Writer: Timothy Dumont Jr.
Co-writer: Crystal Ferguson

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Entry 74: Personality Issues -John-

From the moment I saw her, this girl got under my skin. She didn't seem like a bad person, but something about her was off. She was hanging all over Ben like an extra shirt. That wasn't it though. Something else was bothering me.

"What do you mean you can't help me?" Saba had the whole sadness act down to an art. It even made me feel bad. This was going to be difficult.

Ben shifted uncomfortably, "Well, you did come here at four in the morning. How ever, that isn't why we're saying no."

Saba began to cry, "It's because I offended your cook, isn't it?"


"No, no it's not.", Ben was trying to calm her down.

"Then why?" Miraculously, her crying stopped and she looked at Ben with wide and curious eyes. I was slowly tiring of this act.

"Recently a friend of ours was admitted to the hospital.", Ben said.

After he tried to kill us.

"So we'd like to make sure he gets better before we do any more cases."

I just want him to wake up so I can knock him out again for being a moron. What he did was unacceptable. If he wanted to bring Alex back, he should have at least pulled me and Carl in to the fold. I would have gladly sacrificed my life so that he could be brought back.

The noise of glasses clinking together told me that Crystal was coming with tea. She was nice enough, but it is a little weird that just a few days ago she was a seven year old zombie that was out for our heads. She seemed nice enough regardless; one of the guys. She fits the group like a glove.

It was my turn, "Besides, what's after you sounds completely ridiculous. How could you be hunted by yourself?"

She cuddled against Ben again, "It's me but not. She's different, mean, and has almost no inhibitions. Totally not royalty, like me. I've got a lot of money AND more polite cooks."

Does she not realize that we're not the servants? Really?

"So how much are you paying us?"

"I'm not paying the cook. I'm paying Ben. I'd be willing to pay almost any amount as long as he helps me."

I had had enough. It was time to stake my ground, "Okay, you listen here. I am not the cook and he is not my master, so quit calling me that. Here we work together, so get used to it."

Her demeanor changed almost instantly. I could do nothing as she broke her glass of tea and put one hand on my chest. She lifted herself up and rested her weight on my torso, keeping me from moving. Her eyes were no longer cute or scared, they were dark and hateful. In a matter of seconds, she had a piece of glass to my throat; and I was seconds from needing new pants.

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