Note: Every time Jeanne is talking or someone is talking to her please assume they are speaking in French. Thank you and enjoy the story.

November 24th, 12:36 am

I haven't left the house in two weeks. Something inside of me won't let me. I bet you the plants are dead, those poor lilies. I'm stuck here with my own thoughts. They don't come to visit anymore, their ghosts. No their sprits. They have never left me alone like this before, I don't like it. I wonder if I did something to upset them. I hope I didn't, they are my best friends after all. I wish I could remember, but I haven't been able to remember anything.

One thing I do remember though is someone telling me that the best way to remember where something you lost is is to retrace your steps. I thought that maybe it would work the same way with writing things down. If I go back to the place that I remember maybe I'll be able to work my way forwards until I find out what's wrong.

The last day I remember completely was a warm June Wednesday morning near the end of the month. I had had a lot of drinks the night before and I was a little hung over. People say I am an alcoholic, and I have to agree with them…

"My god I have to stop drinking," I said, well more or less whispered, as I clutched my cup of coffee closer to me. I was reaching into my pocket for some Tylenol when I felt Jeanne's presences materialize next to me, "Honey I am not in the mood for it right now." I was eerily mimicking Amelia's nickname for me.

"I don't really care Emma. You need some real people in your life again. This is not healthy for you."

I shook my head at her wincing slightly at the pain, "I don't need help Jeanne. I can take care of myself."

"Obviously you can't. Have you done a review on your life as of late, I don't think so. You need help. Professional maybe, but help none the less," Jeanne said as she paced in front of me.

I huffed, "Who do you expect me to go to, the countries?"

"Maybe that's what you need!" she yelled, "You shut them out so long ago even though it's your job to tabs on them. Oh and are you not a country yourself? A piece of Pangaea?"

"Honey, she is right." Amelia said as she materialized next to me.

"Stay out of this Amelia!" I snapped at the dead pilot as I whipped around to face her.

"You know what Emma," Jeanne said her eyes beginning to fill with tears, "One day you are going to want to talk to us and we are not going to be there for you, and it will be your fault. You keep pushing us away and I'm getting tired of it! You need to grow up Emma!"

And as suddenly as they had appeared they vanished leaving my alone in silence.

For some reason this took me forever to write. But hey at least I got it up, right? Hint of advice here for you; really get it through your mind that Emma is a drunk. Like a really bad drunk. Got it? Good.

Until next chapter,

Evil.