Disclaimer: Listen, if I was Kevin Williamson or Paul Stupin or whoever else, would I be writing fanfic and posting it on the internet? NOPE! So now that you know that I'm not Kevin or Paul (or whoever now owns DC), I'm presuming that you can *guess* that I don't own DC. Please don't sue me. I only have about $3 in total anyway. It wouldn't be worth it. Author's Note: Finally... the story starts! Yeah, I know that an episode of DC was already called Close Encounters Of The First Kind, but I was sitting there trying to think of a title for this chapter, and I had about 8 ideas, but only two were any good. I just couldn't get this title out my head, so I used it. Anyway... the title isn't very important. Another thing: I know that Jen (Ashleigh) and Jean-Luc would probably speak in French, but for convenience of the story I'm making them speak in English. You can just imagine that they're speaking in French. Yeah... and no one's allowed to dislike Jean-Luc. He's meant to be really likeable, so no hating him! Understand? Good... now I'll shut up. Anyone who read the previous part before the 25th September: I realized a mistake which I made in Joey's bio. I've fixed it now, but if you read it earlier on, then I'll set the record straight right now. The Joey that drove away from Joey at the graveyard WAS NOT a black (or dark green) 4WD. It was a rusty old bomb of a car. That may seem unimportant... but read on and you'll understand why it matters. Feedback: I love feedback! Seeing that I don't make money from this, and don't get rewarded in any other way, feedback is my reward. Send me SOMETHING! I spend time which I could spend doing other stuff (like WHAT?!) writing this, so I need to know that people are reading it! Please, please, please??? [email protected]
Tempest - Chapter One: Close Encounters Of The WEIRD Kind
He stared silently into his untouched beer glass, seemingly unaware of the rest of the world. Someone slapped him playfully on the back. "C'mon, Brett, I put enough money in the jukebox for three songs. You got any requests?" his friend Chris asked. "Na," Pacey (Brett) muttered, still not bothering to avert his eyes away from his beer glass. "I'm pretty tired. I think I'll just go home." His other friend, John, scooted up beside him and leaned over the counter. "Oh please! Brett, you always say you're tired on Saturday evenings! How dumb do you think we are?" "Well maybe I AM always tired on Saturdays. Ever consider that?" Pacey shot back rudely. He didn't mean to be rude, he just wasn't in the best of moods. "Considered it," Chris replied. "Then decided it was a bunch of BS." "Oh yeah? And what makes you say that?" Pacey asked. "The fact that you act this way EVERY second Saturday," answered Chris. "Come on, Brett. We're your best friends. We're just worried about you," John said. It was obvious that this was the truth. His concern was evident in his eyes. "Thanks, but I'm ok." His friends just looked at him doubtfully. Pacey knew that they weren't buying it, but he just hoped that they'd just let it drop. He really didn't feel like thinking up another damn excuse for his weird behaviour. And it's not like he could tell them the truth. They let it drop. "Well, I think I've had enough for this evening," Pacey said with false cheeriness. "I'll be on my way now. It's getting kinda late." "Yeah. See ya at work tomorrow," Chris said. "Uh! Don't remind me," he replied, although he was already halfway out the door. "You coming here tomorrow?" John asked. "What time?" Pacey yelled back. "Ummm... six?" John suggested. "Can't. Gotta work late. Sorry," Pacey replied. "Na. That's fine," John shrugged. "I'll see you on Monday then." "Monday it is," Pacey yelled as the door swung shut behind him. Back in the pub, Chris and John exchanged doubtful looks. Had enough for this evening? He hadn't even TOUCHED his first beer! Getting kinda late? It was only eight o'clock! What was he hiding from them?
"Au revoir, Ashleigh!" "Au voir, Marie," Jen (Ashleigh) called to her friend as she left the now empty cafe. She slowly walked over to one of the tables and took down a chair, clutching her swollen stomach the whole time. Her husband, Jean-Luc, walked out of the back room holding a broom in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other. He looked around the room. "Marie left?" he asked his wife as he took down a chair and sat beside her, setting down the hot chocolate while he was at it. All the other chairs in the room were stacked up, ready for them to close up for the day. "Yep. She said to say 'bye' to you, and she also said she'd be delighted to be our child's godmother," Jen replied. "That wonderful!" he exclaimed. Jen began to stand up to lock the door, but Jean-Luc stopped her. "Sweety, you just relax. I can take care of it," he said soothingly. She sighed. She wasn't supposed to need people to do things for her. She was supposed to be able to take care of herself. "Well then maybe I could do the dishes?" she offered, attempting to stand up again. "I've already put them in the dishwasher," he replied as he finished locking the door and started letting down the blinds. "How about I sort out the bills then?" she tried again. "I did that yesterday, honey," he told her. "Then there must be something I can---" "Ashleigh - stop it! You need to relax," he insisted. "Why?!" she demanded. "Why should I make myself feel worthless!?" Jean-Luc ran back over to her and knelt trying to think of a way to back- paddle. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry, Ashleigh! I NEVER meant to make you feel like that, honey," he said sincerely. "It's just that you're eight months pregnant, yet you still seem insistant on working a thirteen hour day." She smiled a little at this. It was true, but it sounded stupid when he said it out loud. He chuckled a little as he saw the smile flicker across her face. "C'mon, you're gonna wear yourself out this way. You can't let that happen to you only a month before our baby's birth." "One month, three days and approximately five hours," she corrected him, making eye contact. They laughed. "See what I mean?" he asked. "Ok, so maybe I'm a little stressed, but's it's only natural, right?" she asked, trying to assure herself of it. "Right," he muttered. He knew that she was fine, but he couldn't help but worry about her anyway. Sensing something wrong, Jen quickly tried to change the subject. She took one of his hands and placed it on her swollen belly. "Look! You can feel our baby kicking!" she said with a nervous laugh. "Yeah," Jean smiled fakely. The truth was - they were both scared stiff.
Pacey (Brett) swerved the rusty old bomb which he called a 'car' to the side of the road. He climbed out, holding a black raincoat over his head. Slamming the door behind him, he ran into the tiny shop in front of him. No one was in there. No one ever was. It was a miracle that the place managed to stay open. Dave was asleep at the counter. Dave - the shopkeeper. He was a nice guy - sometimes. But he was really lonely. His wife left him for another man eight years ago, and decided that he couldn't look after the kids himself. She handed them over to her sister, and he never saw them again. Having nothing else to do, he took over the family business. However, his idea of running it consisted of sitting by and watching what remained of it dissolve away into... nothing. It was only a matter of time until this place went out of business... or Dave went bankrupt. "Hey Dave!" Pacey yelled. He walked over and slapped the counter. "Dammit, Dave! Wake up!" "Wha... huh?" Dave mumbled, rubbing his eyes and trying to figure out where he was. "Oh. Hi Brett." "Geez! Don't try to sound too enthusiatic about actually getting a customer for once," he replied sarcastically. "What'll it be today? The regular? Tell you what... I'll give you this bunch for half the usual price," Dave offered. Pacey bit back a laugh. Those flowers? Uh... no. They were hideous! Instead, he simply shook his head. "No. Nothing big and fancy for me tonight." "Well then what would you like?" Dave asked. "I've got some adorable little pansies over here if you're interested. Or some---" Pacey held up his hand, indicating for Dave to stop. "No Dave. Tonight I have only one request." "Yeah? What's that?" "A single daffodil."
Jack (David) settled down on the lime green loveseat in the... rather strangely decorated apartment which he shared with his long term boyfriend, James. A newspaper went flying across the room and hit him in the side of his head. "Ow! Watch it, James!" he yelled as James set down a mug full of coffee. "Sorry. You were s'posed to catch it, you know?" he replied as he walked over to the TV and picked up the remote control. Jack unfolded the paper, wondering what had possessed James to buy the evening paper. Nothing in it seemed relevant to them! "Uh, James, why're you giving this to me?" he asked. "You, my dear, are getting a job," James replied pointedly. "Since when?" "Since our last three cheques bounced and my credit card got declined down at the supermarket." Jack sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Sorry. Look - what can I do to make it up to you?" "Go to page sixty-four and get yourself a job!" Jack opened the paper and started looking. "No," he said, pointing to one ad. "Nope," he said to the next. "Too old." "Too young." "Not a girl." "Need experience." "Don't live close enough." "Aha!" he said, smiling triumphantly. "I got it!" "Which one?" James asked, peering over his shoulder. "This one," he said, then began to read out loud. "Entry level positions avaliable. Hours: 9 am - 3 pm or 3 pm to 7 pm. Good wages." Setting down the paper, he asked rhetorically, "I wonder how good." "Where is it?" James asked. Jack picked the paper back up and continued reading. "To apply, please call OBMUD BOOKS." It was then followed up a phone number. "Well?" James asked as he sat down beside Jack. "Well what?" Jack asked. "Well are you gonna take it?" he asked impatiently. "I dunno. You reckon I'd get it?" "Of course! I mean, c'mon, it's says 'no experience required'!" Jack playfully nudged him. "Well... ok. I mean, what's the worst that can happen?" "You don't get the job and we end up sleeping in cardboard boxes under some bridge and eating out of trash cans," James replied. Jack just glared at him for a moment before smiling and snuggling closer to him. Neither of them knew of the Pandora's box which taking that job would open.
Approximately twenty-two hours later, Joey (Natalie Evoleurt) threw her handbag into her new, shiny black Ferrari. Ok, so it wasn't exactly hers. Her old car had been written off five days ago, and her neighbours offered her the use of their car while she was overseas. Of course, she'd eagerly taken them up on her offer. After slamming the passenger door as hard as she could, she walked over to the other side of the car and slipped in behind the wheel. Needing to take her anger and frustration out on something, she slammed the door behind her then jammed in the key. She yanked at the seatbelt so hard that it jammed. "Dammit!" she screamed. The whole day had been one nightmare after another. And she had the feeling that it wasn't over... there was more to come.
Pacey (Brett) yawned loudly. Sunday evenings were SO boring! Why was this place even required to stay open this late at night? All of a sudden, Chris ran up to him from where he'd been re-stocking the fridge. "Omigod! Brett! Major babe alert!" Chris said excitedly. Pacey just rolled his eyes. "Now I know why we stay open so late on Sundays!" Chris exclaimed, ignoring Pacey's less-than-interested reaction. "Chris. Quit dreaming," Pacey muttered. It irritated him that his friend would talk about this woman as though she were a piece of meat. "I'm serious! Check her out!" Chris insisted. Pacey rolled his eyes again. "I'm serving her!" he yelled as he practically flew out the door. Pacey just shook his head as he watched his friend drool over this poor, clearly irritated and uninterested woman. But despite the fact that he'd scowled at his friend for, as he had put it, 'checking her out', Pacey found himself unable to look away. It wasn't the fact that her long brown hair was untamed and flew freely around her face. And it wasn't the fact that her perfectly tanned legs seemed to go on forever. Nor was it the fact that she was chewing on her lower lip. No, there was something out the way she carried herself. She tried to act calm and strong, but he knew that it was just her way of denying that she'd been hurt by someone she loved. She'd been in his shoes. He watched as she casually shrugged off Chris' rather lame attempts to come on to her. After a couple of minutes, Chris walked over to the shed at the side of the gas station. She sighed, then turned towards the shop. Their eyes met, and they both stayed put, staring at one another through the large glass window. They just stood there, trapped in each other's gaze. Eventually, she blinked and looked away. The second the eye-contact was broken, Pacey felt guilty. He knew that there was really no need to, but he couldn't help it. Praying that someday he'd be able to let go of Joey and say goodbye for good, he walked over towards the door and called out to her, "You just gonna stand there or are you gonna pay for that gas?" When she stepped away from the car, he did a double-take. What was someone who owned a Ferrari doing out here in the middle of nowhere? He watched as she slowly made her way towards the counter which he was now standing behind. "How'll you be paying for that?" he asked, still intoxicated by her mere presense. There was something about this woman... but what was it? He had a similar effect on her. "Um.. credit card," she finally managed to say, searching through her bag and eventually handing it over to him. "Account?" he asked, snapping her out of her daze. "Excuse me?" she asked, suddenly feeling really stupid. "Which account?" he asked. "Oh... ah... savings," she replied, confused by this whole situation, and frustrated that she honestly had NO idea what was going on with her. "You want any cash out with that?" he asked. "Huh?" "Cash?" "What about it?" "Do you want to get any out?" he asked, starting to get slightly irritated. Not with her, but with... something. "Um... yeah. Fifty dollars." "Fifty dollars... ok," he muttered. What the hell was going on with him? He opened the cash register and took out the money. As he handed her back her credit card, their hands brushed ever-so-lightly, and he suddenly blurted out, "Do I know you?" Of course, he instantly regretted saying it. What had compelled him to let that slip from his lips? What if he really DID know her? Was she from his past in Capeside? It's wasn't Jen. It wasn't Andie. It definitely wasn't Gretchen or Kerry. Nope... he didn't know her. So why had he said it? 'Oh f***!' Joey screamed to herself. This guy knew her! How? Well... obviously from Capeside. But who was he? Dawson? No. Jack? No. Doug? Possibly, but - no. It wasn't Doug. She ripped her credit card away from his hands and, avoiding his eyes, replied, "No. You don't know me and I don't know you. We've never met before and we'll never meet again. Thanks for the petrol." She said it all so rapidly and awkwardly, looking anywhere but at him. "Bye," she added, although by then she was already halfway out the door. "Hey wait! You left your..." he trailed off, realizing she was already gone. "Fifty-dollars," he said defeatedly, flopping back onto his chair. As he watched he car speed off down the highway, he shook his head and sighed. "That was weird."
So what'd you think? Like it? Hate it? Sitting there with a butchers knife, a gun and rat poison, wondering which would be the most torturous way to kill me for giving you that ending? Well... please warn me in advance by emailing me at [email protected]
