Obviously, the first thing I would do if I woke up in West Hollow would be lose my mind. Then be sure it was another one of my wild dreams. When reality would set in, though, I’d hop on a bus to Charlie’s condo and knock on his door. I’d explain everything, and apologize profusely for the life I gave him. He would…honestly, probably cry, because I know for a fact he’s pretty upset about everything that’s ever happened in his life and learning that I was the one responsible for it would gut him emotionally. He’d ask me several questions, namely why, and I would have no good answers for him. It would be painfully awkward, highly unpleasant, and very emotionally wrought. Then, after it had settled for some time, he’d get very, very angry with me. Dangerously angry. But because he has turned over a new leaf for decades now, he thankfully wouldn’t kill me, but boy would he want to, if only for putting him through so much strife and then continuing to make him suffer in the present day.
However, I’d remind him that with me out of the picture and in West Hollow, that meant he was back to controlling the reigns of his own life. That would help him relax some. Then I would explain that the only reason I put him through so much torment was to showcase how strong and resilient he was, how he was capable of overcoming such horrible things and continuing to try and put a smile on other people’s faces, and that that was, in fact, a beautiful thing. Or whatever else I could pull out of thin air to appease him. He’d like that. Then, once he calmed down, that’s when I’d tell him the truth about him and Augustus. That the other vampire really does care, I would know because I am half of that pairing, and that it was all just one big misunderstanding. I would convince him to go to Augustus and tell him the truth, to tell him he knows everything, and that there’s no point in hiding now. I would also tell him that likely, and he would know this, Augustus wouldn’t take too well to it, but eventually, with time he’d come around. That’s the best I can do, unfortunately, since otherwise I’m sure Augustus would kill me. Basically, I’d just tell Charlie to get this show on the road.
Plot #2:
My next plan would be to immediately go to Monday, and tell her it’s time to get her shit together. That she isn’t fooling anyone, and that I would know, because I wrote her. We would get into a huge verbal fight, she’d probably kick my ass, but eventually (knowing Monday like I do) she would calm down once she realized that I really did know everything. I would outline the current people she has in her life that genuinely care about her and tell her of the ones who don’t really. I wouldn’t ruin the whole thing about Friday, since I would let that happen on its own time, but I would tell her it was time to stop ruining her own life. She’d be stricken, but she can’t argue with her creator. Also, I’d tell her that supernatural creatures are real and she should be careful of the people she pisses off in town. Basically, that she should bite her damn tongue from time to time. I’d also tell her enough was enough, and that it was time to go into therapy, and that I knew just the person who could help her.
Plot #3:
Finally, I would find Mila’s practice. Yes, for Monday (and also Charlie, to be honest) but also…for myself. Ya enby is gonna need some serious help not only because I’ve already got Issues™ but because waking up in a universe I once thought was fictional would leave some serious mental scars. Finally, with Mila, Monday and Charlie on my side I would have security from all things that go bump in the night. I’d probably stay with Mila over Monday, since Mila isn’t likely to piss anyone off and I could live an otherwise peaceful life. I would try and get a job somewhere quiet, and spend my days continuing to write.
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her photo is splayed as the header of a blog post few will see, and those who do likely won’t believe it ---PHANTOM WOMAN; a candid interview with the dead. i arrive just on time to the quiet corner of a coffee shop we planned to meat at, after struggling to find my way around the strange town. i’m left waiting long enough to order a coffee that’s nearly cold by the time my subject arrives. i was beginning to think she wouldn’t show.
Elena Ridley: Sorry I’m late ---I wasn’t sure I was going to follow through. How was the trip out here? I know this little town doesn’t look like much, but it’s worth the hike if you’re looking for ghost stories… or any kind of story, really.
Elena greets me with a halfhearted smile, and extends her hand to shake as she sits down at the table across from me. I offer a smile in return, and adjust my belongings on the table to make more space for her.
Devon H: IT WAS GOOD! I LOVE TRAVELING, SO I HAD NO TROUBLE AT ALL. I’M KIND OF ON A TIGHT SCHEDULE THOUGH —-I HAVE AN INTERVIEW WITH A VAMPIRE AFTER THIS, IF YOU’D BELIEVE THE CLICHE. DO YOU MIND IF WE JUMP RIGHT IN?
She breathes out a laugh through her nose, and folds her hands onto the table as she offers me a slow nod.
ER: Oh, I belive it. Jumping right in is fine.
DH: GREAT. I UNDERSTAND YOU WORK AS AN EMBALMER AT THE LOCAL FUNERAL HOME —-CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT THAT’S LIKE ON A NORMAL DAY?
She shows no hesitation in answering my first question, and in fact, seems excited to do so.
ER: There’s no such thing as a normal day. Every death is… different, and they all hit you in one way or another. Most of the time, I’m just thankful I’m not embalming my own body, honestly. The process is horribly invasive, and I really couldn’t stand to see myself like that. I do my best to be respectful, which makes it take that much longer to complete, but it’s… God, this is going to sound terrible… It’s kind of soothing? I feel like I’m doing a good thing.
DH: I CAN SEE HOW THAT WOULD BE SOOTHING. IF YOU’VE DONE IT FOR —-HOW MANY YEARS NOW?—- IT’S PROBABLY A LOT OF GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS.
ER: Five years now, which is hard to believe. I don’t know if that feels like a long time or like it’s gone by in the blink of an eye, but there it is. It’s never a dull moment, though.
DH: CAN YOU WALK ME THROUGH THE PROCESS? JUST BRIEFLY IS FINE, FOR ALL TWO OF MY READERS THAT DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT THE PRACTICE.
I smile as I pass off the truth as a self-deprecating joke, and Elena offers a good-hearted laugh.
ER: Sure, but it’s not the most pleasant thing to discuss over coffee, so... Prepare yourself.
You have to disrobe the body, and then drain it of any remaining fluids or waste. You can either completely remove the organs, which are incinerated, and stuff the body so that it keeps its shape, or you can preserve the organs with a formaldehyde solution. The body gets stiched back up, and the blood is replaced with formaldehyde solution, too. The body is washed, and then have to rub down every inch —-and I mean every inch—- of the body with a preservative wax, both to keep the flesh looking fresh and to trap odours. Then we dress them in something specific if suggested by the family, or in something simple we have on hand. Then I take care of cosmetics. If there are any obvious injuries, discolouration, whatever, I camoflauge those first with colour and texture correcting, or ceramic bone restructuring. Then comes actual makeup, and that’s prettt much it.
She shrugs, as if she’s so familiar with death that she thinks nothing of it anymore.
DH: WOW… I HAD NO IDEA IT WAS THAT INVOLVED. IF YOU DON’T MIND ME ASKING, WHY DID YOU DECIDE TO GET INTO THIS AFTER YOU DIED?
With this question, Ridley hesitates. I consider moving on to avoid making her uncomfortable, but she sighs finally into the beginning of an answer.
ER: Morbid fascination, I guess? I don’t know. It makes me feel like I’ve got a purpose. I never got to see my body after I died, and more importantly neither could my family. I think it’s important that loved ones get the chance to see the deceased as more than just a corpse —-that they look as close to the way they remember them as possible. Plus, formaldehyde is horrible for you, and I’m already fucking dead. I don’t even bother wearing the mask anymore since I’m used to the smell.
DH: YOU’RE A BRAVE SOUL,—-
She interrupts me to laugh.
ER: A soul is all I am anymore.
DH: FAIR ENOUGH. I KNOW THIS IS TOUCHY FOR YOU, BUT… WHAT ABOUT YOUR OWN DEATH? HOW DOES SEEING DEAD PEOPLE EVERY WORKDAY AFFECT YOU IN THAT ASPECT?
I’m hesitant to ask, but after a failed attempt at concealing an eye roll, she answers. As she speaks, her hands fidget atop the table.
ER: It sure doesn’t remind me of my own mortality, if that’s what you’re getting at….. I guess I’m…. jealous? If they’re being embamed, clearly they have at least one person who cares that they’re dead, or… who knows, at least. I don’t even have that. I
t’s clear that considering my question has upset her, and she frowns at me as I begin to make my apology.
DH: I’M SORRY. I DIDN’T MEAN TO MAKE YOU UNEASY, I JUST KNOW THE READERS WILL BE CURILUS.
ER: What, all two of them?
She references my earlier joke, and I laugh, appreciating a brief moment to lighten the mood before returning to a darker line of questioning.
DH: EXACTLY... AND WHAT ABOUT HOW YOU DIED? NOBODY I WAS IN TOUCH WITH SEEMED TO KNOW MUCH.
ER: That’s because I don’t say much. I like it that way.
I nod, and choose not to push for any grotesque details. I wait a moment to let her collect herself, as it’s clear she’s become uneasy.
DH: CAN I ASK IF IT WAS PEACEFUL, AT LEAST?
ER: If it was peaceful, I wouldn’t still be here. At least I don’t think I would.
There’s a long pause before she begins to speak again, where neither of us offers anything. It’s clear she has more to say.
ER: You ever seen someone get tasered? I bet it looked kind of like that. My body seized up and I couldn’t move, and my brain felt like it was going to pour out of my ears. The last thing I remember is watching the veins in my hands turn black, and then I choked on my own vomit.
Again, there is silence. She can likely read my discomfort clear as day, and while I wish I had something to say, nothing feels adequate.
ER: It was poison. How’s that for a ghost story, huh? Your fans will eat that right up, I bet.
DH: I’M SORRY, ELENA... BUT I APPRECIATE YOUR CANDOR. AND YOUR DETAIL.
WHAT DID YOU DO AFTER YOU CAME BACK AS A GHOST?
ER: Oh, you know, sad mopey ghost things… I tried haunting for a while, but that got old, fast. I liked to help people find lost things, you know, or turn the oven off if they forgot about it when they left for work.
It’s clear the mood has shifted, and we both seem to relax into easy conversation once more.
DH: GEEZE, SIGN ME UP FOR THAT KIND OF HAUNTING. DO YOU EVER USE YOUR GHOST STATUS TO MESS WITH PEOPLE, ANYMORE?
ER: Sometimes. Mostly I just use it for my own convenience —-walking through walls is very handy. I don’t really get cold either, which is nice.
DH: BUT YOU HAVE MISCHIEVOUS FRIENDS, DON’T YOU? I’VE HEARD THEY MIGHT BE MORE THAN MISCHIEVOUS. CRIMINALS, EVEN?
ER: Yeah, sure. It’s not my business what they do while I’m not around, y’know? It’s not my place to judge, either. If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you. I might even be nice if you’re a bit of a dick, if you catch me in a good mood. I like people, what can I say? Can’t be picky when you’re desperate and lonely.
She laughs, but it’s more like an afterthought to save face.
DH: SO YOU ARE LONELY, THEN? YOU SEEM PRETTY HAPPY TO ME.
ER: Of course I’m lonely. It comes with the job.
DH: YOU MEAN GHOST, NOT EMBALMER, RGHT?
ER: Yeah… Yeah, I do. Even when people can see me it feels like I don’t matter anymore. I used to have a life, I mean literally and figuratively. I was busy and happy and I had... Now… I don’t know. Never mind.
She has the look of someone in contemplation, and I choose not to interrupt until she regains some clarity.
DH: THAT’S OKAY, I HAVE PLENTY FOR MY ARTICLE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME, TRULY.
ER: Sure. No problem. It’s not like all of West Hollow is going to read it, right?
pictured from top to bottom, left to right: home library/study, fairy lights, living room pt 1, living room pt 2, exterior of house pt 1, guest bedroom, fountain, sitting area, table decor, main bedroom, garden, exterior of house pt 2.
Although Pascal hasn’t been in town for that long, just under shy of a year and a half, he’s found a spot that he calls home. It’s a two bedroom house that he purchased when he first moved to West Hollow, OR. He’s converted the extra bedroom into a guest bedroom, but he’s been using it mostly for storage and such, but not to the point where someone can’t stay overnight if they so wish.
Pascal’s favorite room out of his house would have to be his bedroom. That, and the living room, is where he spends most of his time. He also keeps his place rather impressively spotless despite the frequent parties he’s been known to throw. Which was part of the reason he went with his own home instead of renting an apartment or loft; more privacy.
On the walls of his abode, there are many photographs that Pascal has accumulated over time of friends, family, etc. He’s minimalist when it comes to decorating though and enjoys soft tan earthy colors. He also has a garden, a storage shed, a home library, and an attatched garage.
If there’s one nice thing about being a ghost, it’s that you don’t need the same creature comforts as the living; electricity, heat, decor -- it’s not like the lack of those will kill you. And, if there’s one upside to Tamsin’s life, it’s that he has no qualms with a bit (or a lot) of dust. When he was alive, he got high in some nasty places. Now that he’s dead, waiting out the night in an unfinished attic doesn’t faze him.
Since his death, he’s mostly been staying in the abandoned, foreclosed, and otherwise unoccupied houses; he typically only occupies the attics or, on rare occasions, the basements as that’s all he needs. When someone moves in, he moves out. He doesn’t do a lot in the way of decorating, doesn’t even bother to clean out the cobwebs, but he will absolutely go through any boxes left behind in search of something to entertain himself with. The places he’s called home are rarely fit for the living but, since he’s dead, it doesn’t apply to him.
Nova’s spaces within Carreau’s mansion are as tech filled and sleek as every other room, but during her residence there she had taken steps to add more of an elegant and chic touch to her rooms, with lighter colours and more whimsical elements.
The Bedroom: an overview
Her bedroom separates into four main sections. When you walk in you’re greeting by the tall windows covering the expanse of one wall, and in front of them Nova’s vanity. To the right a door to her walk-in closet and the lounging area, and to the left her bed. The whole room smells of lavender, orange, and chamomile- a sweet and relaxing scent- thanks to essential oil diffusers and her fabric conditioner. It’s a bright and open plan space, with off white natura oak hardwood floors, wallpapered in a soft purple grey with silver floral patterning. There are of course blackout blinds, but Nova only brings those down when she is going to bed, otherwise there are sheer purple curtains framing the windows on either side of the wall. She has a collection of artworks arranged in a cluster on one wall, ranging from minimalist modern work to older styles- all original works carefully curated by herself.
Vanity-
The placement of her vanity was paramount in the arrangement of her room, as of course setting it in-front of the windows provides excellent natural lighting by which she can do her hair and makeup. The unit is a delicate jade colour with large, fold out mirrors, and three draws going down either side to house her makeup and brushes. The companion chair matches the jade colour for the most part with a pink cushion on the seat, a high back, and ornate legs. Her prettiest and most used makeup items make their way onto the desk; a Natasha Denona sunset eyeshadow palette, some Pat Mcgrath and Tom Ford lipsticks, an Anastasia Beverly Hills highlighter kit, and a Kat Von D contour kit to name a few. Lining the edges of the mirror- which are never folded in- are her favourite photographs from the last few years, including a few with her father, old friends, and stunning views she captured. On the left of the desk is her most worn jewelry arranged on a stand in the shape of a hand.
Bed-
Nova’s bed is an ornately carved Bonaparte French Bed in an azure blue with silver detailing. Her sheets are silk and a deep, smoky grey in colour. She has a blanket layer underneath the duvet for extra warmth and comfort. The bedside table matches the bedframe in colour and detailing. Resting on it Is a black eye mask with white eyelashes embroidered onto it, a spray bottle of lavender water which she spritzes onto her pillow before sleep, and an old fashioned corded phone designed to look like a set of pouty red lips. (This phone isn’t in use anymore but is her homage to the excitable and overt trends of the nineties.) Nova has an eclectic set of throw cushions, but she of course has her favourites- one baby pink and fluffy, one covered in teal sequins, and one with dainty floral embroidery and a rude message sewed in a delicate script.
Walk-in Wardrobe-
Her pride and joy, of course. On the back of one of the doors is a tall mirror- so she can evaluate her outfit- and on the back of the other hangs a black silk robe. In the middle of the room is a chaise lounge upholstered in red, in case she becomes overwhelmed by her own wonderful fashion sense. Lining the left of the room are drawers containing lesser worn jewellery items, underwear (organized first by colour and then by how sexy it is), scarves, hats, bags, and a shoe rack that rotates at the push of a button. The right is for all her clothes, closest to the door is shelving for t-shirts and shorts, underneath that is a small space for hanging shirts and blouses, so they won’t crinkle. Beyond that everything else is hung up, and this section of the wardrobe also rotates allowing Nova to go between her dresses, trousers, skirts, and jeans.
Lounging Area-
What room is complete without a specified area in which to lounge, after all? Lounging on the bed is for barbarians. In this part of the room there is a rug, olive in colour and shaped like a circle to encompass the whole lounge zone. There’s a tall backed armchair covered in luxe purple velvet, two scratch free brown leather sofas, and a glass coffee table decorated with Nova’s trinkets- woodwick candles, discarded earrings, pretty crystals, and a stack of magazines. If you are lucky enough to be her guest in the mansion this is most likely where you would find yourself socializing, as she feels the lightness of her room in comparison with the rest of the place can put people at ease. By the coffee table there is also a minifridge kept stocked with wine, bottled water, and snacks.
The Library/Office: an overview
Since this space is used by both Carreau and Nova it’s more minimalist than her own room, with a sleek and modern design. Frankly, if Nova had her way she’d add a big bay window and a colour or two that wasn’t black.
Desk-
This desk gets used more than you might think for a woman whose main involvement in her fathers’ business was face to face dealings with clients and overview of the night to night goings on at the club. No, this is a desk with rather more sinister intent. See if you’re not careful lies and plans can get away from you. For every character Nova comes across is West Hollow there is a folder in this desk, and after every interaction she notes down anything of importance that happened, and her future plans for this person. Since in Nova’s opinion malicious and evil acts aught to be well organized this is the place dedicated to that organization and it is treated as such, all stationary and equipment neatly lined up, incriminating documents safely locked away in drawers. There’s very little of her personality showing on the surface of this corner, it is tidy and without extravagant decoration.
Reading Nook-
In compassion to her work area Nova’s reading nook is a warm and cosy space. It’s set in a corner of the library where some of her favourite literature resides so as to be able to access them with ease. The centrepiece is a plush leather armchair, worn and scratched up from the years she has curled up in it, with a tartan blanket draped over the back. Besides the chair is a small end table, stacked high with her in progress reads alongside a small notepad and pen so she can jot down any books that she absolutely Should Not read again, due to how terrible they were. It’s also not rare to see an empty mug left somewhere in the area too, as she likes to drink hot chocolate while reading and doesn’t always remember to take it through to the kitchen when she leaves.
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MONDAY’S home is not her own. It was given to her via inheritance, and though she grew up in it, she finds it is a house full of ghosts. Memories echo within its walls, of the arguments she had with her grandmother as a teenager, of the time spent with Friday, of running through its worn floors as a child. It reflects her grandmother to a T, warm and eccentric, with a cottage essence.
By way of protest, Monday painted her room a navy blue as a teenager behind her grandmother’s back much to the woman’s dismay. Once, the wall behind her bed was filled top to bottom with photographs: of her and Jess (soon removed), and of her and Friday (removed as well). Now, it is barren, the only relic of its existence the tiny holes left over from the pins that once held the photos in place.
Lindy’s apartment is simple but elegant. Being only one person, and spending as much time as she does at the beach, she opted for a one-bedroom apartment, located a reasonable distance from both West Point Beach and Ethae Cafe & Library, her main place of employment. There is an airy and elegant air to her apartment. Lindy wanted somewhere that felt cozy and welcoming to come back at the end of a long day. She also wanted to make sure that any company she invited over would be comfortable. Her only rule is to take your shoes off at the door, otherwise she wants her guests to feel right at home.
Lindy decorated her apartment in a blend of a rustic and costal style, paying homage to her childhood growing up in the Abbott family’s ranch house and the summers spent on the beach. The color palette is very neutral, but Lindy feels that it comes off as lively instead of drab and boring, the white and beige being accented with blues and yellows.
In order: Bedroom, living room, living room shelf, bathroom, throw pillows, kitchen.
"I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you for agreeing to this interview today, Caroline. I know your schedule has been busy lately."
Adjusting in her seat Caroline's amber gaze flicked forward for a moment, coinciding with the slip of a smile. "Yeah--- working two jobs on top of class in between can get pretty hectic, but I was happy to meet up with you. I'll admit it's a little strange to find myself on the opposite end of an interview, though."
"That's right. Other than working weekends at the campgrounds you're interning at West Hollow times, correct?"
Having finally gotten herself settled she carefully crossed both legs at the ankles, mindful of her skirt, and nodded. "I do. My internship at the paper started a few months ago. It's only a few days a week, so in some ways I'm still learning the ropes, but I'm really enjoying my time there so far. Landing the position felt like some of my dreams were finally coming true."
"Has working in journalism been a lifelong dream of yours then?"
"Yes and no," she admitted, the hint of another smile curving at the edges of her mouth. "Ever since I was really little I've been fascinated by stories, but I can't say I dreamed of doing anything with them myself. I just appreciated the escape I found through reading--- through immersing myself in someone else's life for a little bit, you know?' Small hands began to fidget in her lap at the minor confession. On a normal day she wasn't likely to admit things were anything but happy growing up. "Anyways, it wasn't until I was much older that I started considering journalism as a career. I think I developed this sort of... impatience when it came to waiting for the story to find me. I wanted to find it myself. I've always been a curious person, but it was more than that. I developed this need to get to the bottom of things."
"Speaking of getting to the bottom of things... I've always had a suspicion that you're involved with a certain anonymous blog that makes a habit of calling people out for their indiscretions around town. Am I right? Are you the one behind Pen Fatale?"
Although the warmth never left Caroline's face her features seemed to go tense with apprehension. "Good try," she breathed with a short, quiet laugh, "but I'm pretty sure anonymous things are kept that way for a reason. I'm flattered that you think I'm clever enough to pull it off, though.
"Like I mentioned the first time we discussed this interview anything you say today is confidential. Nothing leaves this room." Allowing that to sink in I gave her a moment and then asked for the second time, "Were you the one behind the blog, Caroline?"
Her eyes narrowed on me with an appraising stare and the silence that grew seemed to indicate she wasn't going to answer. Eventually, however, Caroline released a pent up sigh and gave the barest of nods. "Yeah--- I am. Or at least I was. If you pulled it up today you'd see that a post hasn't been made in over a year. It didn't feel right to take it down, but it also didn't feel right to continue."
"Didn't feel right? What do you mean by that? Did you start to feel guilty about how you got your information or...?"
"Guilty? Not at all." A feminine scoff tumbled from between parted lips as she gave a toss of strawberry curls. "Whatever I posted on there was the truth. I didn't lie and I didn't elaborate. If you've read it I'm sure you can agree that those stories deserved to be heard. The people mentioned deserved to face the consequences of all their terrible actions. I don't regret publishing the secrets they shared with me, and I don't regret charming them into trusting me to get those secrets, either." Every word rang out with complete confidence as she sat back into the chair, shoulders held straight and proud. "I'm sure some people would have a lot of nasty names to call me if they knew I seduced a few men and women into confessing to their crimes and abuse of power, but I've never really cared about opinions or hurtful names. When you grow up with a mother who strips for a living you kind of get used to that thing early on." That, however, didn't appear to be the honest truth. There was a hint of vulnerability in her gaze that indicated she cared more than she wanted to let on. "I didn't want recognition for any of it I just wanted justice. That's why everything was anonymous--- or meant to be, at least."
"So are you saying somebody else found out you were behind the account?"
The light dimmed from her eyes until any trace of happiness was leeched from her features. Swallowing hard and looking down to the twisted fingers in her lap Caroline gave nothing more than a nod. "Yeah, I think so. Right now it's only a suspicion but--- I've gone over what happened a thousand times and it's one of the only things that makes sense."
"Can you be more specific? What happened to make you think your identity had been discovered?"
Jaw clenched out of either nerves, anger, or a mixture of both Caroline finally lifted her amber gaze. "Surely you've heard." Countless seconds ticked by as she gave that same unflinching stare. Clearly she didn't want to talk about it, but it seemed important to continue.
"Are you talking about your attack? I did look into the dates and it seems to have lined up with when the blog went inactive..."
After a tense pause that stretched between us she finally relented with a sigh. "Yeah, I'm talking about the night I was attacked at home. In the middle of writing a new post, no less." Humorless laughter peppered the air before she continued. "Sometimes I still can't fully remember how it all went down, but I remember enough to know it wasn't some kind of freak accident like the police tried to claim. That thing wasn't natural and it was out for blood. Every time it came after me I could... I could feel that it was personal. Intentional." Exhaling a trembling breath she anxiously twirled an emerald ring around her pinky finger and stared into space. "I'm not a bad person. I'm not the best, but I'm not bad. The only reason why anybody would want to hurt me is because of what I posted on my blog."
"You say anybody as if you're talking about a person, but the police report states you claimed it was a 'winged beast' that attacked you that night..."
Again Caroline nodded, the look in her eyes turning at once wild and distracted as she recalled that particular night in full. "It was. That's what I meant by unnatural. They kept trying to tell me that it was just a scared bat or something that got in through the window, but my window was closed." Even though she admitted that she could remember ever last detail of the encounter she seemed very firm on that fact. "Even if it wasn't, though, there's no way it couldn't been a bat. It was huge and it looked nothing like a bat at all."
"If not a bat then what? What do you think attacked you?"
Caroline sucked in another slow breath before stating, very matter of fact, "It was a demon."
"A demon? You think you were attacked by a demon?"
"I don't think I was attacked by a demon---" she corrected with a pointed stare--- "I know I was attacked by a demon. I didn't realize it at the time, but now I know better. When the police department refused to actually listen to me or take me seriously I began investigating it on my own. At first everything I found seemed to contradict itself, and nothing was from very credible sources but then I---" as if catching herself before she said too much Care ended with a small shake of her head--- "then I finally found someone who believed me. Somebody willing to help connect the dots between what information I had and what I was missing."
"Everything's confidential, remember? You can tell me anything. Who did you find, Caroline? Who helped piece it all together?"
Indecision warred in her eyes as she remained quiet. Her loyalty and protective nature made her reluctant to bring the group up in conversation. "It's more like quite a few people than it is just one," she finally admitted, just as vague and tight lipped as before.
"There's only one group of people I can think of that might fit the circumstances. Are you talking about Mystery, Inc.?"
A certain level of fierceness gripped her features at the name, leading Caroline to inhale a slow breath, but at last she nodded in confirmation. "Yeah." Obviously it wasn't easy for her to out them like that, but she carefully tucked a lustrous wave of hair behind the shell of her ear and continued. "Our paths crossed while I was trying to get to the bottom of things, and when they heard my story they agreed to help. Just getting assistance wasn't enough, though. I wanted to do the helping. In case you haven't noticed that's sort of my thing." Gently chewing against her lower lip she cast her gaze away. "Anyways, they were the ones who took what I described and let me know that it was actually a demon. At first I'd been thinking vampire, but as it turns out the internet is wrong. They can't shapeshift at all."
"So you finally got some of the answers you were looking for. Did it stop there? Did they clarify a few things and then go their separate ways?"
With the cat out of the bag she gave a small shake of her head. "No, I asked to join them as a member of the group and eventually they agreed. I knew I still needed them and it felt like they might need me, too."
"Alright, so not only did you get help but you also joined the ranks. Why was it so difficult for you to admit that?"
Shifting in her seat, one long leg swinging to drape over the other, she tried for a casual shrug. "Way back during the blackout they had all of their evidence and stuff stolen. I wasn't part of the gang then, but I heard what happened. There's a very real chance that by this point I'm the only member that's not publicly known to be involved with Mystery, Inc. Sure, some people have probably realized I've been spending a lot of time with a few of the other members like Jess and Harper and Lupe, but they don't know anything for sure and that gives me --- gives us --- an edge."
"Do you want to keep your involvement a secret because you're worried you won't be as valuable to the team anymore without that edge?"
The question seemed to catch her off guard. Enough that she stuttered out, "I--- what? No. I didn't meant that at all." Whether she did or not before she was certainly thinking about it now. Brows drawn low and tight over her troubled gaze Caroline tamped down on the inside of her cheek. "I just meant that I might be able to go places or find things out that nobody else can. Things that could end up meaning life or death. Who really knows these days? West Hollow isn't exactly ripped from the pages of a fairy tale. It's dark and ugly and dangerous. Everyone in the group..." clearing her throat she smoothed out her features, although obviously still on edge, and continued, "they're like family to me now. I don't want to get hurt but I want to see one of them get hurt even less. We need every advantage we can get--- especially ones where people might be more willing to let things slip in front of me if they don't realize there's a connection."
"In a way it sounds like you're almost back to your old ways, then. Getting closer to people for information they can provide just like you used to do for your blog."
For the first time in awhile true amusement sparked back to life in her eyes. "Well when you say it like that it sounds so naughty." Chuckling out a throaty laugh she tipped her head to the side, fingers lazily toying with the small gold pendant swinging at her chest. "It's not like I'm out there actually hurting anybody. I just have a talent for... encouraging their truths to come out. I mean, that's all we want. To expose the truth, bring the bad guys down, and survive."
"Right, of course. So I guess my last question is... what do you think a person needs the most to survive in a place like West Hollow?"
Carefully considering that Caroline sat back, her perfectly manicured fingers tapping out a steady beat against her knee. "Red lipstick,” she began with an amused smirk, “because red is confident and you need confidence to overcome the fear, a good set of throwing knives," running the tip of her tongue across her teeth she paused, weighing her final answer, then finished, "and something worth surviving for. You find something that means so much to you that losing it or leaving it behind is unthinkable. You'd do anything, go to any lengths, to make sure that never happened. That's how you stay alive."
... "And have you found that? Have you found that something that makes survival the only option?"
Mouth pushed to the left Caroline appraised me for a few seconds before a tiny smile began to grow along her lips. "Of course I have--- It’s a gorgeous kelly green Hermès Birkin bag. I refuse to die before I’ve made it far enough in life to have one hanging from my arm." The playful, secretive gleam in her eyes proved she wasn’t being all that honest, but if there was something, or someone, who truly fit the bill she didn’t say. “Sorry to cut this short,” she purred as she rose from the chair and began collecting her things, “but I have places to be. You understand, right?” Without waiting for an answer she blew a kiss and breezed out of the room, the scent of vanilla trailing in her wake.
