. “I guess I could just tell your parents.”

Alicia was mortified. “P-p-please, Mrs. Boyd! Don't do that! I don't want them to know!”

“I kind of feel like they should know. Give me a break, I'm a cop, I have to do SOMETHING.”

“Please not tell Leash ma and pa,” requested Chase. “Her just want fun time in house with friends. Us not do bad stuff.”

Lara looked at her thoughtfully. She sniffed the air. “That smells awesome.”

“It not done yet,” apologized Chase.

“No! No, it definitely isn't!” agreed Caitlin frantically.

Lara wavered for a minute, then sighed. “I'll let you off with a warning. This one time,” she said. She looked at Caitlin. “You're still grounded, sweetie, but you can have the rest of today to do what you want. I'm sure Alicia and Chase will want your help cleaning up. Especially without Lindsey.”

“Without me? Why?” asked Lindsey.

“Because you're spending the night in jail.”

“What?! That's not fair! Why only me?!” said Lindsey.

“Because I think you're hilarious and I want to hear more of your smartass remarks,” said Lara cheerfully. She put a hand on Lindsey's shoulder and started gently walking her to the door.

Lindsey moaned. “B-but it doesn't teach me a lesson!” she desperately reminded her.

“Maybe not so far, but I want to keep trying. I have faith that you can be rehabilitated,” Lara teased.

….........

Director Abraham watched the screens with interest. Live video via satellite showed an overhead view of four or five men, in a desert nation, loading long crates into an unmarked truck. A perimeter of guards armed with AK-47s stood watch. Even at twenty-thousand feet, the picture was clear enough that he could make out the word written on the crates: Fragile.

Below the screens, a small brigade of men and women worked busily at computers, dissecting and analyzing the information they were receiving. Director Abraham stood behind and above them. Hands held behind his back, he rolled a billiards ball around in his left hand. Fourteen. “Weapons?” he asked.

The room was dark except for the digital glow Director Abraham was basking in. Blue-white light reflected in the lenses of his glasses and glinted off his shaven head. Above his short, nearly trimmed beard was a thin, thoughtful smile.

“It seems likely,” said one of the computer workers. “And a whole lot of them, too. This is the third truck; they filled up two more before you got here.”

As he considered this information, another man entered the room. He approached Abraham.

“What is it?” the director asked.

The second man leaned in, and discreetly informed him, “We have an update on the Agent Stevens situation, sir. We believ-”

Director Abraham cast a glance around the room. “Not here, you fool,” he hissed.

The second man fell abruptly silent. Director Abraham raised his voice. “Keep an eye on them,” he instructed the room. “Let me know when you have their destination.”

The two men said nothing to one another until they were safely in Director Abraham's office. They brought an air of apprehension with them. A sunset was shining in through the tall windows, and as its beautiful, passionate shades of red hit the serious men in their black suits, the context of the colors was transformed to invoke crimson images of war and bloodshed.

Both of the men remained standing. Neither of them felt like sitting, knowing the subject about to be broached. Director Abraham walked over to his desk. On it was a billiards ball rack, fully set up except for one empty space. He dropped the fourteen into it, considered the rack, and took out the five. He looked it over. “Well?” he asked.

The second man spoke. “We have finished analyzing satellite imagery of the area where Stevens last checked in. What we found is...rather troubling.” He reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out a series of glossy photos. He handed them over to the director, who took them and began to look through them. As he did, his eyes lit up, and his smile cracked open into a slight grin.

This reaction seemed to make his guest uncomfortable, but the man powered through with the rest of his report. “It is...apparent, as you can see, that Agent Stevens attempted to make contact with the cannibal girl. There is video, if you'd like to see it.”

“No, that's...that will not be necessary,” said Director Abraham, distracted. He tossed the photos on his desk and said nothing. He walked to the window and looked outside. Deep in thought, he held the ball behind his back and rolled it around in his hand, smiling to himself. “Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable.”

After a couple minutes of silence, the other man spoke up. “What...do you think he was trying to do, sir? Why would he try something so...suicidal? He knew full well how dangerous she is.”

Director Abraham shrugged. “Crisis of conscience? Who knows? It isn't important.” He turned his back on the sunset, facing his guest. “Stevens was a volatile man. Driven, impassioned, but volatile. Solids or stripes, Wohr?”

Agent Wohr looked confused. “Sir?”

Director Abraham nodded at the ball rack. “Let's say you and I were playing a game of pool, and the break roughly favored both solids and stripes equally. What would you pick?”

Agent Wohr wasn't sure what this had to do with the matter at hand. “I don't know. Solids.”

“Solids, eh? Fancy that. Whenever Agent Stevens and I played, he had a tendency to pick stripes. When it wasn't obviously disadvantageous, of course. I believe he picked stripes seventy-two percent of the time. Arbitrary as it may seem, most people do have a preference, you see. Even if it is an unconscious one.” His mind was still elsewhere as though what he was talking about was the least of his concerns.

“So, what do we do now?” asked Agent Wohr, hoping to get them back on track. “We don't know what, if anything, was compromised when Agent Stevens contacted her. It could be that she knows everything.”

“I highly doubt that,” said Director Abraham. “For that to happen, Agent Stevens would need to know everything himself. Which he did not. In terms of the true scope of what we are trying to achieve, and the true breadth of what we have already accomplished, he actually knew very little.”

He smiled excitedly and walked around behind his desk. “Regardless of what the girl knows, I believe the time for observation and reconnaissance is over.” He placed the fingertips of his empty hand on the photos. “We have all the data we need. This moves our timetable up dramatically. Let that be the fool's legacy. We know what she is capable of. Now is the time for us to make our move.”

Agent Wohr looked nervous. “You mean...”

Director Abraham nodded. Behind his back, the five ball danced within his fingers. “We're bringing her in.”