People! Welcome! Haha, sorry it took me so long to update. But you know how the holidays are. Anyways, thanks to all you reviewers out there! I really appreciate all the feedback and support I'm getting for this story! I hope you like this chapter, and please let me know of any ideas, thoughts, or opinions you have of the chapter and/or my writing skills! That would be most appreciated. ALSO…this chapter will give some backstory to a few of our characters, and add some substance to things. It's important for me to do this for plot buildup. ;) Hope you enjoy! Now…on with the story! =D

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE PPG OR THE RRB…THANKYOU.

REMINDER: THE RRB AND PGG ALL HAVE NORMAL FEATURES, LIMBS, AND HAVE NOSES. They also are all NORMAL- meaning NO SUPER POWERS. Sorry if this disappoints some of you!...And just because I think it'll be helpful to all of you: Brick is 18 and Blossom is soon to be 18. The other girls are like Blossom, while the other guys are like Brick. (same age as him). Hope that helped!

Into The Bumblebee's Nest

Chapter 5: Memories and Thoughts

~Bubbles~

When Bubbles was just a little girl, she witnessed a murder right outside her front door. The woman who had been murdered was something of a saint, in the sense she was extremely docile and good willed. Why would anyone want to murder her? The question remained unanswered.

Even now.

The memory still haunts her to this very day. If she closed her eyes tight enough, if she was alone long enough, and if she didn't breath slow enough…she could remember it. Vividly too. There was a special on television Bubbles had once watched about false memories and how everyone has them; they develop over time and replace real memories with ones the person believes to be real.

But Bubbles knew in her heart of hearts this was no false memory. It was too powerful, too overwhelming to be.

The woman had been shot to death. She longed to remember the faces of the gang that did it…because sure enough, it had been a gang. A rugged looking pair too. She remembered the gun, pointed and trained on Mrs. Johnson- that had been her name- in all its eerie glory, shining metallically against broad day light.

How had no one stopped them? How had such a thing come to be? It was daylight; bad things don't happen during daylight. Only nighttime.

So she had thought.

No- bad things happen all the time. No matter who you are, or where you are. It had been the good section of town too.

Mrs. Johnson's body had been pulverized by the bullets, her body flung against the ground. Bubbles remembered watching the horrific scene, her dark crimson blood trailing down the street and into the sewer…

She could never forget such a scene. Never.

Yet…yet why didn't she see the shooter? Everything else was perfect in her memory. She remembered Dan's Candy shop on the corner being there; open for business, huge candid windows hinting to all sorts of delectable treats just out of reach. There had been that fancy wedding dress shop behind the scene as well, and Bubbles could recall the exact details of the dress on display without fail, even though she had never stepped foot in the shop per say. She could even remember the grocery store and its funky green and yellow commercial curtains she always hated looking at.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to remember the shooter. Nothing about him, other than the fact it was a him. The irony of it all was aggravating when the cops came to question her 8 year old self not too long after the deed had been done. They had been oh so gentle and hopeful, being that kids are usually very honest.

Yet Bubbles could offer them nothing on their target, and it had infuriated her the most. The cops were more worried about the trauma she'd suffer from seeing such a brutal incident so close. Six bullet wounds to the chest and one to the head. Seven fatal gunshots. And it all happened right before Bubbles' clear blue, puppy dog eyes.

She tormented herself into trying to remember the shooter and his gang, but nothing popped up. She agonized about it day and night, trying so bad to think of something. Anything. Yet all she could remember was Mrs. Janson's blood soaked blonde hair and frightened brown eyes.

There was something though. Something else she recalled but had been too afraid to report at the time…

There had been a boy. No more than…seven. Yes, seven years old. He had fiery red hair and a dark shirt on when she saw him. He was at the scene of the crime, that much she was certain of. Only problem was, she didn't want to tell the police that. What if she was wrong? What if she miscalculated? Besides, even if he was at the scene of the crime, it wasn't like he had pulled the trigger or anything. She had seen him running towards the shooter, hand outstretched, looking like he wanted to stop the inevitable from happening.

She didn't know who he was and she never saw him before that time or afterwards ever again.

All she knew was that face. All she knew was that he was there.

But it's a funny thing, how the mind works. Even to the most perfect memory, things become muddled with time.

So of course, at the time of the shooting, things had been accurate. The boy had been trying to prevent it, and at the time, Bubbles thought of him as her secret hero, trying to save the day or something.

But now? Even though her recall of the event was spot on, she had done something to make the memory in her mind more bearable. Even if it wasn't accurate. To ease the guilt she had for not remembering the real shooters face.

She replaced the shooter's face with his face.

The boy with the fiery red hair…

~The Professor~

John Utonium. A man of science. A man to be remembered, idolized. A man whose last name has travelled across seas. A man who could afford to buy you and your family in a fraction of a second. A man who's good name alone could get him anywhere or anything. A man who hated his life. A man who wished things had been different. A man who wanted his wife back. His real wife back…

Jewel…

No one could guess it from how the professor acted. He had fooled everyone, including himself, into believing he was happy. But was he really? No.

Jewel made him truly happy. Not Anna. Jewel made his world go 'round. Not Anna. Jewel made him want to be a better man. Not Anna.

So why had he married the woman in the first place? Anna, who he barely loved.

Simply to fill a hole he could never truly fill. He felt the need to marry, to provide Kendall with some sort of motherly love he could never substitute. Perhaps he should have made a better choice?

All the Professor knew was that Anna had been the only available option at the time. And he had been all than more willing to accept it.

He was pleased with his decision most days. It looked like Anna and Kendall got on well enough. They were always so polite to each other and never bickered. Anna would never hesitate to brag about Kendall when company was over, as if she were her own flesh and blood. And Anna was always very helpful in finding new volunteer opportunities for Kendall to take part in. In fact, she had located the volunteer opportunity Kendall seemed to adore at the hospital. So, yes, according to the Professor's standards, Anna made a very fitting mother indeed. However…

There was something about the way Kendall's eyes looked around Anna. Something that flickered inside them that made the Professor think, that maybe, just for a second, the Professor hadn't made such a good choice in betrothing Anna. What if Kendall didn't really like Anna? What if she was merely putting up with her for the Professor's sake?

The thought made the Professor sulk about the house, when he allowed himself to suspect it at all.

One day, on the veranda, the Professor was sipping a glass of wine by his lonesome, mulling over precisely this exact thought. It was then that he remembered something he had almost forgotten: partially because any thoughts about Jewel made him want to bury himself in a cave and never come out again, and partially because he simply hadn't considered it.

Anna and Kendall never hugged. Now, albeit it was a small thing, he recalled how much Jewel had loved Kendall and fondled over her every chance she got. Tons of kisses, tons of hugs, tons of interaction commenced between the two. Kendall had eaten it up like any baby would with squeals of jubilation.

Although Kendall was a young woman now, doesn't a decent relationship require some interaction? Some physical interaction? He was no one to judge, since he rarely hugged Kendall himself, but this was mainly because he was always too busy for it. Anna was not. She lounged around the house all day long, drinking champagne and smoking cigarettes to her hearts content.

He even once read an article about how important physical interaction is between mother, father, and child. Without it, humans become antisocial creatures, and even worse, babies who lack it can die.

But Kendall was a sprouting young woman. What was he so worried about? The thoughts that went through his head puzzled him sometimes.

Yet still, on nights that were warm enough to allow him to sneak out of his bed and onto the veranda, he would allow himself to think about Jewel beneath the blanket of stars above him. What kind of mother would she have made to Kendall in her teen years? The professor would ask the nighttime sky. Only, he would never know the answer. Not now.

Because she died. And the dead can't answer questions.

And because of this, he allowed himself to weep. But only a little, for fear of Anna looming in the shadows…

Review and I'll make a money tree grow in your backyard…and if you don't have a backyard- your room will do nicely. ;)