Title - Wish For - 2 of ?
Author - Lady Disdain
E-mail - The_Lady_Disdain@mailcity.com
Rating - PG-13 (mild language)
Category - 
Description - 
Summary - Be careful what you wish for...
Spoilers - None
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully and their ensemble cast 
are owned by Fox. Characters of my own invention are 
owned by me. (Wow that even makes sense, I think.)
Note: In a feedback someone once asked me if I ever
sleep. Yes I do but at the rate I'm posting stuff it
kinda makes you wonder...My muse gets overtime
pay. ;-)
-----------------------------
Wish For - 2 of ? by Lady Disdain 
<The_Lady_Disdain@mailcity.com>

"Be careful what you wish for
You may regret it
Be careful what you wish for
You just might get it"
 - Metallica 

 I have small hands with stubby little fingers and 
wide nails. They look like they belong to a ten-year-
old or something. The fact that my nails are always 
painted very messily probably doesn't help either. 
What can I say? I'm not one to color in the lines. 
I'm also a sucker for sparkly blue nail polish. I 
can't get myself to paint my nails a normal color, 
like red. Red nails makes me think of hookers, don't 
ask me why.

 I realize the nail polish on my left pointer finger 
is chipped as they strap me on the table. Actually 
its just one guy doing it, the other one went into 
the back room to get something. He thinks its safe 
but its not, I'm playing possum.

 The guy remaining isn't looking at my face which is 
good because I'm staring at him. I think, 
<youwillhearacrashfromtheotherroomandgoinvestigateit> 
over and over again. I've never tried Affirmations 
without writing the thing down before but it's worth 
a shot.

 Suddenly there's a crash coming from the other room. 
It sounds as though an entire shelf of glass 
containers just fell to the floor. Sucks to be that 
guy.

 The guy strapping me down jumps at the noise, "What 
the hell?! Dammit Jeff!" and runs down the hall. The 
thing is in his haste he did a piss poor job of 
strapping down my right hand. My dwarf hand slips 
easily slips through the restraint. 

 After I unstrap myself I pick a hallway and run down 
it. I hear their yelling as they return to the room, 
the table empty. I realize their going to try to find 
me so I think 
<youwillnotgodownthishallyouwillpassthishallup> and 
they do. Sweet!

 I finally reach the end of the hall and come to the 
fire exit sign. Here goes nothing.

 Holy shit. Talk about hiding in plain sight. I'm in 
the downtown of some city. I bolt off down the 
sidewalk not stopping to apologize to the pedestrians 
I bump into. So you dropped all your books on the 
sidewalk because some scrawny teen crashed into you. 
Life's a bitch and then you die, I've got to figure 
out where the hell I am.

 The building that they were keeping me in is HUGE. 
As I run pass the main entrance I read the sign with 
the building's name on it. Molally International 
Corporation Headquarters. Fuck. But at least the sign 
has the street address on it. 45 Clark Street, 
Washington D.C.

 I'm in D.C.? Well now is as good of a time as any 
for a surprise family reunion.

 Good thing I have an awesome memory for (seemingly) 
useless facts, I know where he lives. He sent me his 
street address in a super-encrypted file, it was a 
bitch decrypt but I remember it. Man, is he going to 
be surprised to see me!

 I think about that for a minute. Either two things 
happened. They let it look like a kidnapping which 
would be stupid or they made it look like I ran away. 
I'd put my money on the latter. Then the police would 
only look as far as St. Louis or Chicago. Would they 
expect a runaway from Kansas City with no driving 
experience to get all the way to D.C. in like, a day 
and a half? I think not. Mom's probably already 
called and told him I ran away. But he'll believe me, 
right?

 I've been exchanging emails with him for a little 
over a year now. I have no idea how he found my email 
address and from the sound of it, I don't want to 
know. He's already told me more than his share of 
crazy conspiracy theories. He's got to believe that 
his little sister is the kidnapping target of a 
global corporation, right? God, I hope so.

 I think I'm far away enough now, I don't see anyone 
following me. I'm so glad I decided to wear my 
glasses that fateful morning, my contacts would have 
dried out six hours ago. 

 There's a decent looking businessman waiting at a 
bus stop I ask him how I get to Kingston Street from 
here. The man looks me up and down, "You want to go 
to *Kingston*?" his forehead creasing.

 I roll my eyes, "No, I want to go to the fucking 
North Pole to see Santa Clause. Yes Kingston."

 He shoves a five dollar bill into my palm and says 
quickly, "I have a daughter your age, four blocks 
down and two blocks to the left and take care of 
yourself." He boards the bus before I can try to give 
the money back to him. 

 I silently promise to light a candle for him in 
mom's little shrine when I get home. Not if, when.

 About a half-hour later I see what that guy meant. 
Man, my brother lives in a dump.

 The thing is, I don't actually remember my brother. 
He was fourteen when I was born and by sixteen he was 
out of the house. 

 You might think that from my born-again Christian 
background that he's named something stupid, like 
Joseph.

 He's not. He's actually a remnant from my parent's 
hippie days just as I will someday be a remnant from 
my parent's religious days. But they did him the 
greater injustice, they named him Ringo. I think 
that's actually worse than Mary.

 Another thing, the latest picture I've seen of him 
he's fourteen so meeting him should be interesting.

 I find apartment number twenty-three and give it a 
knock. No answer. I knock a little bit harder. Still 
no answer.

 Ok, so maybe I'm panicked a little when I started 
banging on the door and screaming, "RINGO ITS ME OPEN 
THE DOOR!!! I NEED YOUR HELP RINGO!!!" But wouldn't 
you?

 *That* gets a reaction. I hear some footsteps come 
towards the door. It opens but the chain's still on, 
I see my brother peep his head out. His eyes bug, 
"Jesus, Mary--"

"Don't forget Joseph." I cut him off. "C'mon let me 
in Ringo."

"Fine, but call me Langly, I hate Ringo. You've got 
some explaining to do."

 I smile as walk into his dim apartment, "Sure, I'll 
tell you over diner." God I'm charming when I'm 
hungry.

 I never thought you could fuck up macoroni and 
cheese until now. But hypoglycemic's aren't too picky 
when their on the verge of passing out. 

 You know he really hasn't changed that much since 
that picture. He's still pale and scrawny and has 
that dingy blonde hair. I'm sure he still gets carded 
when he buys beer, speaking of which I sure could use 
one right about now. Too bad one glass sends me under 
the table...

 I tell him my story as we eat and he actually 
believes me and promises not to call mom. He says he 
and his friends will help me and that they've got 
"connections" that will protect me too. Jesus, could 
he be anymore cryptic? But I'm too tired to give him 
shit about it.

 He says I can take a shower if I want and that he'll 
sleep on the couch. He said He'd find me some extra 
clothes too. I think that means there's a Megadeath 
t-shirt with my name on it somewhere.

 After I finished taking my shower and got dressed I 
decide to snoop a little. (What? I haven't seen him 
in thirteen years, can you really blame me?) There 
wasn't a second toothbrush, no pack of condoms, and 
no box of half used tampons. Nothing. Jesus brother, 
when you said you were married to your computer, you 
*meant* it. Thank god he at least had some Tylenol 
and cough drops in there, my cold is getting worse.

 Before I go to bed he tells me that the guys will 
come over tomorrow morning and we'll figure 
everything out. I hope it's that easy.

 The computer was my nightlight, I have no idea how 
long he sat there hacking into god knows what.
----------------------------
Author's Notes: I'm really enjoying writing this and 
hope you guys are getting just as big of a kick out 
of reading this. More recognizable characters are on 
the way! <insert superhero music here>
Send feedback to: The_Lady_Disdain@mailcity.com
:-)



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