So scrubbing the floors wasn't fun or exciting, but having that be the only recourse was fine by me. Those frilly girls had never had an exciting time in their life and they probably wouldn't ever again, and I wanted to show them a better time, but I couldn't figure any way how. My mind had started reeling again with the events that caused us to have to stay at this place, and they tugged and pulled in every which way. I didn't let it show to Monkey though, I couldn't. The kid would never know what to do if she saw that I was losing it, which I knew that I was. In any case, we had a grand old time sprucing up those floors. The girls would come by to laugh and we'd splash water on them and they'd go shrieking away and we'd laugh because, well, it was funny. Monkey, in the middle of her laughing, looked at me.

"McCain, don't you ever feel bad for doing things to people? I mean, doing bad things, doesn't it bother you at all?"

I put down my scrub brush and stared at her, "Lemme tell ya somethin, McCartney, sooner or later we're all gonna die, eh? Some of us sooner than others. But how are ya gonna feel if you die without havin' a lil' bit o'fun?"

She chewed it for a moment and started scrubbing again, then asking me, "But doing mean things to people isn't fun all the time is it? If you're going to do things to people, shouldn't they be in good sport? Not bad?"

"Haven't you ever heard the saying that without evil there would be no good? There are more than enough 'good' pranksters, but how are you going to tell the 'good' ones from the 'bad' ones if there aren't any 'bad' ones? eh? Think about it," I was glad that she took the snippy hint from my voice and said nothing more, I didn't feel like explaining my philosophies at that particular moment. I didn't feel like explaining anything, but of course whenever I don't feel like doing something, I'm usually forced to do it.

We scrubbed in silence for a while, and in the next room over, a round of chatter reached my ears and perked my attention. I knew what it was about. I knew what it was about before they even came in to taunt me with it. I knew and I wanted to leave before it happened, before they came in wanting to know if he'd done it and if I was involved. I stopped scrubbing and sat up, I could hear the lot of them heading toward the room we were in, and I stood up when I saw the first one come in with the newspaper in her hands. It made my heart jump into my throat and my stomach weave into knots, but I just stood there and when the words left her mouth, they hit like hundred-pound potato sacks.

"Did you see this story about the kid that was murdered? They say some Marconi fella did it," She looked, but I didn't respond. "Is that why you two are here? Did you have some part in this?" She laughed loudly, and everyone else joined in, "Girls, get that petrified look off of your faces, we're only joking around. But seriously, do you think he did it?"

I reached behind me with my foot and dragged my bucket in front of me. "I'm sorry, what did you say his name was again?"

"Marconi, um, Greyson Marconi, see it's right here," She said, holding the paper for me to see.

"Hmm, that name sounds familiar...doesn't it McCartney?" Then I kicked over the bucket full of murky water and watched it swell around the ankles of the girls. I felt as if I were to be sick or pass out, either would have been better than being consciously aware of what was going on. We needed to leave that place and we needed to leave right then, there weren't any two ways about it. McCartney seemed to think different when I let her know we were leaving. We needed to get out while we still could. Joking or not, those girls weren't on our side, and I needed to find somebody who was.

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