Author Talks: Hello all wonderful lurkers of the interwebs! Thank you so much for checking out my story. I do hope it gains more attention, but every read is greatly appreciated. Don't hesitate to leave me a review or PM me, I follow back for anyone who's interested! xoxo -the fabulous author

Molly woke up with a start. Her pale hand flew to her chest. She could feel her heart pulsating madly underneath her skin. "What in the world—" She stopped suddenly as a word lingered in the forgotten crevasses in her mind. Molly shut her brown eyes, struggling to remember the word that was on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be spoken. It was in her dream—that much she knew. Or was it a nightmare? She shook her head and let out a frustrated. Enough, she told herself.

Swinging her legs out of bed, Molly wandered over to her closet and threw on a beige cashmere sweater and jeans. She walked to her mirror and gave herself a quick onceover. The girl that stood in the reflection was of slight build, but curvy nonetheless. She had eyes the color of mahogany wood, eyes that crinkled a little at the corners when she smiled. Her cheeks were perpetually flushed, as was her little nose. Her lips were full and where most people had a dip in the center of their upper lip, she had a little hole, making it seem like her mouth was slightly open. Her sorrel colored hair was cropped in a curly bob. Her skin was pale and scattered with freckles. Molly gave the reflection a thumbs up and bounded down the steps to the kitchen.

"Morning everyone." Molly gave a half wave to the children seated around the large kitchen table. She received several tired nods and a few hellos. She scratched her cheek absent mindedly.

"What's cookin' good lookin'?" She found Ms. Redmond at the counter, mixing batter.

"Pancakes and berries," 's almond shaped eyes narrowed at Molly's hand. "Have you got a rash?"

Molly's brows furrowed in confusion momentarily, then, noticing that she was itching her cheek again, Molly shrugged. "I don't think so, a pimple in the making, maybe."

She sat down beside Tierra, a 3 year old girl with milky chocolate skin. She fed her a strawberry while they waited for the food. Ms. Redmond raised an eyebrow and shook her head in disagreement, "You've always had a clear face, aking mahal."

Molly chuckled and bit down on a strawberry, "If you say so, king hall."

Ms. Redmond pursed her lips, "Aking mahal, not king hall. I could make fun of your English just as much as you make fun of my Filipino, Molly."

"Tease me all you'd like, king hall."

"Do you know how many calories are in that?"

Marnie Wedgeworth eyed Molly's friend's Frappuccino with scrutiny.

"Do you know how many fucks I give?" He raised an eyebrow and sipped his straw suggestively. Marnie scoffed and marched off in the direction of their highschool.

Molly elbowed him, "Greyson!"

Greyson gave a hearty laugh, "What?"

"You're mean." Molly itched her cheek.

"And you're adorable," Greyson smiled at her, but his expression fell when he saw her hand at her cheek. He slapped it away, "Except when you're scratching away at your face like that, quit it Atkinson!"

Molly rolled her eyes and snatched away his Frappucino, helping herself to a large sip. Greyson took it back and glared at her. He opened his mouth, about to say something, when something caught his eyes. Molly followed the direction his eyes went and landed on an attractive sophomore.

Molly chuckled, "Honestly Greyson, could you get any gayer?"

Greyson sighed dramatically, his grey eyes smoldering with desire. His beefy arm wrapped around Molly's small frame and he rested his head on her head. Molly itched her cheek.

"Oh for God's sake!" He slapped her hand away again from her face, forcing an agitated groan from Molly.

"I can't control it! It's been itching ever since the nightmare—" Molly stopped midsentence. She sensed Greyson tense beside her; he straightened up and looked at her with wide eyes filled with concern.

"What nightmare?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I call bullshit."

This time, it was Molly that sighed. Her shoulders slumped forward, "I've just had a really strange feeling all day…" She looked away from Greyson, unable to meet his gaze.

"I think I dreamt of something I wasn't supposed to dream of." She finished.

Greyson put a finger on her chin and forced it to face him once again, "Shall I call the asylum?"

Molly elbowed him in the ribs. "This is serious!"

His expression fell. He put a meaty finger to her left cheek, where the itch was. "I don't see anything…Let's wait until the end of the day." He gave her a reassuring smile and punched her playfully in the arm. "Fingers crossed you don't die."

"Greyson!"

"I prefer to be called, Satan." He grinned wildly at her. Molly, who usually laughed at his devil jokes, shuddered instead.

The itch was still there. It was there in English, distracting Molly from her essay writing. It was there in Home EC, nearly making Molly burn her pie. It was there in Math, where it got so bad, Molly threw her calculator against the wall in frustration.

It was the last period before the school day ended. She just had to get through an hour of French, and she would be fine.

She wasn't fine.

Her fingernails were scrubbing at the left side of her cheek in violent jerking movements. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest.

"Ah!" Molly yelped and felt searing pain spread through her left cheek. The class stared. Madame Pollone stopped in the middle of her lesson on Passé Compose.

Molly stared at her fingers in sheer terror.

Blood.

There was blood, and it was smeared over her nails in a nasty dark crimson. The world seemed to teeter around Molly. She was never afraid of blood, but that was when she knew there was a reason for the blood. But this—this was an itch. A harmless little itch. That formed after an ominous dream you forgot and is now gushing with blood, she thought to herself.

Thanking Madame Pollone for the slip that said she had been excused from class, Molly scampered out of her French class, clutching at her cheek. The pain had subsided, and just like before, it had diminished into a dull persistent itch. Molly didn't dare scratch it.

In the orphanage, Molly wandered around the house, clearly bored—and agitated. It hadn't been very hard not to touch the itch, but now, she was a lone with no one to keep her distracted. I wonder… Molly made her way to the washroom and turned on the lights, looking into the mirror in front of her. She gasped.

There was a word—no, a name engraved on her left cheek, beside her freckled nose.

Dean

Molly stared at it. Dean. Did she know a Dean? Molly shook her head, this was hardly the time to ask about the name. Why was the name on her cheek in the first place? And then, she remembered, the dream! And like a wave of memories, it came back to her; green eyes filled her memories, curtained by long lashes. In the dimly lit bath bathroom, a voice filled her head, clear as day.

Go to Missouri Mosely in Lawrence, Kansas. She'll know what to do.

The voice was low and masculine, but milky and smooth. It sounded like it came from a boy around her age. The man she'd dreamt about had to be at least in his twenties. So who the hell was that? Molly asked silently. No answer came. Blue eyes filled her vision; they reminded her of Blue Bom Dendrobiums. But the memory faded as quickly as it came. Molly chose to think nothing of it.

She looked at her reflection, the name engraved on her cheek staring back at her, loud and proud. She knew what she had to do. If people saw the name on her cheek, they would start asking questions. Questions that Molly didn't have answers to.

Molly looked at the clock, it was 3:00. Only twenty minutes until Ms. Redmond and the kids come home, she had to act fast. She pulled out a dusty duffle bag from the basement and shoved her belongings in there. A few pairs of jeans, a hoodie, and two tops and undergarments. She grabbed her passport and $300.00 from her drawer. She ran down the stairs, ignoring the wood underneath her feat creaking and whining in protest.

Grabbing a sticky note from the office downstairs, she scrawled on it, looking at the clock repeatedly.

Remember that itch?

Well, turns out, it's not an itch. At least, not a normal one.

Things are happening to me, and I'm afraid you can't help me.

I don't want to hurt you all, or put you in jeopardy.

I love you all so much it hurts.

Please don't look for me.

Molly took one last look at the note, unable to stop a lone tear from dripping from her cheek to the paper in an ugly splash. She stuck it on the kitchen table without another look, and went to the front door. Her fingers hesitated on the knob, was she really brave enough to travel across into another country by herself in search of some stranger she'd dreamt about?

Molly, you need to go, NOW.

The deep, urgent voice in her mind had startled her momentarily. Then, as she glanced at the clock, she realized the voice was right. She had ten minutes before the others came home. She opened the door and raced down the street with her duffle bag in hand.

Smart girl. Now all you have to do is stay alive, think you can handle that doll face?

Again, Molly jumped at the voice in her mind. She didn't know why or how she was hearing it, or who or what was behind it. Was she simply going crazy?

Oh hell no, don't pull that 'oops, I've gone mad' crap on me. I am NOT a figment of your imagination.

Molly couldn't help grinning at that. Maybe, the voices in her head weren't all bad. Blue eyes filled her vision again and disappeared.

Who are you? Molly asked mentally.

God.

Molly scoffed bullshit.

Okay, I lied. I'm Satan.

At this, Molly froze.

I'm joking, I'm joking! Jeez girl, lighten up a bit, will you?

Molly's cheeks flushed, like they often did when she got mad. I've got a name tattooed in blood on my cheek, some guy speaking in my mind cracking jokes, a life I'm forced to leave behind because of—because of God know what, and you want me to LIGHTEN UP?

Your bus is here.

It was true. She had rounded the corner, hoping to catch a bus to the airport. She boarded it, handing her bus ticket to the driver.

Kansas, here we come! The voice in her mind said gleefully.

Molly rolled her eyes. Shut up, will you?

It was going to be a long ride.