Hello, once again. I'm so glad people reviewed, it's really nice, so thank you!

:-) This chapter is a little random, and it's about Elliot...

Enjoy

I don't know what came over me," I told the dog. "I just, you know, ran into the first car I saw."

The dog, Fizzles according to its dog tag, cocked its head to the side.

"I promise to take you back to your owners soon."

He tilted his head even more. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was trying to twist it off. I reached out and scratched him behind the ears. "Good dog, Fizzles." I glanced out of my window, down to the parking lot where the stolen car was parked. "But, I did have a fairly good reason."

He barked loudly.

"Shhh, Fizzy, I'm not even allowed to have pets up here!" Unfortunately, this came out as a yell. "Frick," I whispered.

Fizzles smiled and climbed onto the couch next me.

"Anyway," I said, "I had a perfectly good reason for taking your car."

He laid his head on my lap and groaned. I took this as a sign to continue. "I had been having a fairly shitty day."

He looked up at me with blue-green eyes and yawned.

"Okay, that's a lie. It was really my worst day ever. A bunch of my patients decide today was the day to throw up on the doctor. I nearly broke my ankle getting into your car. And-"

The doggy yawned again, cutting me off. I let out a silent sigh of relief that I wouldn't be able to finish that sentence.

Not that I would have if he hadn't yawned.

Not that it matters. He's a frickin' dog!

I nudged his head off my lap. He groaned in protest. I pushed him off the couch. He started barking at something, but then he lost interest and fell asleep.

I rolled onto my side onto the sofa and stretched out my legs. I reached down and scratched Fizzles' head. "You know what's strange?" I asked the sleeping dog. "It's been one of the most tiring days of my life, but I'm-" I paused to yawn. "-not even tired."

Fizzles made a weird barking noise without opening his mouth, and his legs began to twitch. A sure sign I'm being ignored.

I got up, rubbing my head. I went into the kitchen and started the coffee maker.

I wouldn't have been able to go to sleep tonight, anyway. Not with the stolen dog in the house and the stolen car in the parking lot.

Not with Carla stolen, too.

I must have fallen asleep despite the multitudes coffee I consumed, because I woke up. Or, rather, the dog woke me up. It's a rather jarring thing to be awakened by a canine's piercing barks, isn't it?

The second thing I noticed after the barking was the alarm, the dreaded alarm, the alarm that goes off every day, forcing me to get up and face whatever fate throws my way.

Fate and my alarm must really have it in for me.

I jumped up, unable to stand the alarm's screeches any longer. I stopped in the closet on my way to the bedroom and grabbed my hammer. It's metal handle felt good; it felt powerful. I threw open my bedroom door violently and headed towards my dresser, with the alarm sitting on it.

I swung the hammer as hard as I possible could- and missed. It made a huge hole in the dresser. Frick.

I gingerly placed the hammer beside the hole it just made, and put the alarm onto the floor. Then, I grabbed the hammer again. Commence alarm clock murder.

I swung again, feeling the hammer connect with the plastic, and hearing the 'CRUNCH' that told me the same thing. Then I swung again. And again. The plastic was now in shards across the floor, but the insides were still one big chunk.

Still sticking with my unspoken promise to beat that alarm clock until it turned into dust, I pounded it again.

This must seem like a relatively harmless way to get rid of pent up anger and frustration, right? Wrong, wrong, and wrong again.

The next swing was the hardest yet. It broke right through that clock. Yay me!

I think that was actually the problem, you see, because I remember feeling this weird and extremely painful sensation, and seeing a bluish flash of light.

I got electrocuted.

"Hey, you're not going to believe this," someone said. I wasn't sure who; his voice was kind of fuzzy. And I couldn't see, or maybe it was very dark.

"What?" another, slightly more familiar voice asked.

"She got electrocuted. By her alarm clock."

"Seriously?" The voice sounded shocked. Ha ha, shocked, get it?

I opened my eyes without even realizing they were ever closed. Suddenly, someone was in my face with a flashlight, replacing the darkness with an overwhelming light. I tried to lift my hands to protect myself against this onslaught of brightness, but they felt very heavy. By the time I finally covered my eyes, the light was gone.

When I was sure it was safe, I removed my hands. I was in the hospital. Frick. Stupid alarm clock, this is all your fault!

"Elliot, can you hear me?" some random doctor person asked me.

"Yeah, I can, and I'm fine." I sat up, knocking the doctor away in the process.

When he was out of my face, I saw that the janitor was also in the room, holding a dog. Wait, not a dog. The dog. Fizzles, the one I stole with the car.

"How come the dog is allowed in here?" I asked.

"Would you like him to leave?" the annoying doctor asked.

"He's a licensed therapy dog," Janitor said, ignoring the doctor. "Aren't you, Fizzles?" He scratched the dog's head.

"You mean... that's your dog?"

"Yeah. I found him at a dog park. It was my car, too."

"Sorry about that," I told him. "You know, with Carla and-"

Somehow, I couldn't continue, just like what happened when I was talking to that cop.

I guess grief is strange like that. It can sneak up on you. I wasn't even thinking about Carla, and then, bang, I can't think about anything else. It was shocking, no pun intended.

I pulled the blankets covering me down, and jumped out of the bed. I ran out of the room, leaving a startled dog, doctor, and janitor behind. I sprinted down the hallway, turned around a corner, and flew out of the emergency exit.

The cold air was startling on my bare arms and legs. I hadn't even realized I was wearing a hospital gown, but I was. "Frick," I whispered. "Frick, fricky, frick!"

I raced over to the parking lot, ignoring any weird looks I got for my clothing.

At least this time I got the right car.

JD gave me some of Turk's clothes to wear, because Turk had locked himself in JD's room and was refusing to come out.

JD seemed even more lost and daydreamy than usual. In fact, he had only spoken twice since I had gotten there. The first thing he had said was "Hi." Then, "Do you want some cake?"

"No, I don't think I could eat anything."

JD shrugged and went into the kitchen, coming out a moment later with a humongous slice of cake. Then he said the second thing: "I called Dan."

"Oh. What did he say?"

JD took a bite of the cake that was large enough to be it's own slice. He shook his head.

"Oh," I said, even though I wasn't sure what that meant. I wonder if Dan was going to show up sometime, then. Meanwhile, JD had finished his cake in record time, and was going back for seconds.

While he was getting it, the doorbell rang. JD balanced his full plate with one hand, and opened the door with the other. Outside stood Dan, holding a giant package under his arm.

"I brought pie," he said. "Cake was getting old."

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