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A New Lease on Life	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 3157 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, any of its characters or devices, or any songs/books/movies referenced. No money is made from this story. I DO own any & all OCs included in the story...and a Woozle.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Suggested Listening: Linkin Park, "Crawling," "With You"

7: Best Laid Plans
February 11th, 2016
'Morning people must be insane,' April thought scathingly as she downed yet another cup of espresso. It wasn't even eight am on a Saturday, but the apartment next to hers had been echoing with blaring, thumping bass for seven hours. Perhaps she could get a good night's rest if Donatello were to sabotage it, but that wasn't going to happen. Knowing him, he'd flat out refuse to deface another's property without just cause. Even if he did for some reason agree, he'd probably find something wrong with the stereo system, get distracted by the opportunity to repair it, and it would end up even louder and more ear-piercing.
"Come on," she grumbled aloud, frantically scratching her scalp to increase blood flow. "Wake up already—you're taking that Amber woman out for supplies today." With a final longing glance at her still unmade bed, she slumped off to the shower, wishing she'd never promised Donnie to look after the strange redhead.
"Miss O'Neil, hey!" The familiar voice sent April cringing. Why, oh why had she decided to use the back door? That neighbor had been trying to corner her for weeks now, and he was always smoking on the patio at this time of day!
"Hi, Mister Morris," she answered awkwardly, turning to greet the balding man perched on a dusty metal bench. "How've you been?" Mark grinned and slapped his knee, dropping ashes all over his khakis.
"Just great, April, just great. What a wonderful day, huh?" His bouncy, energetic attitude solidified her suspicions about morning people—they're nuts. Instead of the sarcastic retort poised on her tongue, she answered,
"Well, it's not pouring…yet." She shifted awkwardly, glancing toward the stairs. "I'm kinda in a hurry, so I'll have to—"
"Please, sit down a moment," he protested. "I've got to talk to you about something—it's important. Just a few minutes and I won't bother you again…please?" She forced her eyes to his, only now noticing that he was looking off. His eyes were hung with shadows; he looked exhausted. Even worse, what little hair he had left had started greying rapidly. He didn't look nearly his age anymore. What could be weighing on his mind so heavily, she wondered?
"I…" She firmly reminded herself that when she'd first moved into the building, he and his family had routinely helped her out when she was tight on time, money, or needed help around the apartment. Nothing had changed other than the company she now kept—company that could make even the strongest man doubt his san— 'Oh, crud,' she realized with a wince. "I guess I have time…sorry, Mark. What's going on?" She perched nervously on the nearest chair, her back ramrod straight.
"If I ask you an honest question, will you give me an honest answer?" he asked seriously. She nodded. "When Johnny started talking about talking turtles out on the fire escape, Marge and I assumed he was just being a kid—kids his age have wild imaginations, right?" He shuddered. April knew where this was going, and she did NOT like it. "April, if you're having…unusual company over, I need to know…otherwise, I'm out a job, and we're moving back to Oklahoma."
"What?" April was confused. "Why would you lose your job?"
For the first time, he couldn't look her in the eye. "I'm a psychiatrist, April," he reminded, "and a psychiatrist who's hallucinating about giant talking turtles is an unemployable psychiatrist."
Crap.
"Rhetorical question: Why would you think you saw a giant talking turtle, and where did you see it?"
"On Christmas day, I took the trash out late in the evening—Please don't laugh!—and there was a giant turtle climbing up the fire escape. By the time I realized I wasn't dreaming, it had climbed through your window and started cussing at the top of its lungs about splinters and brown-nosers."
'Raph,' April thought exasperatedly. 'He must've been too steamed to realize he was seen…but I can't just tell Mark about them—last time I told someone, they nearly died!' Just then, her cell phone beeped; she didn't think to hide the screen and a quick glance made the blood drain from her face. Though the number was Donnie's, Amber had just texted her photos of Mikey and Raph bound hand and foot to their beds, the first gagged with a sock. Both were tagged with the phrase To forgive is divine, but vengeance is mine, mine, mine! What bizarre song did Amber pull that one from?
"That's him!" Mark squawked frantically, jabbing his finger at Raph. Suddenly realizing he could see her screen, April belatedly swiped back to her home screen. "That's the guy I saw—where'd you get the photos?!" She groaned. Oh, if only she could find a do-over button for the day—nothing was going right!
"Mark…can we table this conversation for a bit?" she sighed, shoving her phone into her purse. "I need to get some answers. I promise you, though, you weren't hallucinating, and you don't need to quit your job. Just please, for your own sake…don't tell anyone else about the talking turtles?" They said their goodbyes, Mark seeming more confident than before. "Leo?" she muttered into her phone while she waited for the bus. "We've got trouble."
When April stalked into the lair, everyone was crowded around the kitchen. Amber was setting up another pot of coffee while Mikey and Raph stood nearby; one shouted at her for the prank, the other insistied that she wasn't really responsible but covering for the culprit. Donnie sat slumped over the table staring down his empty coffee cup with dejection. Leo watched the arguing threesome silently, stifling a smile.
"Come on, Babe!" Mike grinned, playing with Amber's ponytail. "We know ya didn't do it—Who did?" Raph sputtered another protest before yelling at him. Finally, she'd had enough.
"You," she spat at Raph. "Chill the fuck out. You, Mikey, quit callin' me a liar! I ain't coverin' fer no one, an' you're lucky it wasn't worse! Last time Aaron called me Pippi Longstocking, I got him passin'-out drunk, hog-tied him with zip-ties, took photos with his arse stickin' up in the air, an' posted'em on Facebook!" She shot Mikey a smirk. "You weren't hogtied, naked, OR gagged with underwear…I even untied you after sufficient begging."
Finally fully awake, Donnie cracked up and began intermittently snorting, and wheezing, clinging to the table for dear life. Raph snarled, finally too angry for intelligible speech, and stormed off to the dojo to beat the stuffing out of the punching bag. "What's Facebook?" Mikey asked dubiously. "That anything like Spacebook?"
'Get your mind in the game, Amber!' she thought dryly. 'Splinter mustn't've told'em much about my world, so they won't know about things like Facebook!' "Yeah," she answered blandly, "probably."
"Hey, April," Leo greeted, drawing everyone's attention to the hovering reporter. "Splinter wants to see you." With a frustrated sigh, she dropped her purse on the counter and took a seat at the table, immediately burying her head in her hands. Not a moment later, Amber set a steaming cup of coffee before her and the carafe in the middle of the table.
"Rough night?" she asked quietly; April sighed and nodded.
"My next door neighbor's taken to blasting German industrial music all hours of the night; they must've replayed 'Foyer Fry' and 'Book Dish' a dozen times each, just before midnight." Amber's eyes popped open wide.
"Wait, you mean Feuer Frei and Buck dich?" She gave an almost bitter laugh. "Lordy, Aaron would love those folks—he always loved Rammstei—I mean, that kind'a music, no matter he don't speak a lick'a German. Sure will piss off yer neighbors, though." After yet another cup of coffee, April excused herself to Splinter's room.
"It's good to see you, Miss O'Neil," he greeted warmly from his low table. "Please, come sit. Leonardo tells me someone was seen." She slid the door shut and seated herself across from him.
"Yeah," she sighed, accepting the cup of tea he offered; she still wasn't caffeinated enough for this day. "A neighbor of mine saw Raph climb through my window on Christmas day, and his son's been seeing the guys for God-knows how long. Mark's been trying to corner me about it for weeks." She flinched. "Problem is, I can't just say he was mistaken or pull any other evasive tactics…he's a psychiatrist, and he's convinced he was hallucinating."
"A doctor who specializes in affairs of the mind cannot have theirs in disorder; to be distracted by such things would be detrimental." Splinter tugged at his long whiskers in thought. "This is most troubling. Can he be trusted?"
April gnawed at her lip, considering her answer. "Experience with you guys tells me to get real, but my heart tells me he can be trusted. His family has been there for me since I first moved into that building; even now, when I don't have trouble keeping food on the table, they insist I have a standing invitation to every meal, and they've never been anything but kind to me." Guilt twisted in her gut. "Since I found you guys again, I've been avoiding them…They're probably worried about me." Her eyes were filled with unease when they met his. "I guess I could just tell him Raph was a drunk boyfriend in a costume, but there's something else…"
The whole kitchen went silent when April and Splinter finally emerged from his room. April seemed embarrassed and concerned, while Splinter wore a stern frown. No one was willing to break the tense silence, Amber realized nervously. Some dire occurrence must have come to pass; she wasn't yet a part of the family, she reminded herself, and wouldn't be part of the conversation about to occur. Just as she was about to excuse herself to the lab, Splinter fixed his eyes on her. With a nod of his head, he indicated for her and Donatello to follow, and the four returned to his rooms.
"Donatello," he asked as they all settled around the table. "What progress has been made in your searching?" Donnie shook his head with a sigh.
"None, Master," he admitted. "I've found nothing about Kimber—no birth certificate, no credit reports, nothing—it's almost like she doesn't even exist! I supposed Kimber might have been using an assumed identity, but even that's been disproven—the only significant DNA match I'm getting supposedly belongs to a runaway from Missouri who supposedly died years ago!"
"Wait, what?" Amber objected. "You seriously harvested DNA from me without my knowing, just so you could create a profile to search with? How many used band-aids did that take?" He winced, sure his cheeks were darkened in a blush.
"Just one…the broken glass incident." Her expression was completely deadpan when she replied,
"Next time, Dee, spare the sleight of hand an' just fuckin' ask. You're not the only one wonderin' about this Kimber person…I'm stuck in'er body, remember, an' I'm sure she's got loved ones lookin' for'er, Purple Dragon punk or not."
"Yeah, even punks have families," he agreed mildly. "Even so, the amount of information I'm not finding is alarmingly vast. I seriously suspect someone has intentionally wiped out any and all proof of her existence—and I'd bet money on it being related to why she was hiding in the tunnels in the first place." He shrugged awkwardly. "Basically, more questions than answers at this point."
"Amber?" The aged rat stated carefully, tugging at his whiskers again. "It has come to my attention that you may need to see a specialist, someone who can help you with this trouble. As it so happens, April has a neighbor who works as a psychiatrist…and April believes him trustworthy." Amber couldn't believe what she was hearing! "Due to some…carelessness on the part of one of my sons, Mister Morris has already become aware of our existence; April will be facilitating a contact requesting his discretion."
Suddenly the small room was silent enough to even drive crickets mad.
"Lemme get this straight," Amber started when it became clear that no one had any more to say. "Someone got seen, by my guess, Raph, the neighbor's a shrink who's now convinced he's goin' nuts, an' somehow this is the perfect opportunity to get my head screwed back on?" She flung her arms wide in disbelief. "Does no one see how ridiculously convenient this is?! That alone's reason for caution!"
"Mark's good people, Amber," April stated lowly. "I'd trust him with my life; he—"
"—he's only human, April," Amber interrupted. "I've seen what happens when vital trust is misplaced, and it's not pretty—people die for that sort of mistake! Even if he is a good person and is trustworthy, good, trustworthy people can still do very bad things when provoked…even if he wouldn't sell the guys out, how can you be sure he won't accidentally let something slip?" She shuddered. "What if he gets loose-lipped after a few cold ones? What if someone misleads him into trusting them, convinces him they're on our side? God, April, what if he's found out and tortured for answers?!" April stared dubiously at her.
"You need some serious therapy, you know that?" she deadpanned. "Suggesting torture as a possible outcome is morbid. What kind'a world did you come from?" Amber jerked as though she'd been slapped; memories of the world she left behind flowed unbidden - memories, though she didn't share them, of the girl taken from her neighborhood, of the many students who never finished school, of her neighbors and how they'd never approved of her family - she looked away, eyes watering.
"Let's jus' say it sucked," she grumbled instead. "Ya take yer life in your hands just steppin' out yer front doors…ya hardly know an' certainly don't trust most'a yer neighbors…families're unfed, hatchets unburied, an' sickness untreated, an' kids aren't even safe in their schools." She curled into herself, haunted, only halfway aware of the horrors falling from her lips. "Trustin' others is too dangerous - ya gotta expect the worst." Her eyes suddenly hard, she scowled up at April. "Do you remember how many kids you graduated with, Miss O'Neil? 'cause I do—twen'y out'a eighty-three were buried before they had that chance. Seven died'a drugs or alcohol, six died in car accidents, one was killed'n a hunting accident, one died of cancer, an' five were fuckin' murdered! So please, forgive me for being unwillin' to trust someone I've never even met when people I care about could pay for it!"
"Amber?" Donatello's stunned voice startled her out of her tirade; realizing she'd been over-reacting again - and sharing things she shouldn't have - her hackles dropped in a sigh. Silence fell over the room like a lead apron.
"Sorry," she muttered, avoiding April's eyes. "I don't trust easy, but it's not yer fault. That was totally out'a line."
"Apology accepted," April answered dully.
"Though it could have been delivered in a more appropriate manner," Splinter remarked sternly, "Amber's point is valid. We cannot simply hope for the best—we must also prepare for the worst. Donatello, I leave this man's safety in your capable hands; it would be wise to accompany Leonardo when he and April meet Mister Morris."
"Yes, Sir," Donnie agreed softly, already mentally going through schematics, blueprints, maps, and how to use them all in his favor when he bugged the Morris household—for the safety of the occupants, of course.
Not long after, he and April were dismissed, while Amber remained in Splinter's rooms staring through the mug of tea he'd poured her. The smell of what had to be Earl Grey tantalized her, tempting her beyond measure, but she still recalled the fate of the last teacup he set before her; she couldn't guarantee the safety of the vessel, so the contents remained woefully untouched.
"Broken cups can be replaced," Splinter pointed out with something akin to amusement in his voice. "but this tea, when cooled, isn't so easily remedied." Her first inclination was to snark, That's why the microwave was invented, but for once her filter worked. Instead, she gingerly lifted the mug for inspection. Ah, she thought with a self-deprecating grin; despite appearances, the mug he'd set before her was enameled tin. With a contented sigh, sure she wouldn't be able to break this one even if she tried, she lifted the mug and inhaled the complexly perfumed steam.
"Thank you, Master Splinter," she murmured gratefully, finally taking a single reverent sip of tea. "I'm sorry I lost my temper back there. I'm not usually so—so combative, but lately, I seem to be itching for a fight. I don't understand it!" The trembling hands still gripping the cup quickly returned it to the table before her then violently clenched the fabric of her sweats. The memories playing like a broken record through her mind's eye were getting old, fast. "I feel…I feel so STUCK."
"Donatello hasn't mentioned any more incidents of dissociation, but has your anxiety improved any?" the aged rat asked gently; she shook her head silently, staring through the steaming tea. "…and are you still experiencing panic attacks as frequently as before?" A weak nod. "What about the other problems we've discussed—night terrors, lack of appetite, and distressing memories coming to mind unbidden?" She heaved a forceful sigh, her knuckles practically creaking from being clenched.
"Getting worse," she admitted around an invisible flock of circling buzzards. "…worse, an' more frequent. I can't stomach much solid—Donnie convinced me to try a mostly liquid diet. I hardly get any sleep between nightmares an' panic attacks, an' I'm always jittery from all the caffeine I'm downing. And the memories…" She shuddered. "…they're just getting worse, more twisted. Sometimes I'm not even sure whether what I'm seeing really happened, or if I'm just imagining it all."
Splinter considered her words as he topped off her cup. "Perhaps," he admitted softly, "it would be best for you to accept April's offer. If you do, indeed, have a trauma-induced condition, waiting for it to go away will do no good; such things must be treated, managed, or they only worsen. I agree that it seems a bit too convenient for her neighbor, a psychiatrist, to suddenly claim knowledge of us just when we have need of his help, but we must consider the alternative."
"Sir, with all due respect, I'd rather die again than put this family in danger!" she responded vehemently. "You took me in—I blundered into your home a useless, unskilled, untrained nutjob branded with a farkin' gang symbol in my cleavage an' packin' an arse-load of baggage, but y'ain't been nothin' but kind to me. Even when I drive y'all crazy with my compulsive cleaning, frequent breakdowns, an' buttin' heads with Raph, you've made me feel safe, secure, an' accepted. Hell, I pranked two of your sons to kingdom come today an' you're sitting here offering me tea instead'a censure—Why would I ever consider putting this family, your family, at risk over somethin' I can't fix?!"
Realizing she was ranting again, she forcibly clenched and unclenched her fists, wrenched her shoulders back to their correct level, and stared through the steam rising from her mug. "I just need some time," she pled tiredly, finally nervously meeting his eyes. It irked her, but she'd never even witnessed Mercy having such sudden, drastic mood swings as she was now…and several times she'd seen the blonde go from happy, giddy, and almost nauseatingly chipper to 'One more step an' I'll literally bite your face off'—usually, because of something Aaron said or did. Aaron...Mercy...she missed them so much, it hurt... "If there's a chance I can work this out on my own, then I'd rather do so. Please, Sir…"
She choked up, fighting to suppress the riled demons with half-remembered whispers of a low voice humming Coldplay. "…I have to try…an' if I try an' fail, then…" She forced herself to swallow around the bitter boulder in her throat. "…then I'll leave the decision up to you; I'll trust your judgment an' comply."
Splinter studied her silently, all-too-aware of what every slight variation of her posture meant. Fear, worry, humiliation, despair—the woman before him was lost, and he feared she wouldn't last much longer without serious intervention. She'd been overweight when she arrived but now she was visibly thinner and losing an average of ten pounds a week. Losing twenty or more pounds wasn't something that would hurt her - Kimber, after all, was curvy bordering on chubby - but if her body continued to drop weight at this speed without adequate nourishment, Amber could find herself in much more dire straits than having a spare tire. Donatello's concern was rightly placed; if the pattern continued unchecked, eventual death from malnourishment and exhaustion wasn't a far-fetched possibility. A regular diet she could keep down wasn't the only thing in order—she also needed to find ways to occupy her mind that didn't involve running herself ragged.
His path was clear; he cleared his throat. "Miss O'Brien?" She looked up at the unexpected formality. "You requested a chance and a chance I'll give you, but there are stipulations."
"Bring it on," she agreed firmly.
"You've been here two weeks; I give you half of that time to see if you can make an improvement." Her eyes widened in dismay, but to her credit, she said nothing. "My son Donatello has been keeping close track of your progress, or rather, lack thereof, and will no doubt assist you in any way he can. You have seven days; if in that time you have had so much as one fewer symptomatic episode than average, you may proceed as you please and I won't press the issue. If, however, you have so much as one more nightmare, panic attack, rampant memory, or any other symptom in that time…" His eyes, normally so calm and kind, were hard when they met hers. "...you will seek professional help, even if you must hide the truth to do so. Do you accept my terms?" She sat silently, considering his words.
"Not much of a choice, is there?" she answered. "Either seek help now or seek help later, either way, I'll still be risking your family. On the off-chance that I may spare them the risk, though…I accept—I'll give it a shot." As a gesture of good faith, she filled his empty cup; it really was a lovely blend, she mused distractedly as the spicy scent of bergamot wafted up to her. "If I may ask, Sir…" She shifted in her seat. "Donatello informed me that you told them of what you saw in my memories—my past life - but they don't seem to know much about it. How much did you tell them? How did they take it? No one's so much as batted an eye unless they don't recognize something I'm talking about!"
"To be quite honest, I felt the less said the better, Dear," Splinter admitted flatly. "I saw nothing before your return to Willsdale, and even that was fractured at best…more moments in time than full memories. What I did see is concerning. Rather than subject my sons to the possibility that they don't exist in your reality, at least not outside of fiction—" She blushed hotly, suddenly fascinated by her mug of now-cold tea. "—I felt it prudent to exercise the ninja art of distraction."
If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was teasing her.
"My sons know you are from another time and world much unlike ours," he explained simply. "…in which our family, the Foot Clan, the Purple Dragons, and even our closest friends are not present in the way they're used to. They know that many things are different in your world, from popular culture to customs and beliefs, and that you are experiencing quite a bit of culture shock as you acclimate. They know of your death, how you died, and that your soul is deeply scarred by your last days and will take much time to heal. And that, my Dear, is all they need know until you are comfortable adding to it."
Shining moss green eyes met his and her lips curved in a watery smile. "Thank you, Sir," she breathed. "I'm evermore in your debt."
"Nonsense," he denied, patting her knuckles with a humoring smile, "you owe us nothing…I would not be averse to seeing improvement in my sons' diets, though. Perhaps while you're out with Miss O'Neil, you can encourage her to focus less on prepackaged fare?"
"UGH!" Amber grunted as she and April shoved the last boxes of groceries into the back of the party wagon. Just in time to prevent a collapse of the precariously piled bags and crates, they shoved the hatch shut, April leaning on it to catch her breath. "Ya think they eat enough?" Amber snarked, yanking off the faded ball cap Mikey had loaned her. Granted, it was emblazoned with the logo of the New York Giants rather than her Glenville Hellbenders, but it made a good fan at least…and did a passable job of hiding her still-red hair.
"I ever tell you about the time I saw Mikey eating four slices of pizza at once?" April asked dryly. "This might last a week or two, tops. Those guys're expensive…at least Vern's footing the bill now. After all, if not for them, he wouldn't stupid-rich...just stupid." Amber barely suppressed a grin at her companion's sulky tone, instead turning to heave the two nested carts into their corral. Only a few blocks from the lair, a sudden outburst rang through the vehicle.
"Shoot!" April swore loudly, veering into another lane. "I forgot—that CD I promised to loan Raph is on the counter! Hang on, it'll just take a tick." By the time the van skidded into an empty spot in the underground garage, Amber was sure she left claw marks on the seat and dash, and had resolutely decided she would never ride shotgun with April again. "Come on, we can take my groceries up while we're at it."
"Jus' admit it, O'Neil," Amber commented dryly, prying herself from the car seat that could easily have become her coffin. "The CD's not an emergency—You jus' wan'a pack mule to carry yer crap." April laughed as they loaded their arms with bags.
"Can ya blame me?" the reporter teased as she led the way to the elevator. "Besides, I've got a bribe." Green eyes rolled, but Amber was unable to disguise her amusement.
"Chocolate? My stomach says 'Hell yeah,' but my hips say 'screw you, you're fat enough.' Think I'll pass." April's only answer was a sly smirk; silence reigned until they were through her front door and unloading themselves onto every available surface. When the cold and frozen items were all put away and the rest laid out on the counter for later stocking, April plopped the last bag in front of Amber with an expectant smirk. Increasingly concerned by the other woman's smug grin, Amber inspected the contents…and dug the contents out one by one. For the first time in this life, Amber was sure she was going to break down into hysterical happy tears.
"T…Tofu…?" she breathed half disbelieving what April had offered. "You…you got me tofu?" She sniffled melodramatically, her lips quivering as though she were about to fall to pieces. April grinned.
"I practically had to drag you away from it, remember?" she pointed out as she wrapped the four oversized tubs of extra-firm curd in paper bags. "I knew that look in your eyes—most women get that look ogling chocolate during their periods. You're clearly not most women." A startled squeak broke from her lips when she was suddenly mercilessly glomped.
"Thank you, April, thank you!" Amber gushed. "Ohmigosh, I can't even remember the last time I had tofu—I've been seriously craving it since—since ever!" 'Ever' wasn't quite the time she meant, but it was all that would pop up. "Thank heavens I thought to get extra broth and soy sauce, this'll be awesome!" she finished in a barely contained squeal of glee. April patted her head awkwardly.
"I'll take your word for it," she stated through a grin. "Stuff always tastes like 'old shoe' to me."
"I'd just dying to hear how you know what 'old shoe' tastes like, O'Neil." Halfway to the elevator, though, they passed a short, scrawny man with messy blond curls and a lemon-sucking scowl. Though she'd passed him by without so much as a blink, Amber suddenly found herself rooted to the faded carpeting, whipping around to look him over again.
"Amber?" April called from the lift. "You coming?" As though she hadn't even heard, the redhead took off after the man she'd seen. She knew him—knew his perpetual grimace, his off-kilter blue eyes, and thick black glasses, knew every ornery blond curl on his rock-hard head! Realizing he was being followed, he spun about with a scowl.
"What?" he barked; the moment he recognized her, two of the takeout boxes he carried fell to the floor with a resounding splat. Finally, Amber realized something was off. Both blue eyes were focused on the same target, his cheeks, chin, and lip were clean-shaven, and he was almost…shrimpy. The man before her, he wasn't…
"…Aaron?" The name wouldn't be kept behind her teeth, and her faulty filter wasn't at all to blame. "Willis, how…why…?" April's heels clacked maddeningly toward them at full-tilt. Assessing the situation with familiar speed, he grabbed Amber by her long sleeve and dragged her to his door. Just in time April dove through, slid across the slick floor, and tumbled into the kitchen island with a yelp of pain. Even as she whipped out her taser and took aim, her neighbor stepped back to study Amber in dismay. Judging by the redhead's shellshocked expression, she expected him to drag her in for an embrace, not heave the bucket of lo mein at the nearest window with a mindless shout.
"Kimber fucking Bryant!" he screamed in blind fury. "The fuckin' Hell're you doin' above ground?!"

Up Next: Kimber's past comes a-knockin' in What're the Odds?
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A New Lease on Life