Edited: September 1, 2013. Side-note: Super happy with how it turned out. :)

W00t! Gregory shows up! 'Course, its probably the most short lived meeting in the universe, but w/e. Gotta start somewhere, right?

Start Chapter Four: A Madman and a Corpse.

After coming up from the cellar last night, I checked on Tony. The little man was passed out, not in his pajamas and on top of the covers. I pulled off his shoes and maneuvered him under the blankets before heading to my own room. The burglar/murderer/ninja/assassin/vampire thing continued to follow me. Not only did I have to close my closet door as I changed, it felt like someone was staring. Waiting for me to come out. My imagination insisted on the mirror in the cellar being haunted and a vengeful spirit trying to kill me in addition to everything else. The feeling refused to go away.

Naturally, I had a hard time falling asleep. Staying asleep was practically impossible. The first time I woke up, there had been a slight thud. Not as loud as my math book earlier, but clearly audible. In the back of my mind, a picture of my Aunt and Uncle stumbling up the stairs sent me back to sleep. Second time, I thought something cold was touching my arm. When I went to swipe whatever it was off, it was already gone. The third and final time, I have no clue why I woke up. Only that when I did, a dark silhouette with blood red eyes was staring straight at me. I jolted up in bed, ready to scream, but he/it/they were already gone. Rubbing my eyes like mad, I turned on the lamp beside my bed. The room was empty. Or rather, it looked like it was empty. The air around me told a different story. I wasn't alone, and I wasn't safe.

Quietly, I crept out of bed, grabbing a pen from my nightstand and holding it like a knife. I opened my bedroom door carefully and grimaced when it let loose an obnoxious creeeeeeeak. With just enough space to squeeze my whole head out, the hallway was found unoccupied and undisturbed. Slowly, I closed the door and moved towards the balcony. Through the window, the world appeared dark. The outline of trees was visible, unlocking the glass door and stepping outside only made them more so. Everything was coated in a blanket of soft purple and blue, the veil becoming thinner and thinner by the minute. With no red-eyed man or creature insight, I gave a heavy sigh and went back inside.

Though my search had left me empty handed, I still didn't feel safe. So instead of turning out the light and heading back to bed, I sat quietly against the wall. Waiting. For what, I don't really know. Only when the sky was far too bright to still be considered night did I finally return to slumber. It feels like my eyes just closed when Aunt Dot walks in.

I pull a pillow over my head and groan, "Guh away..."

"Come on, Jen. Rise and shine!" My Aunt says shaking me lightly.

"Nooo..."

"Come on. Up, up, up."

"Leh me sleep..."

"I don't think so." She lifts my pillow and lets gravity drop it upon my head. It falls off the side of my bed and I reach to rescue it. Through some miscalculation, I wind up on the floor instead. "Are you alright?!" She asks immediately.

After a moment of tapping my fingers against the floorboard, I pick myself up. "If I say 'no', will you let me stay home and sleep?"

"Absolutely not."

"Fine," I stretch my achy limbs, "but if anyone gives me crap today, I reserve the right to punch them in the face."

She rolls her eyes, but continues to smile. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. I'm pretty sure assault is still a misdemeanor in Scotland."

I start to grumble a response, but am overtaken by a vicious CRACK. My Aunt and I stare at each other widely.

"Was that your neck?" She asks. It was.

"Am I dead?"

She looks a little concerned with my response then shakes her head. "You're alive."

I nod solemnly, finding this news both good and bad. My Aunt awkwardly leaves the room and I crawl back into bed. After snuggling with one of my pillows for another minute, she pops her head back in.

"Jennive."

"M'up, I'm up."

Before I even reach the bathroom, I already know my hair is tangled and self-styled into an ungodly mess of gold. The lack of sleep has done a number on me and my mirrored-self is nothing short of laughable. As predicted, my hair is ratty and sticking up in strange angles, not unlike a lion's main. Even so, it's not as bad as the rest of me. There are dark circles, bloodshot eyes, and deep lines that seem comical on a girl so young. It dawns on me that I look like my father. The smile disappears from my reflection.

I brush my teeth and tame my bedhead quickly. Moving towards the closet, I'm already halfway undressed. Slowly, my uniform is reconstructed for another day. My half-dead brain cannot tie a tie for the life of me, so my hands leave it sloppy and uneven. Part of me worries it'll be more ammunition for the bullies, but the rest of me is too tired and edgy to care. If anyone starts anything with me today, God help them.

Too exhausted to bend over, I flop into the seat of my vanity to tie my shoes. For some reason, my coverup is on the floor and the casing is slightly cracked. Picking it up, I flick it open and start smearing the product across my face. It helps hide my flaws but since using it puts such a huge dent my ego, it's only ever a last resort.

I want sleep.

Returning to my bed, I crawl and plop down on the pillows once more. What I wouldn't give to stay home today. I don't feel like dealing with high school today, or whatever they call it here. A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, right? Well, high schoolers are high schoolers regardless of name or country and they're all assholes. Lucas is of course the worst I've ever had the displeasure of dealing with. I've never even done anything to him.

"Wait..." Yesterday's pizza-face fiasco taunts me like a scratched record, repeating the humiliation over and over again. I jump out of bed and start pacing. "Oh no, oh no! Now he has motive! Goddamn it, everyone has motive! I'm screwed. I'm dead. There's over a thousand kids at that school willing to sell their soul just for that asshole to notice them. This is... Fuck, I just made it open hunting season!"

Somehow, I'm sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.

"Of course, they can't just come up and attack me, but high schoolers are evil, tricky things. Make stuff look like accidents; push me into a locker, claiming crowded hallways; throw things at me, then have someone else throw things from another direction; taunting me, teasing me, grinding away my pride and spirit until I kill myself! No!"

I force myself to breathe. I'm jumping to conclusions. I need to calm down. Calm down. Breathe. Not everyone is out to get you. Not—well, most of them—but not all of them. You can do this. You can do this. And if you can't, just take whoever you can down with you. I nod, agreeing with myself.

"I can do this. I can do this."

It feels like someone's watching me again. Not like last night when I thought something was stalking me. This time, it feels like someone's sitting with me, letting me vent. I look around and listen closely for any voices or hallucinations but find myself completely alone. A bit of fuzzy whispering starts up in the back of my mind, but it's only background noise. Ignorable. I hunt down my math book and sling my schoolbag over my shoulder before going downstairs for breakfast.

Just as I sit at the table, a truck pulls into our driveway. It's probably the strangest contraption I've ever seen; overrun with countless headlights, spotlights, and God knows what else on it. It reminds me of a Lego set my parents and I failed to construct as a child, disorganized and sporadic. It shrieks to a stop and the growling, panting engine is silenced. A strangely dressed man climbs out, smoking a cigar. His clothes are all black, made of old leather, and ready for Hell and high water.

At some point, Tony decided to take refuge under the table. Aunt Dot and I share a look, then shrug. We crouch down to stare at her strange son. He smiles and greets us like estranged guests at a party.

"Hello."

"Care to explain what you're doing under there, kiddo?"

"Not really." I smile at the silly boy before flicking him on the forehead. We're interupted by three loud knocks echoing from the front room. Aunt Dot scoots out her chair.

"I'll get it," I say already going for it. She thanks me before returning to her son, insisting he sit up and finish his breakfast. The man raises a thick, messy brow when I open the door. A schoolgirl with a deadly scowl is clearly not who he was expecting.

"Can I help you?"

"I'd like with speak the man of the house."

"Not here. Something called working. What do you want?"

"It's not a woman's conversation," he insists without shame.

My glare intensifies. "Why not? I'm a chick and you're a dick, I think it'd be a lovely conversation." His face falls. He tries to hide his anger with a smile and a single, airy chuckle. A common ruse that fails to fool any child or teen deemed 'infuriating' by adults. Regardless, he tries again, as if I was hiding a father or older brother somewhere in the folds of my skirt.

"Well, I wouldn't want to scare you."

"Look, if you got something to say, say it because if the two of us waste anymore time, my cousin and me are gonna be late."

He stares at me, taking a long drag off that fat, godawful cancer stick. "You got family in there?"

"Obviously."

"You care about them?"

"Duh."

"You want to protect them?"

"From what? Secondhand smoke?" I wave my hand to get the fumes away from my face and out of my lungs.

He puffs on the cigar, leaning in close. "From vampires," he whispers.

"Vampires?"

"Aye."

"Vampire vampires?" I repeat, mindlessly checking my pockets for antipsychotics.

"Aye."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. I think you've been reading too much 'Twilight'... Or, no, your probably more of a 'Interview With A Vampire' type, right?"

He laughs at me. "You think they're just fiction, eh, girlie? Well, let me tell you something: I've seen 'em. With my own eyes. They've been around this area in particular, an' I'm going to hunt 'em down and destroy their filthy race."

This man is insane.

"Good luck with that, sir," I say inching the door shut. "If I had any meds on me, I'd give you some, but I don't. So, bye." He stops the door with a bulky boot. Crap. This guy's out of his mind, clearly dangerous, and unfortunately strong.

"Have you ever felt unsafe? Like something was there, watchin' you with red, hungry eyes, waiting to pounce?"

I'm about to say, 'yes, I'm legally Paranoid, dick-face.', but something catches me.

"Red eyes? What do you mean red eyes?"

"Red eyes. Pale skin. Cold. Bloodthirsty." He starts walking away, spitting on the ground in disgust. "Them bloodsuckers are all the same. Least three of 'em were around here last night. Far as I know, one never left. Wouldn't be surprised if someone in yer family went missing tonight."

The bastard's mocking me.

"Say that again and you'll go missing." He gets into his truck and I slam the door loudly.

Staring at the wood, my mind whirls with information. He clearly needs a lot of help, but red eyes are red eyes. Last night I saw red eyes, felt something cold, heard something move. Something was in my room last night. Something had to be. I'm not that crazy, right? The background noise has gotten louder, like people moving around me in a crowded station. Words like 'help', 'crazy', and 'danger' are jumping out at me, making it harder to think. The man said, as far as he knew, one something didn't leave. Something could still be in my room.

An eery feeling bleeds out from the upstairs hallway. It's threatening me, testing me, calling me towards it. Walking up the stairs, every siren in my head starts going off, telling me to turn back. Something in the back of my mind softly pushes me forward. Keep going, it says. The closer I get to my room, the louder the sirens and voices become; shrieking and blaring against my skin. Everything quiets once I step inside, but the eery feeling continues. To my left is nothing suspicious, nor to my right. I look up—because that's where no one ever looks and there's always something there when no one looks—but still nothing. I tense. Was that noise inside my head or on the outside? It doesn't repeat. The whispers are starting up again, leaving me clueless.

I tiptoe over to my closet. There is nothing. To be sure, I push some of the hangers out of my way. Nothing there, either. My room feels brighter than normal and the voices gossip about this as I check my bathroom. The shower curtain is wide open. Part of me thinks to look behind the toilet, but that would just be silly. Returning to the main room, my eyes hone in on my bed. Particularly the bedskirt surrounding it, hiding the underneath from view.

It's the only place I haven't looked yet. The only spot left. I just need to check it, find nothing, laugh at myself, then get on with my life. Simple. Easy. Not at all nerve wracking. Not at all. Nope.

Cautiously moving towards it, the erratic beating in my chest has summoned a few pairs of eyes. They circle me, giggling, as I get on my hands and knees. My heart's pounding in my throat and exploding in my ears. Delicately, I pick up a piece of the bedskirt and lower my head to gaze underneath. Oh sweet merciful FUCK.

There's a body under my bed. The body stays perfectly still. Doesn't rise or fall in a steady rhythm. Doesn't stir even the slightest. It—he—is dead. The Hell...? What...? How? Am I...? My mind keeps trying to process the situation but can only cut itself off with newer and newer tangents.

I keep staring at it—him. He—the body—is lying perfectly straight. Eyes closed, mouth tight, his hands lightly folded and mostly hidden by tattered biker gloves. His skin is pale and his clothes are strange. Old jeans, striped vest, long coat, and some kind of choker. Everything is either dirty, torn, or just plain worn-out. It's surprising to me how peaceful he looks. The only other dead body I've seen was my mother's and she didn't look so... Well... It was a closed casket funeral.

She she she's dead dead dead, the eyes chant. It's your your your fault fault. They start laughing.

I squeeze mine shut. "Just go away," I beg them. "Go away." They don't listen. Neither does the corpse. He's still laying there. Or is he? Is he really there? Grabbing at one of the eyes, my hand goes right through it. My fingers tingle, expecting to feel something, anything. It's like fog, thick and noticeable, but not like a real eye would or should. I reach out for the body, touching it's shoulder. My hand doesn't faze through, not even a little bit, and he doesn't feel like fog. He's solid. He's real. He's staring at me with Hellfire eyes.

He moves and my body lurches back, screaming, falling over itself until I land hard on my ass a few feet away.

"Fuck... What... What... fuck?" My fingers are drumming madly against the floorboards. It's impossible to stop them. Tony is in my room.

"What happened?" He asks quickly.

"Nothing. Nothing. I fell."

He moves a little closer. "Jen, are you—"

"I'm fine!" I didn't mean to shout, but I did, and Tony's looking at me like that again. Like crazy's all I am now. "Sorry, I... Sorry, I'm... edgy. I didn't sleep well last night."

He's nodding. He's nodding and backing away slowly—just like we told him to—without any sudden movements. Once he's out of my sights, he's running down the hall. Burying my face in my hands, I let out a frustrated moan. Aunt Dottie's going to come in here any moment and start talking to me in that tone. That unnaturally kind, placid lilt people think helps. It doesn't. It's insulting. When I need stability, I need something strong on the outside to hold on to, not mockery. It's even more insulting when I don't need to be grounded, when I'm okay. Mildly okay.

Peeking through my fingers, the bed is the first thing I see. Crawling back over to it, I lift the bed skirt again. The alive-but-not-breathing boy opens his eyes again and looks at me. The color is enticing and almost magical. I have to fight off a strange feeling before I can even attempt to look at the rest of him. His features are defined yet boyish, undoubtably placing him in his mid/late teens. His hair is dark and longer than most, pieces of it look red and spike out like a crown.

"Holy sh—I mean, hi." There is a long, pregnant pause.

"Hello," he says through a stiff jaw. We're both quiet. He doesn't seem to trust me and I don't know what to say. It feels like it should be the reverse. He's in my room, after all. Someone knocks lightly on the open door. Sitting up quickly, my Aunt stands in the doorway, hands visible, with a small, professional smile. She thinks I'm having an attack.

"Hey, Jen. Is everything okay?" Just as I predicted, she's using the tone.

"I'm fine."

"Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine. I snapped a little at Tony and he freaked out."

"Why did you snap?"

"Because I'm tired and edgy."

She looks from me to my bed. "What were you just doing, Jennive?"

"Can you stop talking to me like that, please? I'm fine. Can't you tell by the attitude?"

"What were you doing?" The tone is gone, but it's been replaced by the 'Don't give me attitude' snap.

"I dropped... Well, first, I fell over and now I'm looking for my phone. I dropped it."

Aunt Dot accepts this. "Are you almost ready to go?"

"Just gimme a sec to find my phone. Is Tony ready yet?"

From down the hall, we hear him call out: "Mom! Can you help me?"

"Sure thing, honey!" Aunt Dot shouts back. She glances at me and I smile. Her faces is concerned but she doesn't say anything as she leaves the room. I pick up the bedskirt once more, confused with how the dead-but-not-dead guy hasn't yet disappeared back into the crevices of my mind.

"You really are real, aren't you?"

His brows furrow and his lips pull into a scowl.

"No, not like that!" I say quickly. "I mean like: I'm not crazy, right? You're actually real, right? 'Cause you're not breathing, dude. You're literally not breathing. But you're moving and you spoke, and like—Are you a zombie-vampire or something? No, sorry, I didn't mean—" I'm an idiot. "Lemme start again. My name's Jennive. What's yours?"

"It..." He pauses. His face gives nothing away, but somewhere in the sea of red I can see flickering waves of doubt and trust crashing against one another. To speak, or remain quiet. To open, or remain closed. This is a battle I know far too well.

"Gregory," he says finally. "My name is Gregory."

"Gregory, huh?" The name sounds different coming from me. Only two syllables instead of three, murdering it's formality. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Gregory. Care to explain why you're under my bed?"

"Jennive! Let's go!" My Aunt shouts from downstairs.

I glance towards the hall, "Crap," then back to him. "Never mind. Don't touch my stuff. Later."

With that, I'm up and out the door, rushing down the stairs at a dangerous speed. Aunt Dot's reaching for her purse, and I grab my schoolbag. We go out to the car together. By the time she starts it up, I'm already lost in thought. Was that Gregory guy really a vampire? Why was he under my bed? Was he following me around last night? What a fucking stalker, that's so creepy. Dear God, does he want to eat me? Did I just swap pleasantries with my future killer? For Heaven's sake, Jennive, what's wrong with you!?

Something else is bothering me, too. He looked familiar. Like, really familiar. Through the rearview mirror, I see Tony staring out the window. It only takes a second before things start to click. I spin around like a viper fixating on it's prey. My cousin sees this and immediately freezes, afraid I might strike.

"You know that friend of yours? Rudolph?"

His eyes bulge for a moment. "Uh... Y-Yeah?"

"Just wondering, does he have any siblings?"

He nods. "A brother and a sister."

"Names?"

"Gregory and Anna. Why?"

I face forward in my seat. "I met someone recently, and he kind of looked like your friend, so I was just wondering."

"It probably wasn't Gregory."

"No?"

"No, he's kinda... Not... uh..." He's struggling, which gives away more than I need.

"I believe you, Tony. If you don't think it was him, then it probably wasn't him."

"Did you meet him at night?" He asks. Aunt Dot glances over at me quickly, before putting her eyes back on the road.

"I don't talk to strangers after dark. It's this guy at my school."

"Then, yeah, it wasn't him." The rest of the car ride is silent.

Just stepping into the school building, it's obvious that today's going to be difficult. I walk to my class like any other day, but the whispers, both inside and out, are loud and obnoxious. Ignoring one set of voices means listening to the other. The ones on the outside put down my appearance: unkempt uniform, wild hair; using my nationality as a negative: fat-ass American this, American slut that. Inside my head, the voices are frothing with anger and glee; am I going to let them speak that way, they're right of course, I'm nothing, I'm I'm dead dead, WATCH OUT! WATCH OUT! WATCH OUT!

I visibly wince at the sound, a number of people start laughing. Someone throws a pen at me, it hits my bag. The first bell rings. Another someone trips me, but I catch myself. Entering my classroom, the amount of people who start smiling and giggling is unnerving. On the chalkboard in big words reads: 'AMERICAN SLAG'. People are looking to me for some kind of reaction, but I don't have one; the insult's lost on me.

A boy whispers, "Maybe she's too stupid to know what it is?"

In my seat, there is a thumbtack, tip pointed up. I flick it off and sit down quietly. The warning bell goes off and the rest of my classmates stroll in. Per usual, Lucas and his troupe are in the door seconds before the final bell. He sees what's on the board and laughs along with his friends. His eyes scan the sea of students as he heads to his desk. When he sees me, he smiles. When he passes me, I trip him. A few people slip out quick bursts of laughter, but Lucas is back up in the blink of an eye and the class is silent. He looks stunned, but my actions really don't need to be explained, do they?

I smile. "Good morning, Luke-ass."

Mr. Wilson walks in, apologizing for being late like he always does, and Lucas has no choice but to quietly slink back to his seat. My teacher looks at the board then turns sharply to the class.

"Alright, who's responsible for this? Douglas?"

"I didn't do it!"

He tries again, "Atchison?"

"Why'd ya always blame me?"

Mr. Wilson names off every troublemaker and loudmouth in the class. No one admits to it. I don't say anything. He tells us he will not tolerate such disrespect in his class. Regardless of what he's saying, his tone is tired and bored, and it's doubtful he really gives a shit beyond his lesson being tampered with. He erases the insult and moves along, but I can't stop staring at the smear it's left behind.

The lunch bell rings and I feel myself crumbling. I'm hungry, starved, but it's a war zone out there. Food isn't an option. Only sanctuary. I take as long as I can packing up, then go and ask Mr. Clark mindless questions about equations I don't care about. After about five minutes, he politely asks if I can come back after school because he'd like to eat. I tell him not to worry about it and leave the room.

All of the voices are one big jumble now. Constant talking, screaming, giggling, whispering, shouting; eyes swimming through the air and students' faces deforming as they walking by. I can't tell what's real and what's not. It's terrifying. I pray and pray not to get stuck this way. It's madding. It feels like another dimension has swallowed me. Maybe it has. But I know if I react, if I look anything other than clam, angry, or bored, people from my dimension will see. They won't understand. They wouldn't even try to.

The library's in sight when someone calls my name, my last name. I stop and turn around, expecting a teacher, when someone slings their arm over my shoulders.

"Head in the clouds, Thompson? I called your name twice, you know."

"What do you want?"

"I've been looking for you." The smile reaches his icy eyes, but only just. "I'd like to have a chat." He's leading me away from my sanctuary and it's hard to hear him over everything else. I plant my feet firmly.

"Then talk."

"Privately?"

"No. I'm busy."

"Hiding in a library isn't busy; it's cowardly. Come along now." He tries to lead me again but I shove him away.

"It's not cowardly to retreat when you're outnumbered. It's smart."

He laughs at me. "This isn't a battle, Thompson."

It is for me. Not breaking your nose is a battle for me. Not flinching as your face begins to twist and contort unnaturally is a battle for me. Not putting my hands over my ears, not crying, not screaming for this to stop is a battle for me. Everything is a battle, a struggle, don't you get it? I don't say any of this. Lucas shakes his head at me, sandy locks staying perfectly in place. He doesn't understand at all.

"You Americans are so violent minded."

"Excuse you?!" It's far louder than either of us expect. People are looking this way. "Dude, what the Hell is your problem anyway? Aside from yesterday, I've never done anything to you!" He's faltering. I'm not. "Why're you doing this to me?!"

He's against the wall, hands up, smile crooked and nervous. "Calm down, Thompson. It's just a game. Don't be so fragile."

I am not fragile. He knows this the moment my knuckles crash into his face.

End Chapter Four