Author's Note: I'm very sorry about the long length of time between this installment and the last. I'm such the procrastinator, it's just me.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters contained within. These email addresses are completely fictional, if you do happen to send email to them, it wasn't me who told you! I told you they were fake!

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"La rueda de feria, los cacahuates, el puesto..." Joey muttered absently to herself, "Screw it, I'm going online. I'll study later."
Joey reclined into the comfortable chair that matched her desk and logged onto her Internet account. She silently sifted through her email messages and deleted a few.

To: JyPotter@rialto.com
From: JnLindley@rialto.com
Subject: Help!

[End of Message]

Joey eyed the screen suspiciously. Jen's parents must be inhuman, I've never heard Jen talk like that before. Joey thought.
"Joey!" Bessie yelled from the kitchen, temporarily interrupting her thoughts, "Can you take care of Alex this afternoon?"
"Sorry Bess!," Joey yelled back, "We're shooting Dawson's newest cinematic creation today."
"It wasn't a question Jo, take Alex with you, he won't be much of a hassle." Bessie was leaning against the door frame to Joey's room.
"Take him and his 100 pounds of toys, diapers, bottles, and who knows what else?" Joey whined.
Bessie rolled her eyes at her younger sister, "Hey, consider it community service."
"Fine." Joey gave in, "Only for today, not another afternoon without 24 hours advance notice."
"Okay, boss." Bessie replied, relieved.

**********

"Hey Andie," A tall brown-haired man said to Andie when she entered the house.
"Hey Dad, how's Mom?" Andie answered.
"That's the problem..."
"Problem?"
"I'm not sure that coming back here was the right thing to do." He mumbled.
"But Dad.!" Andie interrupted.
"Sorry Andie..."
"How can you say that coming home is the wrong thing to do! This is where you live! You spend all of your time at that stupid business now, you barely know any of your own family! Mom has always been this way, ever since he died!" Andie yelled.
"Andie, honey, this business that I spend all my time at is what supports you, Jack and your mother."
"The business is failing, Dad! Jack had to go out and get a job to help with the bills and that's what I'm going to do too! We haven't been getting any money from that business, just from the bank accounts that were reserved for college!" Tears streamed endlessly down Andie's flushed cheeks.
"You don't know how sorry I am." Mr. McPhee mumbled.
"Not as sorry as I am..." Andie replied, furious.
With that, Mr. McPhee walked out of the large house. He had fully intended on staying for a week, hell, maybe even a month, but it was too hard. His wife was insane, believing that their son was still alive. It hurt him a lot more to be in Providence than to deal with the constant ache of knowing his oldest son was dead. Mr. McPhee was good at pretending things hadn't happened, his wife wasn't. He knew he should have been with her during that hard transition after their son's death, but the business was going down. He thought he could save it. He thought he could find the panacea for all of the family's problems.

**********

Pacey sauntered up the walkway leading towards his house. Today had been impossibly perfect. Andie had been her usual perky self and the Capeside community was bustling with holiday cheer. He could still smell the tangy scent of Christmas trees, the sweet smell of candy and pastries being baked. Winter holidays definitely gave Capeside a needed makeover. Delicate white lights were strung from the branches of trees and wrapped in a long spiral around the lamp poles. They shone like isicles in the dark, cold night.
Pacey stopped in his tracks. Something was wrong. He saw his fathers Jeep in the driveway, an ominous sign of what was to come. The Christmas lights Pacey had strung a week ago at Andie's pleadings were ripped down and in a messy pile near the garage. He'd spent a whole morning on those lights. The lights inside the house blazed furiously, sending a glow of yellow into the night. Faintly, Pacey could hear his mother whimpering inside. Pacey began to run. At the door, he fumbled with the cold metal keys and then he heard it.
"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" Mr. Witter roared.
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...." Mrs. Witter sobbed. Pacey finally jerked the door open, but his father didn't even turn around. His mother glanced pleadingly at him.
"You WHORE!" Mr. Witter continued his rampage. "I saw you flirting with that imbecile at the supermarket!"
"I was only trying to ask him where the flour was....I...I...wasn't flirting." She trembled in fear.
Now it was Pacey's turn to be enraged. His mother would never even attempt to make a move on another man. Even though Pacey's father was abusive, not to mention unfaithful, Mrs. Witter remained loyal.
"Leave her alone!" Pacey yelled at the top of his lungs.
Mr. Witter turned, his nostrils flaring. A pulsating vein portruded from his neck and he glared at his youngest son.
"What," Pacey's father growled, "Did you say?"
"I said leave her alone." Pacey silently vowed not to back down. Not to let his father get the upper hand.
"I heard that." Mr. Witter hissed. "You are never, ever to talk back to your father with that attitude. I didn't raise my son to be a no good loser. The laughing stalk of the whole town! Look what I get in return! " His voice rose as did his anger.
Mr. Witter, at least twenty pounds heavier and a good four inches taller than Pacey approached his son. He muttered angered statements until he was inches away from Pacey's face. Pacey could smell cheap liquor on his father's breath. It nearly made him naseous. Mr. Witter pulled his arm back and landed a punch squarely on Pacey's face. Pacey could feel the blood rush to the point of contact as his father continued to beat him. While Pacey was on the ground, Mr. Witter mercilessly kicked his ribs and head. Pacey tried as best he could to block the blows, but it felt as if a ton of bricks had exploded upon him.
Finally Mr. Witter had enough. He was sobering up, therefore he needed a few more drinks. He abruptly stopped, walked out to the car, and drove away. Pacey was still crouched on the ground. Hands covering his head and legs curled up to his chest. Slowly, catiously, Mrs. Witter got up from the corner. She approached her son and knelt down with great care. She pried his hands from his face and flinched. The wounds were obvious. His eye was already turning a dark shade of navy blue and black. His lip was split, blood running in an endless stream off of his face. There were numerous other cuts as well.
"Pacey.." His mother whispered. She touched the bruises on his face and just stared at her youngest child.
Two hours later Pacey was wrapped in a blanket on the couch, idly watching Dexter's Laboratory, a children's cartoon. He was too emotionally exhausted to watch anything with more gravity. His mother sat next to him, staring blankly into space. She had spent a good part of those last two hours washing the blood off of Pacey's face.
Pacey was paying scant attention to the blaring television. He was thinking. Why did his mother have to marry that bastard? Sure, Pacey wouldn't have been born, but it would have been a lot better for Capeside. They would have been sans their town loser. His thin line of control finally broke.
"Why couldn't you have just taken us and left him Mom?" Pacey cried in frustration and despair.
Mrs. Witter looked at her son, "I'm sorry, Pacey. I'm so sorry." Her eyes were dry from tears, she'd done the last of her crying a few hours ago.
"Sorry isn't enough, Mom! All you thought about was yourself. You let him hurt me all these years, you didn't even give a damn about me." Pacey continued yelling.
"That's not true. That's not true." She began trembling.
Pacey was still angry. He had an urge to hurt someone, something. He could do nothing. Then he saw the look in his mothers eyes. That look of fear, disappointment, and so many other emotions.
"I'm sorry, Mommy." He hadn't called his mother Mommy since he was five, and was informed by his father that calling people Mommy was for cowards.
His mother didn't respond. It was as if she didn't hear what he had said. "When you were born you looked just like my grandfather," she informed him, "You had his eyes. That sparkle, and his sense of humor. You were my baby, the youngest in the family. I promised myself that I wouldn't let your father do anything to you. He didn't want anymore kids. I did, I loved you so much. I wouldn't let him give you up for adoption. I've failed myself. I can't even keep a promise that I made to myself."
Pacey put his arm around his mother, but she was long gone. Her eyes were glazed over as she released facts of her past.
"Your grandfather was like a god to us grandkids. He played games with us, took us on walks, and we always had fun when he was around. He had that quirky sense of humor, that's why you remind me of him. e didn't like your father at all. Neither did I, but mummy, your grandmother, thought that I should marry him. His family was well off." she frowned, "I never should have listened to her. She married a monster, my father was always drunk. He was no good to the family, he spent all of the money he earned working at the factory on liquor."
Mrs. Witter looked drained. These were things she had never told anyone and now she was telling her teenage son.
"Your grandfather swore that he'd never see us, your father and I, married. That's how much he hated your father. But your grandfather died. Your father knew how much my grandfather despised him. I always suspected that..." Mrs. Witter abruptly stopped talking. She snapped back into reality.
"Suspected what?" Pacey's eyes were wide, he had a feeling of what she was going to say.
Mrs. Witter was pale, she looked afraid, never had she ventured so deep into the memories she had tried to forget. "Nothing. It..it was foolish. I was so disappointed about my grandfather's death. Nothing, it was nothing."
Pacey was not reassured, but he let the topic drop. His mother looked like she was ill and he didn't want to cause her any more pain.

I'm too tired to think so I stopped writing. Typing is so tiring! j/k, so please send me feedback!