Setting
Default Location for Beyond the Veil
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
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east |
southwest |
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southeast |
New York is a part of 
Beyond the Veil.
14 Characters Here
Sara Jolivette [7] "Having a 'normal' life is pretty hard when you're raising your only brother like a son."
Caleb Jolivette [7] "People think I don't notice, but I see how hard my sister works to keep us alive. That's why I'm her Sheriff, I have to protect her."
Oliver Thredson [5] "A little compassion would go a long way."
Jamie Rhodes [4] "What's the harm in a little affair?"
Claire Rhodes [2]
Harvey Klein [2] "Life moves on and so should we...but, we don't always do what we should."
Katherine Klein [2] I used to hate them, but now I miss them
Irene Echevaria [2] "No amount of sleep could cure the tiredness I felt."
Lillian Woodward [2] "I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear."
Alice Cunningham [1] "I do miss my life..yes but my father being with me makes it a little better..."
Start Character Here »
Harvey stood before the display of liquor with an expression of concern plastered on his countenance. The cart beside him stood piled him with enough food and drink for an army or, in his case, a house full of mooching ghosts. That was a rude way to put it, he knew, but Harvey couldn't help but grow angry every time they sent him out here. The cashiers would shoot glances at him every time, for they knew his face and had it memorized. Perhaps they though he was running a cult of some sort and was supplying his followers with sustenance. Instead, he was trying to ease the burden of the eternal entrapment his fellow borders were cursed with. They all knew ghosts had no need for food, but they still asked for it. Perhaps it eased the pain of never leaving the "afterlife". Harvey knew not the reason, nor did he wish to know. As long as they were happy, he was happy. He had made a promise when he inherited the house and he refused to break it.
Donning a thick, parka-like jacket and a scarf, Harvey looked down at the many bottles of liquor. Get me some giggle water, Jamie had demanded. What a stupid slang term, Harvey had thought. He'd never strayed toward strong liquor himself, but he had cigarettes and caffeine to make up for that. He also, of course, had his wine. At least he drank that in moderation. Now, as he looked down at the rack of whiskey bottles, he couldn't remember which brand the boozer had requested. There were Kentucky bourbons and Tennessee whiskeys and corn whiskeys and rye whiskeys and blended whiskeys...it was enough to drive a man insane. Then again, Harvey already knew he wasn't quite sane anymore. How was one capable of retaining sanity when their only friends were ghosts?
With desperation taking over, Harvey sudden grabbed for a bottle of Jack Daniels and tossed it into the cart. It was a popular whiskey, right? As he moved through the store toward the check out counter, he absentmindedly lit himself a cigarette and held it up to his lips. Oh yes, he would also have to stock up on packs of cigarettes. Thredson blew through a pack a day most times. Still without thinking, he loaded his pile of findings on to the conveyor belt. It wasn't until the cashier spoke to him that he blinked his eyes back into focus.
"Sir, there's no smoking allowed it here," she said, eyes narrowing at him as she jerked a thumb toward the sign he knew so well depicting a crudely drawn cigarette surrounded by a circle and then bisected by a red slash. Yes, he knew there was no smoking allowed.
"Right...sorry," he said slowly, removing the still-smoking death stick from his mouth. He glanced around for an ashtray, but found nothing. Instead, he discretely dropped the cigarette o the tile floor and crushed it with his heel, hoping the woman behind the counter didn't notice. She did, but didn't bother to complain. Harvey was, after all, one of the best customers they had. Every week his total spending easily exceeded $200. After the acne-ridden boy bagged Harvey's groceries, he pushed his cart out into the light downfall of snow.
It was December 15th, ten days from Christmas in New York and, well, across the world. Christmas shopping was over, thank God, but he still could not shake the stress he felt. Years ago, he and Katherine had gone shopping together for everything. He was alone now and had to do the shopping for the both of them. Harvey closed the back door of his silver Honda Pilot after strategically piling the grocery bags. Situated, he climbed into the front seat and shoved his key sloppily into the ignition, scratching the plastic around it and adding another white line to the many that had accumulated since he bought the car. He wasn't usually clumsy; he just wasn't too coordinated when his mind dwelt on other things. As he drove toward the dreaded Murder House, Harvey lit up another cigarette and puffed from it slowly. He should have kicked this habit. Hell, he'd kicked it when he started dating Katherine. But, the overwhelming stress had fueled the retrogression into a vulnerable.
Time flew as he drove home. Harvey even sat in the car for a minute or two before he realized he was home. It was a relative term. The only reason it actually felt anything like home was because Katherine was there. Otherwise, the house was foreboding and unwelcoming, but it felt that way even with Katherine there.
With his arms full of bags, Harvey started up the stairs into the old, Victorian-style home. Harvey shakily moved a hand out from beneath the bags and started to turn the knob of the door. He was met with resistance and snarled a curse as he realized it was still locked. A minute later, he was inside and walking down the hallway to his own condo inside the house. Again, he was forced to stop and unlock the door before entering. Balancing the bags precariously, he pushed the door open with his back and entered the flat.
"Katherine? I'm back!" he shouted, moving toward the kitchen with his bags. Harvey knew not if she was in the condo right now but, hopefully, she'd heard him yelling from wherever she was.
Donning a thick, parka-like jacket and a scarf, Harvey looked down at the many bottles of liquor. Get me some giggle water, Jamie had demanded. What a stupid slang term, Harvey had thought. He'd never strayed toward strong liquor himself, but he had cigarettes and caffeine to make up for that. He also, of course, had his wine. At least he drank that in moderation. Now, as he looked down at the rack of whiskey bottles, he couldn't remember which brand the boozer had requested. There were Kentucky bourbons and Tennessee whiskeys and corn whiskeys and rye whiskeys and blended whiskeys...it was enough to drive a man insane. Then again, Harvey already knew he wasn't quite sane anymore. How was one capable of retaining sanity when their only friends were ghosts?
With desperation taking over, Harvey sudden grabbed for a bottle of Jack Daniels and tossed it into the cart. It was a popular whiskey, right? As he moved through the store toward the check out counter, he absentmindedly lit himself a cigarette and held it up to his lips. Oh yes, he would also have to stock up on packs of cigarettes. Thredson blew through a pack a day most times. Still without thinking, he loaded his pile of findings on to the conveyor belt. It wasn't until the cashier spoke to him that he blinked his eyes back into focus.
"Sir, there's no smoking allowed it here," she said, eyes narrowing at him as she jerked a thumb toward the sign he knew so well depicting a crudely drawn cigarette surrounded by a circle and then bisected by a red slash. Yes, he knew there was no smoking allowed.
"Right...sorry," he said slowly, removing the still-smoking death stick from his mouth. He glanced around for an ashtray, but found nothing. Instead, he discretely dropped the cigarette o the tile floor and crushed it with his heel, hoping the woman behind the counter didn't notice. She did, but didn't bother to complain. Harvey was, after all, one of the best customers they had. Every week his total spending easily exceeded $200. After the acne-ridden boy bagged Harvey's groceries, he pushed his cart out into the light downfall of snow.
It was December 15th, ten days from Christmas in New York and, well, across the world. Christmas shopping was over, thank God, but he still could not shake the stress he felt. Years ago, he and Katherine had gone shopping together for everything. He was alone now and had to do the shopping for the both of them. Harvey closed the back door of his silver Honda Pilot after strategically piling the grocery bags. Situated, he climbed into the front seat and shoved his key sloppily into the ignition, scratching the plastic around it and adding another white line to the many that had accumulated since he bought the car. He wasn't usually clumsy; he just wasn't too coordinated when his mind dwelt on other things. As he drove toward the dreaded Murder House, Harvey lit up another cigarette and puffed from it slowly. He should have kicked this habit. Hell, he'd kicked it when he started dating Katherine. But, the overwhelming stress had fueled the retrogression into a vulnerable.
Time flew as he drove home. Harvey even sat in the car for a minute or two before he realized he was home. It was a relative term. The only reason it actually felt anything like home was because Katherine was there. Otherwise, the house was foreboding and unwelcoming, but it felt that way even with Katherine there.
With his arms full of bags, Harvey started up the stairs into the old, Victorian-style home. Harvey shakily moved a hand out from beneath the bags and started to turn the knob of the door. He was met with resistance and snarled a curse as he realized it was still locked. A minute later, he was inside and walking down the hallway to his own condo inside the house. Again, he was forced to stop and unlock the door before entering. Balancing the bags precariously, he pushed the door open with his back and entered the flat.
"Katherine? I'm back!" he shouted, moving toward the kitchen with his bags. Harvey knew not if she was in the condo right now but, hopefully, she'd heard him yelling from wherever she was.
"Alright Clara! I'll see you tomorrow! Thanks for letting my off early, I need to go check on Caleb, the school called" Sara said, pulling her apron off and hanging it up as she signed herself off, and headed to her car, an old Toyota Camry, that, while junky looking, was very reliable. She jumped into the drivers seat, quickly racing home. God.. what happened this time... I had better not have been a bully again.. she thought to herself, before reaching over to the passengers seat and rifling through her bag to grab her cell phone. Looking around to make sure cops weren't around, she dialed their house phone, waiting a few rings for somebody to pick up.
"Hello?" a timid voice asked. Sara frowned slightly, her eyebrows creasing, Shit... he's been crying Sara thought, sighing.
"Caleb, I'm on my way home. I want you to meet me in the entry room of the building in five minuets." she said, sternly, but gently, before exchanging, 'I love you's' and hanging up.
After a few minuets, Sara finally made it home. She parked quickly, slamming her car door and locking it behind her before making her way up the porch steps and slowly opening the door, almost dreading to see what she would see. Upon opening the door, Caleb was revealed, wearing his huge Sheriff's hat, looking down and away, as if to try to hide his face.
"Look at me." Sara said, looking down at him biting her lip. He didn't move. "Caleb. Look at me." once again he didn't move. Sara gave an exasperated sigh, and reached down, gently grabbing his chin to make him look at her. A very large, fresh looking purple bruise covering his right eye.
Sara felt her stomach drop at the sight. Her hand dropped from his chin to his wrist as she dragged him down the hall, stopping in front of their door, her hands shaking with anger too badly to unlock their door, "Who did this. Caleb. You tell me who did this right now." she said, her voice seething. and low.
"It's nothing.. don't worry about it" Caleb said, his voice quiet, broken sounding. He didn't want to tell her, fearing getting picked on even more if he did. That absolutely broke her heart.
"Caleb. You tell me right now or so help me god, I WILL call the school back." she said lowly, Caleb going wide eyed, looking up at her.
"NO! YOU CAN'T" he yelled loudly, causing Sara to tense, no doubt he had caught people's attention.
"Caleb, hush." she said quietly
Irene snorted as she sat in what she thought was some sort of a lobby, and shook her head. Her dark hair ruffled, shifting in place. Her advice blog always had some crazy crap posted, and it never failed to make her laugh at their plight. Or just problem, since plight is way too advanced for their situation.
After typing up a reply on how she was sympathetic, and the best way to go around without ruining their situation even more, she switched out windows to her story she was currently writing. Now she wasn't the best writer, but as many comments on her story was, she had managed to somehow get what now-a-days call, "the feels" into her writing.
She always felt too immersed in her own little world, with her own little secret. It wasn't like she had committed suicide, and is now a ghost among the human world, no, she was sitting like she still was one. And the funny thing to her was that she chose to present herself (after days of figuring out what the heck this after-life thing was), and no one still really acknowledged her. 'Jerks, the lot of them!' she would always think. Not that it made a difference, but it was definitely something rather than letting her angsty-self come out and possibly murder the whole building. People and material items.
Plugging in her earphones, she went on Pandora and clicked her infamous Etta James station. Almost immediately, her body relaxed as the familiar trumpet rang in her ears, vibrato mixing in her own emotional sound waves.
"At last...my love has come along..."
Irene smiled at the slow jazz, finding herself singing with the lady silently. Getting back to her writing, she focused on flawless typing and smooth thought process. She had always loved the simple invention of "books". They were always her friend, and believe it or not, actually was the source of her intelligence. Now it wasn't the best, but it surely was something. English accompanied with grammar and a thesaurus, was the best combo invention ever.
A slam faintly was heard as she glanced up at the opening door. She didn't notice the little boy there at all, but he didn't look in the greatest shape. Irene felt her emotions well up, anger and sorrow. His appearance reminded her of ...herself and the fact that worthless humans had the audacity to do this to their own kind was nauseating. A youthful woman came in, face all swollen with worry and maybe a bit of exasperation. Irie couldn't really understand what she was saying, as she turned up her music a bit louder, but it was all feeling fest to her. Uninterested anymore, she directed her attention back to her screen and resumed typing. It wasn't long until she heard a small scream (muffled because, music).
"That's unfortunate..."
She whispered to herself. If only they would find her advice blog. Maybe she could put in a little input herself. Nodding in agreement to herself, she paused then shook her head.
Nope. She didn't want to get involved with an emotion bomb like that, especially when she lived in the same building.
Too much of a hassle.
After typing up a reply on how she was sympathetic, and the best way to go around without ruining their situation even more, she switched out windows to her story she was currently writing. Now she wasn't the best writer, but as many comments on her story was, she had managed to somehow get what now-a-days call, "the feels" into her writing.
She always felt too immersed in her own little world, with her own little secret. It wasn't like she had committed suicide, and is now a ghost among the human world, no, she was sitting like she still was one. And the funny thing to her was that she chose to present herself (after days of figuring out what the heck this after-life thing was), and no one still really acknowledged her. 'Jerks, the lot of them!' she would always think. Not that it made a difference, but it was definitely something rather than letting her angsty-self come out and possibly murder the whole building. People and material items.
Plugging in her earphones, she went on Pandora and clicked her infamous Etta James station. Almost immediately, her body relaxed as the familiar trumpet rang in her ears, vibrato mixing in her own emotional sound waves.
"At last...my love has come along..."
Irene smiled at the slow jazz, finding herself singing with the lady silently. Getting back to her writing, she focused on flawless typing and smooth thought process. She had always loved the simple invention of "books". They were always her friend, and believe it or not, actually was the source of her intelligence. Now it wasn't the best, but it surely was something. English accompanied with grammar and a thesaurus, was the best combo invention ever.
A slam faintly was heard as she glanced up at the opening door. She didn't notice the little boy there at all, but he didn't look in the greatest shape. Irene felt her emotions well up, anger and sorrow. His appearance reminded her of ...herself and the fact that worthless humans had the audacity to do this to their own kind was nauseating. A youthful woman came in, face all swollen with worry and maybe a bit of exasperation. Irie couldn't really understand what she was saying, as she turned up her music a bit louder, but it was all feeling fest to her. Uninterested anymore, she directed her attention back to her screen and resumed typing. It wasn't long until she heard a small scream (muffled because, music).
"That's unfortunate..."
She whispered to herself. If only they would find her advice blog. Maybe she could put in a little input herself. Nodding in agreement to herself, she paused then shook her head.
Nope. She didn't want to get involved with an emotion bomb like that, especially when she lived in the same building.
Too much of a hassle.
The condo of Oliver Thredson was not much, but it sufficed as both an office for his patients and a living quarters. It wasn't too professional in appearance, but that certainly didn't affect the amount of patients he saw. Then again, he was perhaps the only psychiatrist who didn't request an arm and a leg to pay for appointments. He had no need for money, really, except for cigarettes and drinks. In the second bedroom of his condo, which had been made into his office, Thredson sat with one leg crossed over the other. With the back of his pen, Oliver pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose to prevent them from falling further.
"Well, Mrs. Walter," he began, looking to the woman who anxiously tapped her foot against the arm of the black leather chaise she lounged on. "I'm going to put you on five milligrams of diazepam three times a day, alright?" He closed the file on his lap and flashed the woman a smile as he removed his glasses. Suddenly, the young woman stood up and looked at him with a worried look.
"Please, don't put me on meds, Dr. Johnson," she begged, tears suddenly springing to her eyes. Oliver almost didn't recognize his fake name. Oliver frowned subtly and stood up before he moved across the room toward her slowly. He took her left hand gently between his own two and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"It's the best treatment for you, I promise," he said softly, giving her a reassuring smile. Her skin felt so soft. The woman looked up at him slowly, nodding warily. Soft like a mother's touch.
"You're a good man, Dr. J-" she began. A shout from downstairs cut her off.
"NO! YOU CAN'T!" Thredson looked quickly toward the door out of habit. It was a boy's scream and there was only one boy of that age in the house. It must have been Sara's brother. He briefly wondered what it was that the boy was yelling about. His thoughts, however, were broken by a gentle touch on the arm from his patient.
"Of course," he lied. "I'll walk you out?" As they walked down the stairs, Oliver scrawled out a prescription for the woman. He stopped just at the front door of the building and handed her the piece of paper. "You take care now, Mrs. Walter." He started to step back from the door, but she extemporaneously flung herself at him, embracing him.
"Thank you...so much," she said. Though he'd been evaluating the woman for a few weeks now, it still would have seemed odd to most for a patient to fly into the arms of their psychiatrist. Oliver had no qualms, of course, for he could imagine, if just for a few heartbeats, that this woman was a mother to him. He hugged her back until he felt she would grow uncomfortably.
"My pleasure, ma'am," he replied as she walked down the front yard. Once the door had closed, Oliver removed the pack of cigarettes from his trousers' pocket and lit one before placing it between his lips.
Sara and her brother still stood in the hallway, speaking to each other in much softer tones than before. He wondered briefly what the conflict had been...then, he noticed the poor boy's eye. Internally, and partially externally, Oliver flinched. Memories of past torment flashed before him. Years in the school yard, singled out and made fun of until he thought he would surely curl up and die.
Taking sudden pity on the boy, he felt urged to walk over and speak with him. But, of course, that wasn't his only reason for doing so. It was odd, he knew, but he'd had his eyes on Sara for a while, most likely because of how motherly she was toward her younger brother. Removing the cigarette from his mouth, Thredson walked over slowly and flashed a quick smile.
"Is everything okay?" he asked with an innocent curiosity. "I heard a shout from upstairs and thought I'd check in." He glanced only briefly at Caleb before focusing on Sara, smoking cigarette held at his thigh.
Alice was laying listening to some music she had on a CD while she drew when she heard a muffled yell she looked up and decided to investigate she went to grab her black boots and jacket before opening the door and walking out into the hallway and saw Sara, Caleb, and Oliver in front of Sara's condo she didn't want to bother them so she walked by quickly, slowing only to wave slightly at them and went down stairs, and went under the staircase a few years back she had found a secret cellar type room and she turned it into a fort where she could read and be alone when she was upset she grabbed her book,Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban, that she had left in the room and started to read.
Alice liked her book very much, but she couldn't help but think 'I wonder what happened to Caleb's eye I hope it doesn't make Sara worry to much she's to nice and works to hard to be upset..' She pushed the thoughts from her mind and continued reading she was able to lose herself in the book quickly.
'Stan was watching Harry's stunned face with great enjoyment. "This is where we was before you flagged us down, " he said. "Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?""Ar, " said Ernie. "How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" said Harry. "Them!" said Stan contemptuously. "Don' listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either. Nevernotice nuffink, they don'. ""Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan, " said Ern.'she let the book play out in her mind envisioning it while she read, it was as if her mind could see the book playing on the pages she read on letting the words calm her and take away her worries.
Alice finished off her chapter and set down her book and thought 'Well thats enough reading for now I think I'll go sit outside and enjoy the snow.'she put her jacket on and went to sit on the porch taking snow from the sides and started making a small snowman.
Sara sighed and frowned, trying to keep her temper, she hugged Caleb to her, kissing the top of his head, " Youhave to tell me when these things happen hon... You can't just let these bullies give you hell and expect me to just stand by." she murmured quietly, kneeling in front of him so that she was eye-level with him, holding him by his shoulders gently.
By then Caleb was hugging himself to her, trying to hide the small tremors of his body as he cried quietly, before tending at the sound of Oliver's voice. He didn't like Oliver, and the way he looked at his sister, like he was going to eat her, it made him feel uncomfortable, like he had to protect her, rather than her protect him.
"Everything is fine. You can go back to your room." Caleb said, his voice terse, eyes struggling to keep contact with the grown mans, before Sara stood to full height, pulling Caleb back and slightly behind her, "Caleb, that was rude, apologize to the man, he was only asking for your sake." she admonished with a frown, giving him the dreaded looks of disappointment until he finally broke and looked up at Oliver, "I'm sorry Mr. Johnson..." he said almost begrudgingly, before looking between Sara and the man, "I'm gonna go back to our room." he murmured, getting a nod from Sara as he walked off, "Don't forget to do your homework!" she called after him before turning to Oliver, "I'm sorry about Caleb.. he tends to not warm up to men very quickly after what happened with our parents. But thank you for coming out, I appreciate it." she said, giving a tender smile.
The backyard of his house was wonderful this time of year. Well, technically, it was Claire's home, for he had built it as a gift to her. But, they were both trapped here in this hellhole, so it was his home just as much as it was hers. White flakes dusted the aged patio furniture and the ornate stone walkway that circled from the front of the house to the back. Jamie still remembered when it had been placed years and years before. His non-beating heart felt as if it were being torn from his body when the modern machines rolled across the grass to dig up the lawn. This was his masterpiece, and it was trashed by the new occupants. Jamie hadn't mourned for a second when the father fell down the stairs the winter after building the patio and died.
Sprawled across the ebony chaise in the living room, Jamie let out a slow, dejected sigh. His lanky right arm draped down on to the floor where he swirled a tumbler of scotch and soda slowly in a clockwise rotation. He had been this way for an hour or so. At least, that was what he thought. Time dragged along sloth-like nowadays. What was the purpose of waking up anymore, really? In a painfully slow manner, Jamie raised the glass to his lips and sipped it slowly. He was usually quite melodramatic when hungover, or rather, he was melodramatic when he believed he was hungover. He hadn't suffered a hangover in ages.
The pounding in his head threatened to burst his skull. With a loud grunt, Jamie sat himself up and pulled his knees to his chest. For a few seconds, the tycoon shoved his head between his knees to try and shelter his sensitive eyes from the sunlight. But he'd caught a glimpse of the snow laying in a thin layer on the yard outside and quickly looked up, all thoughts of a hangover gone. Like a child, Jamie draped his arms over the back of the chaise and rested his chin on his hands as he longingly looked outside. New York City would be beautiful with this snowfall. Well, the New York he remembered. A reminiscent smile crossed his lips, lingered for a little, and then faded. No use in crying over spilt milk, right? That was his father's mantra and it had been burned into Jamie's mind since he was a boy.
"Claire!" he suddenly shouted, not even sure if his wife was still in their condo. "I'm going out!" Why was he even saying it? It wasn't like she cared where he went, or when he went out. Besides, he couldn't really go any further than half a block or so. With his glass of scotch and soda in hand, Jamie stood and exited the condo. Slowly, he closed the door behind himself. She most likely would not believe him. He rarely even set foot on the other floors of the "Murder House". He hated that name. Murder House. It was a vulgar name for a place he loved so dearly. Sure, it had been the location of its fair share of deaths, but it made all of the occupants, even him, sound like morbid serial killers. It was certainly not the impression he wanted to leave on the world.
Walking softly, Jamie crossed the hall and rapped his knuckles against the door of the opposite condo. "Lil?" he called softly, turning his back to her door to watch in case Claire came out after him. "You in there...?"
Lillian hummed lightly to velvety tones which played through her phonograph; her heart breaking with every note played, but through such mediums was Lillianās way of hurting herself. She couldnāt do it physically for she was already dead, but she could still destroy herself emotionally and that was something she did on a daily basis. Her condo was dark that morning, the heavy velvet drapes drawn across the large bay windows, not allowing even the slightest bit of sunshine to break through and that was how she wanted it. Lillian wanted the darkness, in fact she craved it.
She hadnāt always been like this, there had been a time when the young, vivacious, beautiful, Lillian Woodward was the life and soul of every party, her smile could cheer even the darkest of souls and yet that version seemed nothing more than a distant memory now. Back then she had been naive, foolish even; she believed she could have had the world had she desired it and for a long time the world was in fact her oyster. She had dreamed of being an actress, seeing her face upon the big screen and marrying her leading man-itās quite funny how life seems to have a way of kicking your dreams to the curb. The desolation of her dreams had begun with a chance meeting with New York Tycoon, Jamie Rhodes and from then on in things had begun to spiral. Love had a funny way of changing a woman, after a few months of seeing the man Lillian had been prepared to give up everything to be with him, but of course the man she loved had a wife and so instead she settled on being his mistress. It was all so warped, she had listened to Jamie day in and out complain about his wife, believing with each day that past he would leave the woman soon, so that they could be together truly just as they were suppose to-but that wasnāt to happen.
The next part was still too much for Lillian to think about and even now, in death, it still saddened her to know that her love had been murdered. Their reunion in the afterlife after had been bittersweet, why, you may ask? Little James Junior had been the reason, or JJ as Lillian had affectionately named him upon his birth- her and Jamieās son, the only light in her life for years after Jamieās death. He had been her world and even though they did not have much, they had each other and a love eternal, but after her child died, Lillian lost everything, her joy, her lightā¦her hope. There was nothing left for her after that and with a silk scarf she had hung herself in what had been Jamieās office- it was a melodramatic clichĆ©, but a clichĆ© none-the-less.
Sitting at her beautiful mahogany dressing table, Lillian rubbed the faint red lines around her pale neck, which served as a constant reminder of cowardly escape. Often she hid the marks with scarves or various necklaces, but they were always present, always haunting her. Hearing a knocking at her front door, Lillian froze for a moment wondering who it could be, usually the children of the so-called āmurder houseā came knocking, however she had not been expecting them today. Familiar masculine tones floated over the sound of the melodies, indicating that Jamie was the man in question. Rising from the padded stool, Lillian grabbed her silk robe from her bed, slipping it on before leaving the confides of her bedroom.
As she pulled back the door she quirked her eyebrow slightly, āOf course I am in. Where else could I possibly go?ā She taunted slightly, some jest coming through in her voice, ācome in handsome, before the missus seeās you.ā
Claire crossed the day off the calendar in their bedroom as soon as she slipped into her light blue dress and lace stockings.
She sat down in the small chair (bought and paid for with her own money) beside the window, closed her eyes, and swept all the clutter of her conscious thoughts from her mind. It was like sweeping a floor. Lift the rug of your subconscious and sweep the dirt under. Good-bye. She opened her eyes and looked out the window. A bumblebee flew towards her, and hit the glass. She giggled and wondering how it's tiny wings could carry it's fat little body. Her eyes followed Oliver standing by Caleb and Sara, then shut the curtains quickly.
When she saw Oliver it brought back memories of her years of therapy she had been in since she was twelve. She used to depend on narcotic drugs and her psychologist to take responsibility of her mental health, but now it felt like she had no one to depend on. She stopped going to therapy when she was in her twenties, and things began to fall apart in her mind. After death things were beginning to feel strange again, like little bridges of anxiety building inside of her, that her child's world was about to collapse
"Claire!" Jamie shouted. "I'm going out!"
Claire was silent. She crouched on the staircase, waiting for him to leave. After death, the sound of Jamie's voice was like ripping off a scab and feeling the blood rush to the surface again. She knew that when Jamie needed an escape he used Lillian. Dislike rose in her throat like a paper snake. She was sick of ghosts and strangers that couldn't hold her when she wanted the warmth of another being.
The spirit buried his free hand in his pocket, the other still casually holding the cigarette. No reason to worry about lung cancer. The boy was the first to notice him, it seemed, for the boy grew tense quickly. Oliver's smile faltered, only for a moment, and then returned in a way that seemed perhaps less genuine. Thredson was no idiot, of course. He saw and, more importantly, he observed Caleb's struggle to hold eye contact. A more insecure, younger Oliver might have faced the same problem, but he was a changed man now. What did one have to fear when they no longer feared death itself?
Thredson looked suddenly to Sara as she spoke. His expression changed drastically, going from a forced smile to what looked like an admiring gaze. What a wonderful mother she made. Seeing her interact with the young boy up close had a much different effect on him than when he'd watched, invisible, from inside their condo. He might have watched her all day, drinking in Sara's appearance, had the boy, identified as Caleb, not spoken then.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson..." the boy said with subtle contempt. Oliver gave a brief smile that just barely seemed good-natured.
"It's quite alright," he replied, winking at Caleb. "No harm, no foul, right?" His gaze followed the boy as he retreated into the condo. Good, he didn't need the accusing eyes of a ten year old boring into him anymore. Once he was gone, Thredson took a slow drag from the cigarette and released the smoke over his shoulder, trying to avoid any reaching Sara. At her apology, Oliver raised a hand and smiled, shaking his head.
"Really, there's no need to apologize," he said genuinely, smiling back at her with a soft laugh. "Boys will be boys, no? Besides, I acted the same way around my parents." He wished he could tell the truth, tell her that he was also an orphan, but that would contradict with his perfected fake back story, and Oliver certainly couldn't have that. His smile faltered briefly, and he looked at Sara with slight pity. "How has he been handling things, Sara? It's not easy for kids to adjust, we both know that." He took another drag from the cigarette and held it at his side again. "I'm not a child psychiatrist, but I would be willing to talk with him a bit for you. Free of charge, on one condition." How long had he been rehearsing this? Too long, to be honest. "Would you and Caleb like to come to my apartment for dinner one night?" His smile returned, as genuine as humanly possible. "It seems the only true way to welcome you two to the building, really."
Rexanne sat in front of her computer browsing through ebay hoping to buy a new dress, but clearly she didn't need one. She hasn't need anything from the internet since the 1960s....well that is if they existed back then. In the beginning, she had no idea what this thing was but clearly now she does and could basically do anything on it, besides hacking the national security system, surely no one can do that.
However, after a while of staring at the screen her eyes have gotten tired, and she decided to close her eyes for a while. she was awake suddenly by a shout
"Caleb, that was rude, apologize to the man, he was only asking for your sake."
Poking her head out of the door she saw Sara and her brother, Caleb the two newly moved in neighbors talking with Oliver Thredson. Oh yes...that man, the man that killed her and skinned her. Surely the fact that he is talking to a young lady like Sara is because she is his "type", but at least Caleb has some senses about what need to be done. As thoughts her past, floated through her mind, she froze.
If it weren't for Oliver, she might not have been dead, he betrayed her love, he betrayed her trust. He destroyed it like it was some trash ready to be used and then tossed away into the bin. But stupidly she loved him, she fell for him, that charming face would have been any girls dream.
When she finally gain her conscious back the conversation has already concluded with.
"Would you and Caleb like to come to my apartment for dinner one night?"
Surely, anybody would say yes, after all it's not like Oliver looks anything like someone that will murder anyone, in fact he looks like the opposite. However, only someone like Rexanne who is actually been a victim knows his plot, she has to warn them, both Sara and Caleb. They may step in that room alive... but there will be no guarantee that they will walk out at all.
"Katherine? I'm back!"
Harvey's shout came up from down the hall. At that time Katherine was preparing a small dessert for her family. After all, there are several new neighbors that had just moved in, surely she could take sometime and prepare some food for them and ask Johnny to bring it down for them. However, it seem as as if Johnny is not back home yet, she'll just get the baking done. Setting up the timer for the baking time she decided to go listen to classical music, while they waited for the food to finish baking.
Turning on the Holberg Suite CD that Harvey brought her for her birthday, she listened as the vibrant sounds of the violin and the cellos of the orchestra came blasting throughout the house. Looking at the ceiling of the house she realized a spot where the paint had come off. If she was still alive she would go grab someone that can fix it.
However, considering now if they do ask someone to come, they are risking the fact that the outside world might find out about the situation in the murder house. There are at most around 15 people that know the details of the this house... and yeah half are already dead, so yeah pretty much the secret has died with all of them.
When the timer dinged, she quickly moved back into the kitchen to check on the food. The fresh smell of chocolate chip cookies filled the house. I guess it's time to let people see how good of a baker she is, as she moved down the hall towards Sara and Caleb's Condo.
Clara sat on the floor in the middle of her room , dumping shot after shots of beer into her mouth.The curtains were close tight allowing no light into the room. Surely, she doesn't drink at all, neither will she enjoy such darkness, at least not before Dina's death, however things now have changed. Alcohol is now her only escape from reality, darkness has taken over her mind. It's a complete mess.
Thinking back although it was stupid of her to have gotten drunk and had sex with Justin, her best friend Vanessa's boyfriend, but the fact that she can forget all about Dina while she is drinking, makes her want to drink more. Justin, was a pretty interesting guy, who she is surprised that he would end up cheating on Vanessa with her. Not saying he is a ladies man, but surely he has his own plans about when to stay and when to move on.
Surely everyone in school will know by now, how she is a complete slut, but the move to this new place probably is hopefully going to help her adapt and forget. Unfortunately, this cheapest place just so happens to be owned by her classmates, Johnny Klein's father, Harvey Klein. Which means that Johnny could tell people where he is any minute and next thing you know, Vanessa might show up to her front door with a knife, threatening to kill her.
However, considering Johnny is slightly socially awkward, it would be something she take advantage of, using that factor as a reason to believe that he wouldn't tell anyone about her whereabouts. Dumping down one last shot, she realized her head is slightly dizzy, so she lied down on the cold hard ground, pushing her face against the iciness. Yes, she is sad and depressed, and worst of all she is alone.
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