Phoenixfire: Aaah, the lovely things that come of me being up too late for my own good. I think you'll all find this chapter of the redux rather interesting.

YamiPhoenixfire: We still don't own Baten Kaitos. And if we owned Mountain Dew, that sneaky weasel of an ex-boyfriend wouldn't be extorting money from us for cafeinated beverages, since there would be a special mountain dew truck just for us, that would deliver to the house weekly. And I now own the new Evanescence cd. Rights to their music? Please... (song I used was track twelve, because it fit scarily well with the end of the chapter...)

Chapter Three: Why we always come back

Astarael gave her clothing and backpack one last check before going in. She'd gotten rid of most of the brambles and dusted off most of the dirt. Luckily, today she had worn black instead of something that stains would have been immediately apparent on. She didn't want to have to fabricate some long and complicated story to explain how her clothing had gotten so dirty and stained.

She tried the door handle, only to find that her mother had forgotten to unlock the deadbolt. Odd, she almost always did that before it was time for someone to be using the door. So Astarael wasted a few moments pawing around in the side pockets of her purse before she managed to unearth the painted-golden, second-to-the-bottom-of-the-line key that went into the deadbolt of similar quality, making a vexed sound when she realized that the key had worn a hole in the pocket and that the anti-tearing ward needed to be repaired. And it wasn't the only thing that needed to be repaired: the stupid doorknob was sticking again. Pretty soon, it probably wouldn't be able to shut without the deadbolt at all. At least then they'd have to keep the door locked most of the time.

Before the accident, she had never been bothered by the fact that a ten-year-old with a lockpick could probably break into the house. Hell, half the time the mudroom door was unlocked for Azil (who, for some mysterious reason, refused to put her key in her backpack or purse no matter how many times she got locked out). Not to mention the fact that the sequence for the keypad to all three garage doors was the standard series of ones that had been programmed in by the people that installed it. And the actual door from the garage to the house was broken, could only be closed when the deadbolt was thrown, so the key was left in it at all times. A five-year-old could break into their house. Of course, the five-year-old would probably need help to carry away any of the larger, more expensive electrical appliances. But since that fateful November day she had come to realize that life could change in a matter of moments, and no matter how safe their expensive development out in the backwoods of Nowhere, New Jersey seemed to be, they should still take some basic precautions. Some of her family's habits with the keeping of the house were just stupid. And whenever she made (very reasonable) suggestions to make the house safer, she either had her head bitten off (Azil, sometimes Rana) or was simply put off with disinterested excuses of "later" (both of her parents. They could be lazy enough to shame even her sometimes…)

And, to make matters worse, they were in the fairly sizeable group of people that believed that the monster sightings, both of the walking corpses and the imported monsters from Kalas's world, were just fantasies. It was so frustrating to go out, sometimes multiple times in the same day, to deal with monsters that she had seen or (periodically, she was improving the skill but it was slow going) sensed in the nearby area and come back to hear her family ridicule the latest monster sighting the way they would reports of a UFO or Bigfoot. She supposed that she should be happy that so few people took the threat seriously, if they had, someone would have probably put the appearances of 'a mysterious masked woman' together with times when Astarael Sanders had gone missing. And God help her if anyone ever saw her medical records. Most people weren't aware of exactly how badly she had been hurt, but if that ever got out, it would lend a fair amount of credence to the 'Astarael the Demon' rumors. But still, to have her own family mocking her, even if they didn't realize it…

"Astarael, I need you to come here," her mother's voice called from the family room. Astarael's eyes narrowed at the tone, and she couldn't help but wonder what she had done this time to earn her mother's ire. Surely she still couldn't be mad about her wearing the chains on her pants to school today… that had been hours ago, and she didn't see what the big deal was. It wasn't like people would be able to avoid noticing the extra snaps and buckles and zippers and pockets without the chains. Hell, her mother had paid for the damn pants! If she hadn't wanted Astarael to wear them, all she had to do was say 'no' and refuse to buy them!

"Coming," she replied, quickly unbuckling the chains and laying them on the chair with her purse and book. Maybe this was about something else. If it was, there was no point in reminding the woman of lost battles. Allow Deborah Sanders to build up steam, and she could go on and on and on until you wanted to kill both her and yourself just to make it stop.

Their house was fairly large, from the outside. Really, there weren't that many more rooms than their old house had had, it was just that all the rooms were bigger. Her mother liked big rooms, she was moderately claustrophobic, and Deborah Sanders had had a major hand in picking the design for their house. The family room was no exception, although most of that was the fact that there was no second floor above it, so the room's ceiling was twice the height of all the other rooms in the house. It wasn't all that bigger than an average house. Or maybe it was. Living in the house probably skewed her perception of what an average house should look like. However, the feeling of size was diminished somewhat by all the clutter that had gathered everywhere. Clothing waiting to be ironed, both in baskets and hanging from the ironing board, random blankets carried from couch to couch and never refolded, books for reading pleasure, books for school, flyers, old school notices, old test and quiz papers, old mail, junk mail, bills, newspapers, news magazines, an invitation to a swimming party that had happened in the beginning of summer, a few coffee mugs, a plate, an empty can of Mountain Dew, someone's sandals(probably Azil's), a pair of battered off-white tennis shoes (almost definitely her mother's), dog toys in varying states of having been torn to pieces, Smokey's catnip mouse and the cat bed with the roof and that stupid pink ball hanging from it, and dozens of really odd and random things cluttered the room and the adjoining kitchen, sat on the steps waiting to be returned to a bedroom, and cluttered the ledge between the kitchen and family room. The house was always in varying states of mess, but it looked like they were hitting the bottom of what Astarael had called the Cleanliness Decay, the part right before when her mother ordered her and her sisters to start cleaning things up. However, the chances of her doing that on a weekday were fairly slim, so she had a feeling that…

Yellow eyes narrowed on the piece of paper her mother was holding. It looked almost like junk mail from this distance, with the addresses indecipherable and the lack of stamp. Except for that very unique gray patterning on the bottom half of the side that was facing her, and the almost square shape of the paper.

Progress Report, she realized numbly. Progress report. She'd lost track of the weeks since school had started, apparently, in addition to an increasing number of homework assignments. This was not going to be pretty. This was going to be the antithesis of pretty. At least it didn't actually give out letter grades. "Satisfactory Progress" could mean just about anything. A C-, on the other hand, was and could only be a C-, and would not meet her mother's rather exacting standards of what she thought Astarael's grades should be.

"Did you know you are in danger of failing Pre Calculus?" her mother asked icily, eyes narrowing.

Astarael blinked. In danger of failing? How is that possible? Yeah, I blew one quiz, and I missed three or four homework assignments out of, oh, I don't know… twenty or twenty-five, and I got a C on a major test. How, exactly, does that put me at a D or lower? "No, I wasn't," she replied, honestly for a change. She'd expected flags for missing homework assignments in all her major classes, she'd been getting very bad about actually doing her homework at home, and somewhere she'd misplaced the 'do it or die' drive that usually helped her complete minor assignments during study hall and lunch, but she hadn't expected to be in actual danger of failing any of her classes. Oh no, with college just around the corner this is going to be a truly classic rant.

Not that she knew if she actually wanted to even go to college yet. She'd been trying very hard not to think about it. It only underscored exactly how much time she'd lost.

"Astra, your efforts to graduate with the rest of your class are going to look very good on your application, but only if you can actually pass all your courses. I don't understand this. I thought we were past all this, honey. You've been doing so well for the last year. Maybe… maybe we should talk to Dr. Hilander…"

"No more meds," Astarael said coolly, as coolly as she dared with her mother, who was probably currently considering grounding her. She wasn't going back on her medication though, not for a learning disorder she wasn't entirely convinced she'd had in the first place. Not with her magic, or her healing abilities. God only knew what that crap would do to her now, or if it would even work at all. No more. She wasn't a broken doll that her mother could fix with a couple of pills and three visits a year to a shrink. Her problem had really been lack of motivation all along, and she was starting to lose sight of her goal with all the monster attacks to distract her. That was all. There wasn't a medicine in the world that could fix that.

Despite her efforts to be polite, her mother's eyes narrowed dangerously anyway. "I don't like that tone, Astra. All I was doing was suggesting something that might help you, there's no need to be fresh with me. You're also missing work in Biology. Do you know what that's about?"

Astarael winced. That was the lab that she had missed last week when she had had to duck out of class because of a headache caused by exhaustion and overuse of her magic. Luckily for her, since she had been at the nurse and not clearing out a monster, she had a chance to make that up. She wasn't about to tell her mother about that one, though. Bad enough that the woman wanted to put her back on Ritalin; she didn't want to be on some unneeded migraine medicine too. "I don't know. I'll check with my teacher." She could have that lab made up by the end of the week, and could make up something about a missed homework assignment, something convincing.

Deborah Sanders raised her eyebrows, not believing the rather pathetic lie. "You don't know? How can you not know? Tell me Astarael Victoria Sanders, what are you missing?"

I should probably 'fess up, Astarael thought to herself as, "I really don't remember!" came out of her mouth. It was an effort to keep her face straight after saying that, the urge to wince was fairly strong. She didn't know why she had always had a compulsive urge to lie to her mother, it just happened, about everything from whether or not dinner was good (it was, most of the time, but she didn't like everything her mother cooked) to things like this. What her mother wanted to hear usually came out of her mouth before her conscious mind had a chance to catch up, unless she was angry enough to set something on fire. She just couldn't help herself.

Deborah Sanders had clearly detected another lie, for her complexion was starting to redden as she opened her mouth…

And the telephone rang. Grateful for the distraction, however momentary, Astarael dashed over to get the phone.

"Hello?" she said, hoping for someone that wasn't a telemarketer.

"Astra?" Rana's voice came from the other side of the line. "I need to talk to Mom. It's pretty important."

"Sure," Astarael replied, handing the phone to her mother with a quick, "It's Rana," before contemplating her options. Clearly the only class she had less than a C in was Pre Calc, or her mother would have said something else before moving on to missing assignments. So this wasn't as bad as it could have been. All she needed to do was apply herself, pull her grades up before the end of the markingperiod. She could do it. She'd done it before.

Of course, before, it had seemed a lot more important to get those grades. Now, all she could bring herself to care about was getting out of the house, away from her mother…

"Rana's volleyball game got canceled, so I need to go pick her up," Deborah said irritably. "This conversation isn't over yet."

And with that, she walked out.

"How was your day, Astarael? Did you do anything interesting? How are Selih and your other friends doing?" Astarael asked the ceiling. A yip from near the garage door startled her. Sabrina hadn't had her walk yet. "Sorry, girl. Wanna go outside and run down some deer?"

The mix breed brown spaniel gave an eager bark in reply, and Astarael managed something that resembled a grin. At least someone was happy to see that she was home.

"You're almost late again, Cat," commented a dark-haired junior as the blonde touched down behind the school. She was long-legged and lean, like most of the cross-country team, and also strikingly pretty. She was one of the only upper classmen involved in their little scheme, and not nearly as snobby as most of the rest of the varsity. She made an interesting contrast to the very slim, very blonde girl of middling height who had just touched down, Cat knew that she looked more like cheerleading squad material than someone who ran cross country. She certainly acted like it, most of the time. It was a fairly good cover. "Coach Welsh is going to eat you alive," the older girl added.

"What?" Cat (Her full name was Catherine, but she almost never used it. She hated it, as a matter of fact. Why her parents had stuck her with such a lousy name, she'd never guess. After all, she was anything but pure.) asked indignantly. "I have a perfectly reasonable excuse," she added, sheathing her Wings of the Heart and picking up her crutches, gesturing with them pointedly. "Besides, you're going to be late too."

"I'm in extra help. For AP Psych," the girl replied with a mischievous grin. "Coach Welsh may not like it, but I have a pass. My teacher forgot to fill in the time, so I could come five minutes before practice ended and still have an excuse. You, on the other hand…"

Cat winced. The upper classman, Vana, had a tenancy to abuse her unique gift, the ability to mess with people's memories. Cat just hoped that no one caught her at it, but it was doubtful they would. Vana was careful to her core, and always covered herself thoroughly. "Whatever. The more time we spend here talking, the later we're going to be. Let's just get to practice already."

"Fine by me," Vana replied with a flip of that naturally straight, beautiful black hair that Cat had always secretly envied. They only paused for a moment as Cat strapped on the ankle brace for her supposed injury and then dashed (or, in Cat's case, hobbled. She could run, but that would mean risking exposure) off towards the practice area.

Astarael lay sprawled on her bed, staring at the off-white ceiling and letting the bittersweet music that she favored now wash over her like a flood, hearing without really listening, temporarily erasing the empty void left behind by her argument with her mother. She'd exploded at the woman, and the fight had degenerated into a screaming match, something she usually made a great deal of effort to avoid, because when her mother was happy with her, she didn't pry. But she'd just been so tired of the constant picking that she hadn't been able to stop herself from snapping back. Normally she'd feel just a little better for having defended herself, but now she just felt... drained.

So sick to death of living here… dealing with the monotony of everyday life… little vanilla people scrabbling around the vanilla maze, so few of them realizing that there's no way to the center, and no way out…

She blinked. That had been… well, bleak. Even for her.

Not for the first time, she seriously wondered if she needed… well, help. Real help. And not for the first time, she snorted at her own stupidity. She couldn't talk to anyone about what was wrong with her, because if she did they'd lock her up for the rest of her natural life, or put her on medicine that she probably didn't need.

She was done with medication, and done with cages. She'd had it.

Numbly, she rolled over and looked down on the battered purple and black backpack that she'd had since fifth grade with an expression that was somehow both nostalgic and bitter. She had homework, a fairly large chunk of translations to do for Latin, reading for English, math problems and a test to study for tomorrow in Biology, but she just couldn't bring herself to get up and do anything about it. She was tired. How long had it been since she'd been able to sleep for more than three hours at a stretch without being awoken by some horror, born of either her past or her fears for the future?

All that I'm living for/all that I'm dying for/all that I can't ignore alone at night…

And now her mother was hedging her in with more restrictions. She'd already torn through the room like a malevolent cyclone tearing up the cable chord for the television, the internet connection, the video game controllers. It wasn't just that her mother had taken things from her room, it was that she had violated the one place in the house that Astarael had always felt was hers, the place where she retreated to and allowed life to recede for a while as she tried to recover from the day.

I can feel the night beginning/separate me from the living/understanding me…

Was it really too much to ask to have one place that she could go to be alone? Didn't she deserve a little privacy? Was it really so hard for her mother to just trust her? She had everything under control! Well, as close to control as she could manage. So, she had some more important things in her life than getting every single piece of homework done. So she'd failed one quiz because she'd been too tired to crunch numbers properly… There were more important things than the cosine of the triangle in problem number six!

After all I've seen/piecing every thought together/ find the words to make me better…

A gaping yawn scattered her line of thought, and she blinked blearily, turning to the clock. After a moment of struggling with her memory of what the hands were supposed to represent, she came up with 4:45 pm. There was at least an hour before dinner, maybe two. It wouldn't kill her to take a nap. Just a little unbroken sleep. She could sort through her own emotions after a bit of rest…

If I only knew how to pull myself apart…

Even as she reached out to set the alarm her golden eyes slid shut. A hand with the willowy but strong fingers of a pianist blemished only by the faint tracings of tiny scars from fights and taking care of her own weapon fell short of the softly humming white object, first hitting the nightstand, then falling limply against the bed. The rain that had been threatening to fall most of the day burst forth in abundance, but the girl barely twitched.

All that I'm living for/All that I'm dying for/All that I can't ignore alone at night…

She blinked. She knew, on some level, that she was dreaming again, and cursed the ill luck that had taken her into sleep before she could turn off that damn CD. But that thought was brief before the dream enveloped her.

All that I'm wanted for/although I wanted more/lock the last open door-

She was standing in a twisted, tainted mockery of the church she had attended almost since before she could walk. But what had been white was now black, the stained glass windows that had shown fields and flowers and fruit now gaped emptily into the darkness. The columns, which she had always thought to be more ornamental than supportive were blasted by fire and… defiled by carvings that she recognized but didn't understand, glyphs from the walls of Cor Hydrae.. And front and center, where the choir sat, stood… figures. Seven in all.

My ghosts are gaining on me…

Strain though she might, she could only make out a few words from the back of the sanctuary, and something told her that if she moved any closer, she would be discovered. The word "Guardian' was coming up far too often for her comfort. If only she dared move closer… just a few steps forward, and she might be able to make out something else.

I believe that dreams are sacred/take my darkest fears and play them/like a lullaby/like a reason why…

"Why all the subterfuge?" a feminine voice rang out clearly, rich with mocking contempt, a voice that she knew she should have recognized but, infuriatingly, couldn't place. "Because a quick kill is too… clean… for a woman arrogant enough to stand in defiance of the gods. If not for her interference, if not for Astarael's refusal to let nature run its course and claim her life, we would not be here. This time, I mean to erase her beyond anyone's meddling interference."

…like a play of my obsessions/make me understand the lesson…

"With all due respect, don't you think you're becoming a bit… fixated?" put forth one of the number hesitantly, this one also female, and although less familiar than the first clear voice, still easily recognizable… if only she could tie it to a face and a name… "We almost have enough energies to summon the stronghold into our own dimension. If you squander too many of the troops and corpse-gatherers that should be supplying us with the life energy to complete that task on baiting that fledgling spirit sorceress…"

…so I'll find myself…

"I, too, was once a mere fledgling of the same discipline as Astarael, and look at the heights I have risen to. I will not allow Astarael even the inkling of a chance to come into similar power. And you cannot deny that she has the potential… in fact, have any of you noticed anything different about this meeting, my sisters?" Seven hoods that swallowed the faces within turned towards her. Only their eyes were visible. And every one of them had bright red eyes that glowed like hot embers…

…so I won't be lost again…

…eyes just like Melodia's when she had been possessed by Malpercio…

Astarael awoke with a spluttering scream, slamming her hand down on the alarm clock more out of habit than anything else. She scooped it up and dragged it into her lap. According to the ugly little white box, she'd been asleep for less than three minutes.

…my ghosts are gaining on me…

With a groan, she dragged herself out of her bed and staggered into the sitting room to shut off her boom box. The last thing she needed right now was sleep, or more Evanescence. No, the first thing she was going to have to do was have a debate with herself about how much of that dream had been nerves, and how much of it had been a warning. And, even if it was all warning, how much it was going to help her.

She really, really missed being able to sleep for an extended period of time.

Come on, you know you like this version better... :)