CHAPTER 4: 227 Victoria Ave.

I didn't go on a walk that evening, scared that I'd end up on Victoria and be ripped into shreds by one of those demonic shadows. I mean . . . what if there's no one watching to save me? I'm not saying that I'm too weak to defend myself, it's just that those shadows seem invincible. Even if I fired a machine gun as fast as I could at them, there'd be a bunch of holes that'd inevitably heal, and then the shadow would immediately go back to trying to kill me. So, I was left to find something to do for the next five hours. All the chores were done, my closet was very clean, and for some strange reason, my mom doesn't want me in the basement unsupervised. So, I decided too try and go to sleep, no matter how much my body was insisting that it wasn't tired.

Sleep definitely came, and I sure as hell lived to regret it! Because now, my usual nightmare was even worse. The shadows looked more menacing now, and their very mouths oozed dark, sticky read blood as they drooled and chased me through the streets. It was as if they were hungry for my blood AND my soul. This time, my shivers were so violent that I almost stumbled and fell, but I managed to plow on. The night was darker, and the fear was so overwhelming that it seemed as if it was going to painfully consume me from the inside out. Ans worst of all, when I was frantically trying to scale Casa Loma by using its ivy vines, the vines just seemed weaker and more brittle, and when I neared the top, I found myself reaching for someone's leaf. It always seemed as if I couldn't quite reach it . . . and just when I was able to grasp his or her leaf, the vine snapped, leaving me to fall to my death as the shadows actually bit into my skin and sucked my blood out, leaving me to twist and scream in anguish as they hissed, "Your loved ones are next to be cursed."

I then woke up, sweat soaking my bedsheets. Ugh. More laundry . . . I thought miserably as I realized that today was Monday. My mom was working night shifts this week, which left me at home from 8 o'clock in the evening until 8 o'clock in the morning. I tiptoed out of my room so that I wouldn't wake my mother up. I then saw her diary in plain sight on her dresser. The spark of curiosity was immediately lit inside of me. Quietly, oh so quietly, I grabbed the diary off the dresser. Did I feel a few pangs and stabs of guilt because I was stealing a prized possession that belonged to my mother, who, by the way, is the ONLY thing I have EVER had in my 14 years in this world? Oh, hell yeah! Problem is, I got lots of questions that need to be answered as soon as possible. I mean . . . I do have a right to know who my father is . . . right? And what in the hell is making my mother so goddamn overprotective of me? I mean, I know I'm all she has, but what exactly would warrant her thinking that a bout of dizziness was the equivalent of a death sentence for me?
As I thought hard about the decision that I was making, my mother turned and yelped, "Stop right there! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

I whipped around quickly, only to find that she was talking in her sleep, which she occasionally did. Breathing a sigh of relief, and briefly thanking God for keeping me out of trouble first think in the morning, I slunk out of my mother's room, leaving no trace whatsoever that I, her own daughter, had stolen something from it.

As I frantically searched for a good hiding place for the diary, I said a little prayer asking God whether or not this was stupid. I breathed a sigh of relief as I finally found a good place to hide the diary — in one of the vents that wasn't being used anymore. With a great feeling of accomplishment, I grabbed my dirty bedsheets and started towards the basement, when I realized 2 things: 1) I'm not allowed in the basement unsupervised, and 2) The keys are . . . nowhere to be found, by my estimations. Facepalming, I decided to start making breakfast: cereal ad fried eggs. Pulling a bowl and a plate and a plate from the cupboard, I poured some milk and cereal into the bowl, and then I set to work cracking the eggs. Watching them flop into the frying pan, I decided to hack away at some unanswered questions. As I turned on the ancient gas stove an watched the eggs sizzle, I thought about my father, who I presumed was this Wulf Asamius guy. Was he actually my father? If so, then why the hell did he leave me? And what exactly makes me so dear to my mother that —

"SHIT!" I squawked as I realized that I burnt my leaf on the burner while I was so deep in thought.
I examined the burn, and saw that it wasn't too bad . . . until I saw the blood oozing and felt like my body was on fire. I began to feel real dizzy, and I thought that everyone who passed my house was one of those satanic shadows that dominated my dreams. I screamed at them to go away, making my throat itch and burn. I began to have these horrid hallucinations, and I felt like I wasn't going to live any longer.

Then, I lost consciousness.

I woke up minutes later, only to small my eggs burning. I quickly dumped them onto my late and sulked as I gnawed the slightly rubbery eggs. I thought back to the last seven minutes, which were a crazy, painful chain reaction of horror after a damned burn. I looked at my injured leaf, and healed it with a simple trick my mother taught me. Being head nurse at the treatment home she works at, she knew as much about healing and medicine as a highly skilled Sunflower, not to mention that she was just as prolific in those fields, if not a shade more skilled. I smiled at the fact that she was willing to teach me these little things, what with school being out of the question since '78. And for that, I give full credit to our mayor, Brutus Mortus, who is irresponsible as HELL. I mean, let's face it — what type of mayor in their right mind would pull the plug on Toronto's education system just to cut costs?!
I finished my breakfast 20 minutes later. As I stood up, I saw a lanyard of keys hanging from a thumbtack, with a note attached to it. The note went like this:

Talisa,

Because I am working night shifts at St. George, the treatment home I work at, I am leaving you with the keys. But please follow these rules:

Do NOT go roaming around the basement

NEVER answer the door

Don't go anywhere you're not supposed to (hall closet, my bedroom, the cupboard under the sink).

Take care!

A.G. B.

Well, it sure is nice to know that I won't have to sit around and veg all day.

After doing the laundry, washing the dishes, sweeping the floor, and a crapload of other chores, it was 6:30 PM. Wow . . . time sure flies by when you don't have school.

"Talisa! Tal — oh, there you are!"

My mother's voice snapped me outta my daze within seconds.

"Talisa, I'm up now. I'll be in the bathroom washing up, 'kay?"

I nodded and decided to read a little bit of my mom's diary. I read horrifying entries about my mother's affair with Wulf, how her parents were constantly at war with each other, until her drunk father killed her mother. The following day, he killed himself.

"Talisa . . . what are you doing?" I barely heard my mother's voice as I read the diary in which she poured her heart and soul. It was when I heard the knock on the wall that I looked up at my mother's face, which displayed confusion.

"Oh . . . hi . . ." — gulp — "mom! How goes it?" I stammered sweetly as I pasted an all-too-false smile onto my face. My mother wasn't fooled, of course. As she looked at the diary that I held in my leaves, I knew I was in HUGE trouble.

"Talisa Alessia Faith Glace-Blanche, what the hell are you doing with my goddamn diary?!" my mother shrieked.

As soon as she saw the photo of Wulf, that was it. Her fuse had run out. She exploded like a hand grenade.

"Get the hell out of my fucking house, you ass! I don't give a damn about whether you're all I have or not, but I will not let the past catch up with me! Understand!? Because . . . BECAUSE I DON'T NEED TO REMEMBER IT!"

Right then and there, I decided to start packing. I threw my precious few belongings into the canvas bag, including the diary and the photograph. Grabbing my shawl, I darted out of my room and down the stairs, my bag in one leaf. I glanced behind me, and saw my mother holding a butcher knife in one leaf. Her crystals were a poisonous shade of purple, her eyes were flashing dangerously, and even though the glow surrounding my head was becoming quite bright, that didn't stop my mother from chasing me right out the door.

"And stay out, bitch!"

As soon as she slammed the door, it started to pour. I didn't feel sorry though — the weather mirrored exactly how I felt: Shitty. Worthless. Cast aside. Loathed.
I spent the next five minutes walking up and down the street, until I bumped into my guardian angel: Pete.

"P-Pete! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" I exclaimed as I threw myself into his arms.

"Uh . . . easy there . . ." he grunted.

"Besides . . . what the hell is your deal knocking me over in the middle of the street?"

I looked into his eyes and remembered the last ten minutes. Slowly, painfully, I tried to put the agony into words. By the time I had finished telling Pete about the ordeal with my mother, my face was all dark blue and puffy. My head was glowing like a beacon, and my crystals were the same colour as blue paint left to fade away into a miserable shade of grey. Pete's eyes softened, and he hugged me right there.

"Lacy . . . it's okay. Let it all out." he whispered.

The raindrops were freezing onto my skin at this point, making me feel like my face was behind a prickly mask. After what seemed like an an eternity of hugging and crying, I was calm, although the glowing remained.

"Hey . . . your head . . . it's glowing." Pete remarked.

The glowing became a bit brighter, and Pete cringed a little, but he didn't say anything as we walking along Queen Street. Finally, I mustered up the courage to break the silence.

"Where are you taking me?"I asked.

"I'm taking you to my hangout. In other words, I'll let you live where I'm living." Pete whispered as he squeezed my leaf and smiled.

"Y'know . . . my name isn't Lacy. It's Talisa."

"Didn't know that before. Well, the say that you learn something new every day, right?" he chuckled as he swatted my arm, before growing serious.

"Um . . . about the glow . . ." he began.

"Yeah, what about it?" I replied in a tone of voice that was colder than I intended it to be.
My crystals then turned a dark blue, and the glowing, which appeared to be receding in the minutes before, returned to its former brightness as we passed the Ryerson campus.

"What . . . what does it mean?" Pete asked, pointing at my head, which was illuminating at least half of Allen Gardens as we passed it.

"Uh . . . I dunno. I saw your head glow once, but that was about it." I answered quickly as we crossed the street and headed along Jarvis.

"Oh — zombies at three o'clock!" I cried, grateful for the distraction. I shot my peas and did quite a bit of kicking and punching as Pete and I fought through the zombie horde.
Ten minutes later, we gingerly stepped over the dismembered heads, arms and legs.

"When did my head glow, Talisa?" Pete asked as we continued past the old Baptist church.

"Uh . . ." I mumbled, desperately searching for a distraction.

"And hey . . . if you don't want to talk about why your head glows when you're upset . . . or scared . . . I won't be offended." Pete assured my as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. The glowing became dimmer and dimmer until only the streetlights could help us see.

"Fine . . . I . . . I can't . . . tell you, Pete. It's . . . painful." I sighed as a single tear rolled down my cheek as I thought back to all that pain.

"Talisa . . . I want you to look at me." he said, grabbing my shoulders. My uncertain, fearful eyes looked into his reassuring, faithful eyes.

"I'm gonna promise you something. I promise that no matter what, I'll protect you from all harm, even if it's at hell's gate. You hear? I'm staying by your side, and even if a tornado separates us, I'll go to the other end of the earth just to find you. Do you understand!?" he said in a voice full of conviction.

"Why are you promising me this? You've only known me for a little while . . . and I haven't done anything for you! I'm just a girl —" I began to protest, before I was cut off by Pete.

"You're not just a girl, Talisa. You mean the world to me now." he whispered.

"What?" I asked.

"In my earlier years, if I saw someone in distress, I didn't bother saving them. The more this happened, the colder and more distanced I became, until nobody could trust me and I couldn't trust them. Nobody'd love me, and I wouldn't love them. But you . . . for some reason, you changed that. As soon as I looked into your eyes, BAM! That was all it took. And for that, I'm forever in your debt." Pete sighed, before wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug.

"And if I break this promise . . . even God Himself wouldn't know how to punish me." he muttered in a dark tone full of self loathing and irony.

"No . . . don't talk like that. My mother always did this when I talked like that: she spanked me, and then she told me, "God loves all his children, no matter how high-maintenance or how terrible they are. Honestly, there are tons of people out there who are far more worse than you. And if God was sick of it . . . he would've killed us all of a long, long time ago." He loves you as well. And you know what? There are people out there whose very souls have been corrupted because of their immense wrongdoing. But you ain't like that. You hear? You're to good to be punished by Him." I said as I looked into his eyes. I was about to add something to my statement when Pete pretty much took the words out of my mouth.

"Thank you . . . for everything. And I swear, I ain't letting go."

I smiled as a strange warmth flood my veins. What was this warmth? It's called hope. As soon as my mom had slammed the door, all my hope had been tossed out the window. But now, I'm more hopeful than I'd ever been in my whole entire life. Why? Because I felt like I was never gonna be alone ever again.

A few minutes later, we were at Yonge-Dundas square. Pete led me onto Victoria, which made the glowing return.

"Talisa . . . remember what I said? I gotcha." he whispered as he led me into an alley beside the abandoned factory. He then lifted a sewer lid and climbed in. I felt a pang of uncertainty about whether or not this passage led to trouble, but I willed myself to climb in after him. Suddenly, we found ourselves sliding down, down, down . . .

And then, out of nowhere, the motion simply stopped. I held my leaves in front of me, blindly stumbling somewhere, until Pete grabbed my leaf and pulled me back.

"That's a dangerous drainpipe that you were about to stumble into. It's dangerous because when you least expect it, water'll come rushing in, and there's no way in hell that even a fish could get out alive." Pete yelped as he led me over to what I assumed was a door, before rummaging around in his bag for the key. I then thought back to the last few hours, a crazy, emotional rollercoaster.

The hatred.

The fear.

The sadness.

The love.

The courage.

The hope . . .

"Hey . . . Talisa."

Pete's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. His arm around me, he led me through the open door, before saying words that, simply said, made my eyes sting with tears of joy.

"Welcome home, Talisa."

After making sure the door was locked, Pete led me up a flight of stairs and around several corners.

"Jesus! How much *paff* longer?" I panted five minutes later.

"Welcome to 227 Victoria, Talisa." Pete replied between pants.

Finally, we came to a stop in front of a door with a sun on it. I sucked in a deep breath as Pete raised his leaf and knocked on the door, once, twice, three times. Finally, the door was answered by a tough looking Sunflower.

"Jesus Christ, son of God! What the hell do yo think you're doing, bringing in a skimpy haggard like this?!" she screamed.
My wordless reply was a gasp, and the return of the glowing.

"Uh . . . at the risk of sounding insensitive, what is the deal with your head?!"

"Don't bother asking about it! It's too painful for her! Look . . . the girl was just kicked out of her home by her mother, the only family she's got! She needs a home. Please, Raziela, I know — ever since that mark was left by he-who-will-not-be-named, you've been colder than an Ice-Shroom!" Pete yelled. My crystals turned bright blue, and my glowing became even brighter. The sunflower, who I assumed was Raziela, cringed and finally nodded.

"I . . . I'll give you one of the spare rooms." she whimpered as my crystals returned to their customary colour and the glowing fizzled away in a myriad of sparks.

"Go to bed, Pete. We're in for a long day tomorrow." Raziela ordered.

With that, Raziela and I were down the hall. Saw an eagle on her right leaf. It was the exact same eagle that I saw on Pete's leaf.

"Just asking, but why do you have those tattoos?" I asked.

Raziela smiled and tweaked my nose.

"Tomorrow, I'll explain everything." she whispered as she tucked me into my bed.

"Good night, sweet one."

As I laid awake thinking about the events of this past evening, I remembered when Pete held that door open for me and said, "welcome home." When he was holding that door, and when I stepped through it, he wasn't just allowing for me to enter this place

No.

He was holding that door open so that I could step into a new life.

A/N: HOLY SHIT! That was one HELL of a chapter! 3441 words, lots of feelz . . . damn, that's a lot! Anywho, that is the end of my update chain for today. I know, there's no saying EXACTLY how long the wait's gonna be, but obviously, it won't be three months like the last time. But until next time, if you're writing a story, continue to shock 'em dead, darling! And for everyone else, stay fabulous!

See ya round!

~GamerGirl has left the building!