A lot of people have been asking for a sequel to Be Mine Forever. I promised one but kind of...didn't feel like doing it. The demand was so high that I finally knuckled down and wrote the darn thing...and started having a blast with it. I, uh, I hope you guys like eighties slasher movies cuz that's basically what this is.

Dr. Robert Palmer stood outside Room 34 with a clipboard in his hands and watched as a burly orderly in white helped Ronnie Anne Santiago to her feet. A short, rail thin woman with listless black hair and vacant eyes, Santiago had been a patient at Westover Sanitarium for nearly ten years, and in that time, Palmer had seen nary a sign of life in her. All day, she sat on the edge of her bed and gazed into the distance. She did not speak, did not move, and could not, he had come to believe, be saved; she was lost in the folds of her own addled mind, like a child in a dark forest, and would likely never find her way out.

Hers was a strange and heartbreaking case. When she was eleven, she experienced a mental breakdown triggered by her boyfriend breaking up with her, whereupon she murdered her brother and attempted to murder the boy. Prior to that, she displayed no symptoms of psychosis and seemed, indeed, to be a perfectly normal girl. How she went from that to this endlessly fascinated Palmer, and he'd spent the past decade trying to find out why.

With no luck.

Presently, the orderly brought her into the hall, her feet shuffling against the floor and her gaze downcast. She wore fuzzy pink socks and a white gown with her inmate number stitched across the left breast. Her hair hung in her face, obscuring it, and if he looked into her eyes, he knew, he would see only the same dead expression he'd seen for the past ten years.

Tucking the clipboard under one arm, Palmer started down the hall, walking slowly so that she and the orderly could keep up. Doors opened on either side of them, each like the last: Heavy, metal, and boasting a narrow strip of glass through which you could see the inmates within. Some hugged themselves and rocked back and forth, others danced and twirled around like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, and others still simply stared, much like Ronnie Anne Santiago.

The hall terminated at a T shaped junction. To the right it continued to another wing, to the left it stopped at a barred door. On the other side was another door, this one leading outside. It was not locked or otherwise guarded.

Palmer held a laminate card to the face of a black box flanking the door, and it unlocked. He slid it open and started through, but stopped when a strange gurgling sound rose behind him. He turned..,and froze. The orderly stood in the center of the hall, his hands wrapped around his throat and a strained expression his face, eyes wide and bulging from his sockets. Palmer's gaze went to the blood oozing between his fingers, and he started.

He was so stunned that he didn't realize Ronnie Anne Santiago was on top of him until she crashed into him with a frenzied shriek, her eyes dark and burning with fevered madness and her teeth baring. Crying out, Palmer lost his balance and went down, his head striking the floor. Ronnie Anne mounted him, her knees planting on either side of his hips, and attacked his face with jagged nails, raking them down his cheeks and caterwauling like a bobcat falling on its prey. Palmer's heart slammed in terror and he lifted his arms to protect himself, but she was strong, and when her nails sank into his soft eyes, he wailed in agony. He arched his back and tried to buck her off, but she held on, twisting her fingers deep in his retinas. Blood and other fluids burst from his socket and trickled down his cheeks. He threw one hand frantically out, leaving his neck vulnerable, and she struck, her teeth tearing into his jugular. He tried to yell, but blood filled his throat, blocking his airways, each panicked breath drawing it into his lungs and aspirating him.

Numbness spread through his body, and his mind started to sink into oblivion. Something cold and metal plunged into his chest, but he felt no pain, only pressure, heard not Ronnie Anne Santiago grunting and tittering to herself, but the slowing beat of his own heart. He tried to pull back from the depths, but death, he was surprised to find, was warm and inviting.

Giving up his struggle, he allowed himself to sink.

When he was still, Ronnie Anne ripped the scalpel out of his heart and took a series of deep breaths through flaring nostrils. It worked, it reallly worked, just like the voices in her dream said it would. She'd been planning this for a long time and put careful thought into every detail, but even so, she didn't think it would work.

Remembering herself, she rummaged through Palmer's pockets and found his keys, then got to her feet and hurried to the door. She looked around to make sure that she was unobserved, then pushed through into a warm, breezy spring afternoon. After ten years in a room, the sun was blinding, and she squinted her eyes at its glare.

When her vision adjusted, she saw a parking lot ahead. Palmer's car, a gold Intrepid, sat next to a pick-up truck. Moving at a half-crouch, she rushed over, ripped open the door, and climbed in. Neglecting her seatbelt, she jammed the key into the ignition and turned it; the engine caught, and she threw the car into reverse, whipping out of the spot and getting away just as, inside, a nurse stumbled across the gruesome scene and screamed.

Grinning maliciously, Ronnie Anne navigated the car through the main gate and hung a sharp right, the tires squealing on the pavement; a car swerved to avoid hitting her and the driver laid on the horn. BEEEEEEEEEP. She didn't hear and she wouldn't have cared if she had - she had one goal and one purpose, like a laser guided missile, and nothing would stop her.

Two miles from the hospital, she got on the interstate and joined the flow of traffic. A sign flashed by, white text on a green background, and what it said made her smile.

ROYAL WOODS - 50

Lincoln Loud, clad in dirty jeans and an orange work vest over a gimry white T-shirt, got home at three that afternoon to find his sister Leni waiting for him by the door, as he did every day. She swept him into a spine breaking hug and rocked him back and forth. "Hi, Lincy! Welcome home!"

A thin girl with slender arms and a delicate frame, Leni didn't look strong, but she was. He didn't know where it came from, but come it did, and as she crushed him against her chest, he swore he could hear his bones snapping like brittle twigs.

Exerting all of his might, he pulled back, and she responded by placing a flurry of kisses on his face. His heart clutched and he looked around. Seeing they were alone, he relaxed, wrapped his arms around her hips, and squeezed her butt. She jumped and uttered a giggle that cut off when Lincoln kissed her lips, his tongue flicking into her mouth and finding its mate. She hummed, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back.

Just then, a voice called down the stairs, and they pulled apart in panic. "Lincy, is that you?"

It was Lola.

"I need your head again."

Lincoln threw back his head and sighed. Lola was training to become a beautician and regularly used him, Leni, and Lana as guinea pigs. Sometimes she did really well, like when she added highlights to Lana's hair, and other times she did not so well...like when she cut the top of Lincoln's ear while cutting his hair. It wasn't a very deep wound, but it stung like hell and took forever to fully heal.

Even so, he knew he was going to go upstairs, sit in a chair, and let her practice on him anyway. She helped him when he needed it, so he was kind of obligated.

Leni pecked the tip of his chin and drew away. "If it makes you feel any better, she got my toes." She lifted one foot to reveal a fresh and expertly done pedicure.

"No, it doesn't," he said, "she's actually good at those. It looks really nice, though."

Leni grinned. "Thanks." She leaned in and kissed him one last time, tasting his lips like a junkie tasting a hit of crack. Lincoln flicked his tongue against hers and cupped her hips in his hands. He was starting to get hard and if he didn't stop himself, he'd take her to his room and ravish her.

"Lincoln! I need your hair!"

Sighing, Lincoln pulled away from Leni. "Alright!" he called.

"Go on," Leni said, "I need to, like, get dinner started."

Three years ago, Dad was coming home from work in the snow when a car in the opposite lane hit a patch of black ice, sailed across the divider, and slammed into the van head-on, killing him. Mom was really broken up, and all of the kids remaining at home took it upon themselves to help her by taking over Dad's many roles. Leni chose cooking and found that she liked it; every meal out of their kitchen over the past several years was one of her creations, and they were good. Lincoln, for his part, got a job with the state highway department to help with the bills.

While Leni went into the kitchen to make supper, Lincoln went upstairs and found Lola in her room, standing behind a kitchen chair with her hand on her hip. Sixteen this past January, she was tall and slim, her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail to keep it from interfering with her while she worked. She wore tight jeans and a pink T-shirt stretched tight across her ample bosom. Without a word, Lincoln crossed to the chair and sat. Lola tied a white sheet around his neck and sprayed his hair with water. "You should let me shave your face," she said as she started to cut his hair. Lincoln hated it when she talked during their sessions because it broke her concentration. "You're all stubbly."

"No, thank you," he said. He was willing to let his little sister do a lot, but hold a straight razor to his neck? Fuck that.

Lola humphed, took some of his hair between her fore and middle fingers, and cut it. As she worked, Lincoln allowed himself to daze. Today, he and his crew spent three hours digging up a corroded pipe on Elm Street, then lifted it out by hand because the winch broke down. His feet, back, knees, and arms throbbed with weary pain, and his eyelids fought to stay open. He doubted he'd make it much past dinner before falling asleep.

He was just starting to doze where he sat when Lana came in. Identical to Lola, she wore jeans and a gray sweater with the sleeves rolled up her toned forearms. Her crimped, dirty blonde hair swished across her shoulders as she went over to her bed. "Hey, Linc," she said and sat.

"Hey," he replied and favored her with a sidelong glance, not wanting to move his head lest Lola cut the top of his ear off again. "What happened to work?"

Lana had an after school job at the hardware store. She'd been there almost a year and loved it.

"I took today off," she said with a mischievous grin.

"She's going to a party," Lola said, "with that grody boyfriend of hers."

Lana's boyfriend was named Stuart Cook and he worked with his father at the Royal County Dump. Every time Lana had him over for dinner or to hang out (always in the living room, never upstairs...for obvious reasons), he was clean and normally dressed, but the stench of hot garbage clung to him like a bad memory. Lincoln sometimes wondered if that's why she dated him - his intoxicating aroma. Ugh.

"It's gonna be a blast," Lana said. "You should come, we can find you a boyfriend too." She grinned mockingly. Lola, despite her beauty, was single and had been since her last boyfriend cheated on her with Lindsey Sweetwater. Lola found them in a supply closet at school, his hand up her dress and her breasts hanging out. Being a proud and sometimes haughty girl, Lola did not take well to being rejected in favor of someone else, and Lincoln suspected that she was reluctant to date again lest the same thing happen.

Setting the siccors aside in favor of a brush, Lola said, "I would rather eat a bug than get a boyfriend from one of your parties. They're probably all just as gross as yours."

Lana lifted one hand. "That's why you should date one. Gross is good." Lola cocked her an annoyed look, and she blew a playful kiss.

"Not on your life," she said and swept the back of Lincoln's neck.

"Suit yourself," Lana said and got up. "I am going to have fun. See you later."

With that, she was gone.

It always struck Lincoln as funny that two people who looked so much alike could be so different...and how two people could be best friends and bitter enemies at the same time. The twins' relationship was complex and confusing, and he'd given up trying to understand it years ago. "Okay," Lola said and untied the sheet, "you're done."

She handed him a mirror and he took a deep, steadying breath, expecting a hack job but finding, instead, a handsome man with a crisp haircut. He turned left and right. Even, consistent, no patches longer or shorter than the rest . "It looks good," he said. "You're getting better."

Lola preened. "I know."

He started to get up but paused when Leni's voice drifted up the stairs. "Uh, Lincy?"

At once he detected the uncertainty.

Handing Lola the mirror back, he went downstairs and froze at the bottom. A fat man with thick steel-colored hair and clad in a rumbled gray suit stood just inside the doorway, facing a clearly nervous Leni.

On either side of him was a uniformed police officer.