Hey peeps. This is the sequel to Lana Loves, so if you're new this, and you want a back story, you should go and read and review it first. Anyway, HELLO PEOPLE OF THE EARTH! Yeah, I'm from Jupiter. Yeppers. They have Gone there. Say hi to Michael Grant for me if ya know him (highly unlikely). JK! It's an inside joke. But still…So I should PROBABLY get to the point, which is my point of every author's note: REVIEW OR DRAKE!

PROLOGUE

Hi. My name is Patricia Escobar. I won't say that I'm a regular thirteen-year old. Because I'm not. I think I was dead at some point in my life. But that doesn't even make sense. Well…a lot of stuff doesn't make sense in my house.

Like why my mother murmurs hungry in the dark in her sleep. Sometimes she screams it.

Or why when she touches our cuts and scrapes, they vanish like they were never there.

Or why FBI and government workers appear at our doorstep every now and then.

Or how my mother's dog from when she was a kid is still alive. Well…that's alright. I love Patrick. He's a good dog.

I sometimes ask my mother who "Gaiaphage and Nemesis" are, since she screams these words often. She never tells me. She just stares off into the distance.

One time, there was a coyote in our front yard when I was…oh, say ten years old. It was about twice the size of Patrick. My mother…her eyes went wide and she ran somewhere upstairs and when she came back…she had a shotgun in her hand. Expertly loaded it. The coyote ran away whimpering, as if it knew who my mother was.

Sometimes…she can have a bit of an alcohol-related problem. She gave up smoking a few years ago.

My mother. She always seemed so out of reach. She speaks to us sometimes. Usually in a hushed voice, as if some monster was about to eat her soul or something.

My father seems to be the exact opposite. He is always so calm whereas my mother is always jumpy. Whenever Patrick growls, she shoots up in alarm. Anyway: my father. He's Honduran, but is always said to be "Mexican" or is called "a wetback." I always feel so offended whenever someone calls him one of those names. My sister, Dawn, is just like him. She always wears his smooth, almost poker-face look on her face, but is able to joke around. I love my father. But I always feel like I don't belong in my family.

You see, being blonde-haired and pale-skinned in a family in which everyone has black hair and tan skin. I've never met my grandmother on my mom's side. I always wondered if she has blonde hair. I think my great-grandfather does, though.

I know. I'm thirteen and I know my great-grandpa. Mostly because my mother had me and my brother and my sister when she was fourteen or fifteen.

Yeah, my life is pretty strange.

But it was about to get stranger.

NOW FOR THE STORY…

I wake up to someone screaming. It's my mother. Which isn't really surprising since she screams a lot in her sleep. I roll over to my side. The window next to my bed is glowing, which means someone's car is outside. Three-twenty-seven. I quickly dress and walk down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door. My mother is screaming at some man who looks to be her age.

"Go away, SANJIT!" she screams. The man named Sanjit looked shocked by her outburst.

"Mom?" I say, my voice sounds tired. She makes an annoyed sound.

"Patricia, it's alright. I'm dealing with an old…friend?" It sounds more like a question.

"Why are you screaming at that man?" I ask.

The man named Sanjit smirks. My mother grunts. "Go inside." My mother ushers me into the house. "You stay out here, Wisdom," she says. To me she says, "I'll tell you tomorrow. Alright? You have to sleep." I nod. She looks relieved. My mother storms back outside.

I rush upstairs and burst into my parent's bedroom. "Dad."

"What?" he asks, his voice muffled by a pillow and drowsiness.

"Who's Sanjit?" He sits up, confused.

"Um…oh God…" he says. "When your mamá was a girl, Sanjit had a crush on her. But she didn't like him."

"Why is she screaming at him?" My father's eyes widened in alarm.

He shakes his head. "I don't know," he says, "I don't know." My mother storms in the room, and sees me sitting on their bed. My father looks at her accusingly. She sighs. All of a sudden, she lets out a long, mangled scream. Her body is making random movements. Not like a seizure, like someone's trying to hurt her and she's trying to prevent it from happening.

She screams out, "I WILL NEVER SERVE YOU!" and then collapses on the floor. She stands up. Checks her body for bruises or cuts, and then looks at us. We stare back like what the hell was that.

Somewhere in the back of my head, a voice whispers, Come to me. I have need of you…

Kind of random, I know, but REVIEW =). It'll get better, and will have more to it. You'll see.