As much as I regret saying it, none of the beautiful characters belong to me! :)

FLASH! Another light, another flash of electricity, each spark representing the cracks forming viciously on her un-living, un-pumping heart. The rain, if she could have felt it, soaked her non-existent clothes and flattened her once wonderfully bouncy curls, that would have put a bright smile on any naïve, little girls face. If only she was back there, young, fresh and alive. She could not have felt further away from that youthful element of her memory than she did in that terrifyingly uncertain moment.

Questions, without answers, ran continuously through her mind. How? Why? Repeated over and over again and again until she could take it no more, she let out an earth shattering scream and slid almost un-human like down the damp bark of the willow. With her head in her hands, rain mixed with tears until neither could be identified alone. It was him. Nina was irritatingly right. She thought he had changed, he had promised them he had changed? But to kill all those innocent people certainly was not changed in her books. He reminded her of Owen. How she had been killed, shoved down the stairs to be precise, by a person that had mattered most to her, someone she had once loved with all her heart. Everything had just hit her at once, memories came back and that mental cup inside of her had finally overflowed.

Since Mitchell had saved her from purgatory she had talked to no one about what she had encountered there. The terrors she had seen and felt. Once, when she had returned and settled into the distasteful yet homely Welsh B&B, Nina had asked her if she had wanted to talk, but she passed it off with a joke about the Isle of White (just as Owen had done before her). Unconsciously following in Mitchell's footsteps in dealing with bad feelings and experiences, she had pushed it all to the back of her head and forced a smile onto her ever glowing face. But her face didn't glow now.

Where was her old self, the old girl, the one she had always been, happy and helpful in every situation, the guardian angel as she had once tried to be.

Rain endlessly still pouring into the mud ridden ground, she thought about the last 3 years, being killed, meeting Mitchell and George, meeting Nina, surviving the door, losing to the door, purgatory, Wales, her recent relationship with Mitchell and even facing down Herrick. It was true, she had become stronger and had matured alongside her family, her messed up, monster like, un-related family. She could hear them now, George being his usual worrying, ever-trying self:

"You keep making tea! Every surface is covered with cups of tea and coffee. I go to make myself some tea and I can't! There's no mugs, there's no tea! It's all been made! And you can't even drink it! You can't drink it, but you keep making it! Oh, oh, oh my god, it's driving me INSANE!"

Oh, how he had made her laugh at the most inappropriate times.

Mitchell, where did she start with Mitchell, she remembers him always being there for her, always sticking up for her. The accidental kiss from three years ago also flickered through her mind and the endless hugs they had shared. He was a vampire, she was a ghost, it was never meant to work, but oddly enough it did and it did so wonderfully for a short while. She loved him just as much as George, but in a totally different way.

The corners of her tired, pale mouth turned up slightly as she remembered the frequent times all three had shared on their small, broken, sofa back in Bristol, in their very own pink house.

Annie: "George, I didn't think you would seriously go through with it. I thought the moment would just pass. You know, like when you decided you were gonna wear skinny jeans."

Mitchell: "Skinny jeans?"

George: "That was a private conversation."

Although, thinking back now, as she did so very often, she realised that the small, pink house was never truly theirs. It belonged to death and monsters and blood. It held everything evil could and should desire. She felt sick at how she could be so strongly attached to a place like that, quirky and inviting from the outside, horrific and damaging from the inside. It defined their lives. The three of them…well four.

Nina? What could she say about Nina? She seemed so very different compared to George and Mitchell, although she could tell that Nina had felt a glimmer of guilt towards her being sent to hell. She was stubborn and so un-willing to kill. She hadn't understood the pain Herrick had caused and was willing to forgive him and in return discovered a repulsive secret, a repulsive secret of Mitchell's.

And, with that thought she let out a melancholic whimper as she discovered that their lives, or lack of in some of their cases, were joined in one huge circle. Every story she could reminisce about George, Mitchell was involved in and Nina and herself. Every story she could tell about Mitchell she was in and that meant George was involved and of course Nina. In some strange way they all came together and linked, all un-human in more ways than one, but Human in so many others. When they spent time together, just simply sat in-front of the TV or sipping cups of her tea, were the times none had felt rejected, they all fitted together, like a distorted jigsaw. Each held a piece to another. The days and weeks of laughter and happiness flooded through her, as did the rain. What if she had never met Owen? Never been killed? Where would she be now? Where would any of them be?

She had no idea how long she had been sitting under the tree, but it was getting darker than just storm clouds and she wondered where she should go, spend the night. She couldn't go home.

"Home," she laughed indecisively. She wasn't going to kid herself, she couldn't go home. She couldn't look Mitchell in the eye; George avoided all communication and Nina, well who knew where she was. She had tipped Mitchell off to the Police, no thanks to Herrick, and from that moment everything had changed. She thought for a small moment about going back, back to purgatory. There clearly wasn't anything left for her here. Or was there? She wanted to hate Mitchell for what he had done, but there was one time, not long ago, before they had kissed, she had told him how she didn't care about what he had done, it was his past. Sure enough he had killed people, but it was all part of being a Vampire right?

She shivered as she thought of herself accepting a murder. But that was her now; she could easily be classed as a monster herself in many ways. She picked herself up slowly and straightened out her grey cardigan. It had dried as soon as the rain had come to a stop, one of the perks of being a Ghost she supposed. On the other hand, she longed to feel the touch of water; the drops of rain piercing her skin again. She had missed things, basic things, such as eating. What was the point of being able to taste if she couldn't eat or drink. Every cup of tea she made she longed to drink herself, but had to watch, almost desperately, as the others took her place.

What did they think of her? Did they consider her just a small figment of their lives? She was a Ghost and therefore not really there, like an imagination, a very ambiguous one. Did they share her feelings?

She turned naturally in the direction of the house, before she realised she was nearly home. She couldn't turn back now; she might as well carry on. Maybe the answers would be given as soon as she opened the door. There was no real, urgent need for her to use a door, she could just appear and disappear as she pleased but this felt normal, like she was alive again. Oh, how alive she had felt these past few years. More alive than she had when she was actually… alive. As she turned, from climbing the front steps, she faced out across the Welsh houses and thought gratefully about how she had finally found a place in this world, maybe it was all soon to be torn from her again, but she wouldn't go without trying. The wind blew in through her airy locks as she spun cautiously on her heels and headed for the door.

She turned the weird, old lock and breathed a breath she didn't need as she pushed the wood open. She could just see it now, a party, or her friends waiting for her, to celebrate, celebrate life, being human. She hoped it was all a dream, a nightmare, but Ghosts couldn't sleep and therefore it was impossible just to be an unconscious imagination. She tried to close the door quietly so no one would hear, but as she did the wind took it from her smooth hands and she slumped exhaustedly against it.

"Annie…?" She heard a voice whisper; she could only guess it was Mitchell.

Who knew what was about to come her way, what was around the corner? But for now she knew she was Annie Sawyer and the butterflies in her stomach told her that, whatever was coming her way… was coming.

End of chapter one, please review. I hope you enjoyed it.