And Then The Murders Began

Chapter Fifteen: Catch and Release?

When I was little, one of my favorite songs was Gordon Lightfoot's Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald- does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?- and sitting here still bound by the paws by harsh metal...

But seriously, that's the question that's been on my mind ever since this all started going down; where has all of this been going, where's the time going? It's fleeting, really, and I think it's April, but I can't really remember... that's definitely part of the problem.

Ever since everything went down, I've had no freaking sense of time, and that means that quite literally the seconds feel like minutes and the minutes feel like hours in my mind... and it's really, really annoying... because the mental agony that I'm really an expert at inflicting upon myself tends to be a lot more painful...

The Edmund Fitzgerald's last radio contact with the Arthur M Anderson was that they were holding their own... I wish I could, you know, say the same about me. I'm sure that Mom's freaking out, and also that 'Dad' still hasn't shown back up... or if he has it'll have been in a drunk stupor and then probably have beaten the shit out of her... hell...

Even just thinking about that, imagining that it could happen, is enough to put me in a spiral in my head... holy shit, this isn't gonna be good... and if I'm doing this poorly when I'm in the best shape out of everyone, then how the hey is everyone else doing?

Jet's picking at her teeth with her tongue, Robin's just staring blankly at the seatback in front of her, and me?

I'm just trying to imagine a world where none of this was the case, where, hey, we could actually have the same rights as everyone else...

But that would probably take another Inter-Universal War (woo, that would make three), and yeah, kinda don't want to do that... I mean... yeah, pass, no thanks..

I've been hiding in my cage because I'm doing absolute shit... and the last thing that I need is for my life to get worse...

How much longer until they can throw us in jail? Or is something worse gonna happen?

Will my mom find my body in a shallow grave thirty years from now after endless, fruitless searching until some rando tells her about it...

See, I know that that sounds nuts, but it's not the first time that it's happened, and there was a case on the news last month even, talking about that rather morbid fact...

So are we being brought to jail, or...

... or is it gonna be some place worse...

I feel like I'm melting into a puddle as the second-hours tick by until the van eventually pulls up to gates, the same ones that we were near by not too long earlier... I knew that this was gonna happen knew it knew it knew it fucking knew it!

Mom is gonna whip my ass, and all for what, so I can figure out the 'truth' of what happened to me? Easy, Electra, Lylah just had a fucking mental brreak and then she took all of it out on you, it's not that difficult to figure out, really... there's nothing behind it, you know that... she was always a little crazy, you wanna bet that she was just making everything up to get you into trouble? And her mother, you know she's wacky Electra, and yet you literally were her getaway van... what the absolute fuck were you thinking? Are you crazy?

Don't answer that, me.

We're herded out of the car and in through gates, right into booking...